"And that is it! Congratulations to Bayern Munich for their victory in this gripping first leg of the Champions League quarter-finals!" Martin Tyler's voice boomed through the broadcast, signaling the end of hostilities.
"2-1 is a scoreline both teams can probably accept, Martin," Gary Neville analyzed, his voice hoarse from the drama.
"Bayern secured the win they needed, but Manchester United have that golden ticket—the away goal. It changes the complexion of the tie completely."
"Let's meet again at Old Trafford in ten days to uncover the final suspense," Tyler added poetically.
"The Theatre of Dreams awaits."
In truth, Manchester United had chances to win this match, but James Rodriguez's final shot was a bolt from the blue, simply unstoppable.
Moreover, Jupp Heynckes showed his class, making timely substitutions and switching the overall tactics to defensive counterattacks which not only disrupted Mourinho's plans but also nearly extended the lead to 3-1.
Rather than risking conceding a fatal third goal in pursuit of an equalizer, Mourinho had shut up shop, deciding it was better for Manchester United to return home with a 2-1 deficit.
In the next match, they would have the Old Trafford roar behind them, needing only a 1-0 win to overturn the deficit on away goals.
...
Inside the Allianz Arena, the party wasn't stopping.
Bayern fans refused to leave, waving their flags vigorously and singing Stern des Südens in unison.
History was heavy in the air.
In the 2009-10 quarter-finals, the first leg had also ended 2-1 to Bayern, with Ivica Olić scoring a last-minute winner.
In the second leg, United had blown Bayern away, scoring three goals before halftime... only for Olic to score again before the break, and then Arjen Robben to deliver that volley from the edge of the box to break Mancunian hearts.
Times have changed, and the Bavarians were singing to remind the English that they wouldn't let history repeat itself—or rather, they would ensure the final outcome remained the same.
...
On the pitch, the tension of the ninety minutes evaporated into mutual respect.
Thomas Müller, socks rolled down to his ankles, approached Ling near the center circle.
"You were brilliant today, kid," Müller grinned, wiping sweat from his brow. "Would you like to swap jerseys?"
His English was excellent, heavily accented but fluent.
Müller had a habit of collecting souvenirs; back when Bayern faced Juventus, Manuel Neuer had pre-arranged to swap jerseys with Gigi Buffon, but Müller had sprinted over and snatched it first, leaving Neuer fuming for days.
"Of course, I have no reason to refuse," Ling smiled, peeling off his sweat-soaked black jersey and handing it over.
Ling genuinely admired Müller.
He was a chaotic force of nature, a player who looked like he had won a competition to play football but possessed a brain sharper than a supercomputer.
Plus, he was clean—no scandals, just horses and goals.
"Hey, Thomas," Ling leaned in, suddenly recalling a rumor that had circulated years ago.
He whispered behind his hand, "I heard Louis van Gaal tried to recruit you for United back in 2015? Is that bullshit or true?"
Müller's smile froze for a second.
He looked at Ling, surprised that this young superstar was so gossipy.
Then he winked, leaning closer. "It wasn't bullshit. United offered me an annual salary of 20 million euros. The transfer fee was going to be over 100 million. Crazy, ja?"
"Pretty impressive," Ling gave a thumbs-up, whistling softly. "Indeed, it's a shame we never became teammates."
"No worries," Müller's grin widened, looking like a wolf seeing a lamb. "How about you join Bayern? I guarantee you a starting position on the left. Ribery is old, Coman is... well, he's learning. You walk into this team."
Ling's eyelids twitched.
This guy was shameless!
He was trying to tap him up right in the center circle of the Allianz Arena.
'The traditional Bayern DNA,' Ling thought. 'If they cant beat you, they try to buy you.'
However, even if Ling were to leave United, the Bundesliga wasn't the destination.
First, winning the league every year by March would get boring.
Second, the money wasn't the same.
The commercial dominance of the Premier League was unmatched.
"See you in ten days, Thomas," Ling said, dodging the question with a polite nod.
He threw the red Bayern jersey over his shoulder and walked toward the tunnel.
"Think about it!" Müller shouted after him, ignoring the etiquette. "Bayern is a family! I could even take you horseback riding! My wife has great horses!"
Muller wasn't ready to give up, but then he noticed the murderous glares from Paul Pogba and the frosty stare of Jose Mourinho near the touchline.
'Crap,'
Müller quietly shut his mouth.
Poaching right in front of the Special One was probably a bad idea.
He decided he'd get Ling's number from Bastian Schweinsteiger later and send him some WhatsApp messages.
Joshua Kimmich walked over, eyeing the interaction suspiciously. "Thomas, what were you talking to him about?"
"Oh, nothing," Müller replied casually, pulling Ling's shirt over his head. "Just trying to convince him to come to Munich."
Kimmich felt a knot in his stomach.
He didn't want Ling at Bayern. He couldn't explain why, but the thought of facing that Cruyff turn in training every day made him feel sick.
...
Half an hour later, the media center was packed.
Jupp Heynckes faced the reporters with the grace of a grandfather who had seen it all.
"We had a fantastic start, but we made many mistakes afterward," Heynckes admitted, refusing to get carried away. "Both our offensive organization and defense have areas that need improvement. Before the match, I made it very clear to focus on marking Manchester United's number 7, but he still managed to seize the opportunity and score."
"This isn't meant as criticism of Joshua or the defense," Heynckes added quickly. "With such creative feints, I think anyone would have been beaten. That turn was... exceptional. So, in the next match, we will strengthen our focus on that flank."
A reporter from Bild stood up. "Mr. Heynckes, are you confident about winning the Champions League?"
"Of course," Heynckes nodded, his voice firm. "We are Bayern Munich. We are a team with championship potential, but we must perform better. Today was far from sufficient. I believe my lads will deliver an even more impressive performance in Manchester."
In the other conference room, Jose Mourinho was facing a firing squad.
"Do you know why the Champions League knockout stage is set up as a two-legged tie?" Mourinho asked rhetorically, cutting off a journalist who asked if the tie was over.
"Honestly, I don't know either," Mourinho smirked, leaning back. "But I do know it's best not to speak in absolutes before anything is decided. They celebrated like they won the final. Let them celebrate. We will see who sings at Old Trafford."
...
The Manchester United squad rushed back to the airport, flying overnight to land in England in the early hours of the morning.
There was no time to lick their wounds.
Before the Champions League quarter-final second leg, there was a massive obstacle in the road.
West Bromwich Albion.
The Baggies were sitting at the very bottom of the league table.
To the casual observer, it looked like an easy three points.
But Mourinho knew better. West Brom were desperate. They were five points adrift, fighting for their lives. Every single tackle would be a war; every point was a lifeline.
A cornered animal is the most dangerous kind.
The intensity of this match was bound to be fierce, a relegation scrap in the mud.
The risk of injury was sky-high.
The dilemma gnawed at Mourinho.
Should he rest Ling? Should he rest Pogba? If he played a weakened team and lost, the title race with City could swing.
But if he played his stars and Ling got snapped by a desperate defender, the Bayern game was lost.
"We cannot abandon the league," Mourinho muttered to Rui Faria on the plane.
Ultimately, he decided to field a full-strength squad.
The elusive Champions League title was a dream, but the Premier League title was right there for the taking.
He couldn't blink now.
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