Chapter 96: Madrid’s redemption
There was hardly any football fan in the world who did not know of Real Madrid, or have not heard of their name.
Afterall, they were one of the biggest clubs in the world, and they played in the biggest rivalry of club football... El Clasico.
They’ve had some of the best players in football history ply their trade from them, from the days of Ronaldo Nazario, Luis Figo, Zidane, Roberto Carlos, to back in the days of Ferenc Puskas and Alfredo Di Stefano.
Even in the modern age, Real Madrid were a force to be reckoned with as iconic players like Cristiano Ronaldo, Bale, Benzema, Modric, and the likes plied their trade for them, representing them in Europe.
They were one of the clubs with the biggest followership in the world.
And if you asked every football fan one thing that was synonymous with Real Madrid and their fans, then it had to be pride.
Real Madrid was a prideful club.
They fielded the best players with egocentric genius. That aside, they were the no. 1 European club with 15 UEFA Champions League trophies, no other club in Europe came close.
They were renowned for making crazy comebacks in the biggest stages, grasping victory from the very jaws of defeat.
But now, this pride was trampled on.
It was not new for Real Madrid to lose a game. Afterall, even the best clubs in the world can’t play at their best always.
But to lose in a semifinal, against crosstown rivals, Atletico Madrid, Real Madrid felt like a fallen giant.
The media storm on the aftermath of the semifinal trampled even more on their pride, and their archrivals, FC Barcelona added salt to injury as they eventually clinched the trophy after a crazy final.
Barca created history, but in so doing trampled on their archrival’s pride.
And now, behind the scenes, Real Madrid shimmered with the rage of a defeated genius. And they did what every defeated genius did in movies... they plotted their comeback.
They plotted their redemption arc, and the first step for them was the Copa del Rey Round of 16.
The Santiago Bernabéu shimmered under the crisp January air, its steel frame glowing like a spaceship ready for liftoff.
The sting of the Supercopa semifinal loss to Atlético still lingered in Madrid’s veins, but now the Copa del Rey called. It was a chance for revenge and redemption.
Xabi Alonso, calm but firm, stood in the tunnel, his eyes scanning his players. "Three days ago, we lost our focus".
"Tonight, we prove who we are".
"No excuses. This is our house. This is Madrid!"
"THIS IS MADRID!" The players chorused.
The lineups for the game were released ahead of time and Real Madrid startein a 4-3-3 formation with Courtois in goal, while ahead of him was the defensive quadruple of Alexander Arnold, Eder Militao, Dean Huijsen, and Mendy.
Madrid’s midfield trio comprised Valverde, Bellingham, and Guler, while the attacking trio were RMV trio, Rodrygo, Mbappe, and Vinicius.
Las Palmas started in a 4-2-3-1 with Valles in goal, Suarez, Coco, Alvarez, and Cardona in defense, Perrone and Kirian in midfield, with the 4-man offense up top comprising Lemos, Sandro, Marvin Park, and Munir.
The crowd of nearly 80,000 buzzed at the Bernabeu, their chants echoing like thunder across the sky.
And then...
FWEEEEE!
The referee’s whistle cut through the noise.
From the opening whistle, Madrid played with fury.
Bellingham stormed through midfield like a general reclaiming lost ground, his every touch measured, his every pass threaded with elegance.
As for Valverde, the Uruguayan patrolled beside his English counterpart, a metronome with steel boots, snapping into tackles and recycling possession with terrifying efficiency.
In the 8th minute, Mbappé sprinted into the channel, slicing through Coco’s blind spot. Güler spotted the run and released a through ball so precise it seemed guided by fate.
Mbappé’s first touch killed the ball; his second buried it low past Valles.
The goalkeeper stood no chance.
1–0.
BOOM!
The Bernabéu roared as Mbappé slid to the corner flag, arms spread wide. "We’re back!" He screamed at the camera.
Las Palmas tried to settle, but Madrid’s press suffocated them.
On the right, Alexander-Arnold caused havoc as he bombarded forward from right-back, whipping in crosses that bent like arrows. One in the 23rd minute nearly found Vinícius, but Valles desperately clawed it away at full stretch.
Then came Bellingham’s moment.
A corner swung in, and in the ensuing chaos, the ball bounced free.
Bellingham pounced, then...
BAM!
The Englishman struck it first time on the volley; clean, venomous, and unstoppable as the net rippled.
2–0.
Bellingham pointed to the Real Madrid badge on his chest, jaw clenched. The Bernabéu sang his name.
To their credit, Las Palmas refused to roll over despite already being 2 goals behind at the Santiago Bernabeu.
Sandro and Munir combined neatly in the 33rd minute, slipping through Huijsen, but Courtois, ever the giant, stretched low to parry Munir’s effort.
The save drew applause even from neutral fans. Madrid’s defense looked human, but Courtois reminded everyone why he was the wall.
At halftime, the scoreboard read...
[HALF-TIME: Real Madrid 2–0 Las Palmas]
Madrid were in control.
Alonso urged his men at the break. "Do not stop, I don’t want complacency. Dominate them and finish it!"
And so they did.
The second half started, and Real Madrid continued from where they stopped in the first half.
In the 54th minute, Valverde picked the ball thirty yards out. Space opened before the Uruguayan, a mistake, and he didn’t think twice about it.
POW!
His rocket thundered into the top corner, leaving Valles stranded.
3–0.
The crowd erupted, feeling déjà vu from Stamford Bridge months ago. Valverde pumped his fists passionately, screaming into the night.
Las Palmas were finished after that.
All motivation evaporated like mist as their heads dropped low, their shape broken. In response, Madrid began toying with them, possession flowing like water as they played triangles everywhere.
It was complete, utter domination.
Rodrygo nearly added a fourth with a curling effort in the 67th minute, denied only by the post.
But Madrid didn’t need more.
They controlled, managed, and strangled the game until the final whistle.
Then...
FWEEEE!
The game ended, completing a comfortable victory at the Bernabeu.
[FULL-TIME: Real Madrid 3-0 Las Palmas]
The Bernabéu chanted as one as they returned back to winning ways. "Así, así, así gana el Madrid!"
Xabi Alonso shook hands calmly but couldn’t hide the hint of pride. His men had answered, emphatically.
Pundits wasted no time in stylizing it.
Marca: ["Madrid Respond in Style – Mbappé, Bellingham, Valverde Lead the Charge."]
AS: ["Supercopa Pain? Forgotten. Copa Dream Alive."]
The Guardian: ["Madrid’s Stars Flex Muscles – Las Palmas Swept Aside."]
All of a sudden, the media seemed to have forgotten how fiercely they criticized and crucified the Spanish giants just a week ago when they stumbled against Atletico Madrid.
That was how football worked. One moment, you were being praised, the next you’re being hated, and the next you’re being loved again.
It was a crazy, maybe toxic, but vicious cycle.
And yet, despite all the praise, the talk returned inevitably to Barcelona. Would they falter after their draining Supercopa triumph?
Xabi Alonso’s press conference carried weight. "We did what was necessary tonight. Now, all eyes on Barcelona."
The fire of the rivalry never dimmed.