Chapter 53: An El Clásico for the ages
GOAL! 4–4, Hat trick!
For a shard of time, the Bernabéu froze... an entire cathedral shocked into silence by an act of outlaw beauty.
It felt like the universe itself froze in that moment. Then the sound returned as a storm... whistles, roars, disbelief, and grudging awe.
Sam didn’t sprint. He stood, back to the goal, arms spread, head tilted to the heavens, the pendant against his chest cold and steady.
Raphinha crashed into him. Yamal wrapped his arms round his waist like a younger brother. Gavi head‑butted his shoulder in wild joy. And from the technical area, Hansi Flick’s fist stayed clenched a second longer than he intended; even he felt the tremor of it.
90th plus 4 minutes.
That was when the last blade struck, mere seconds from finishing.
El Clásico hates endings. And right from the restart, for the final seconds of the game, Madrid looked for punishment.
BZZZ!
They swarmed forward like bees.
Bellingham glided forward and fed Trent on the underlap; the cutback skimmed past everyone to Camavinga at the death.
The enigmatic midfielder side‑footed the ball, aiming low and sure, but his shot was blocked by Cubarsí, 20 years old and playing like a time traveler.
The clearance wasn’t pretty, far from it but it was enough. The referee looked at his watch, and then he blew his whistle.
FWEEE!
[FULL-TIME: Real Madrid 4-4 Barcelona]
What... a... game.
Applause and cheers erupted across the Santiago Bernabeu. Madrid didn’t win, but this performance, this spectacle... it was worth applauding.
Players dropped where they stood, chests heaving, shirts torn at the collar, even as their faces was streaked with grass.
Vinícius and Koundé shook hands with a shared grin that admitted the insanity of the game that they just played. Bellingham found Pedri and bumped foreheads with him with no words shared.
Mbappé stared at the goalmouth and laughed. It was the laughter of a man who knew the future had more Chapters.
And up in the stands, the cameras found Lionel Messi and Cristiano Ronaldo. The Argentine had the faintest smile of satisfaction on his face, while the Portuguese legend gave a nod that meant approval.
Across the world, screens captured Sam’s silhouette, immortalizing the moment as he was frozen in his state of calm defiance.
At midfield, Sam and Valverde embraced, warriors finally off the clock. "See you in May," Valverde said.
Sam’s answer was simple. "Before that".
There were many protagonists in this game, many superstars stealing the show at different intervals, but was there ever a doubt on who shined brightest?
Sam won the man of the match award for his gravity-breaking overhead equalizer, and his endless menace all game. On a night of supernovas, he burned brightest.
[Samuel "Sam" Moses: FC Barcelona – Hat-trick (41’, 52’, 90+4’)]
In the tunnel, microphones begged for conclusions but none would come. This wasn’t a conclusion, rather, it was a signal.
Spain’s giants were level on the night and level in the race.
The season felt longer and larger than ever before; La Liga, Europe, destiny itself, all of it hummed on a wire.
Outside, Madrid’s night air cooled the steam off ninety six minutes of fire. Inside Sam, a quieter heat remained. The pendant rested on his chest, coordinates pointing not to where he’d been, but to what he was building.
The story would not slow.
But for one breathe between roars, the world had seen football at its ceiling and waved, asking for more.
...
The Bernabeu had gone silent when the whistle blew. Not dead silent, no, the kind of silence that follows a thunderclap, where ears still ring and hearts still pound in tingling excitement.
Then the noise came back, endless and unrelenting.
By midnight, Spanish newspapers had already rewritten history.
*Marca: ["Sam Moses Hat-Trick Silences the Bernabeu – But Madrid Stand Tall."]
*AS: ["Eight Goals, Endless Drama: The Greatest Clasico of the Modern Era."]
*Mundo Deportivo: ["El Dios del Futbol – Sam Shines, Barca Lives."]
*Sport: ["Sam’s Night: A Hat-Trick in the Coliseumn."]
It wasn’t just the scoreline. It was the manner, the brilliance, the duels.
From Yamal’s fearless magic to Mbappe’s sharp edges, to Bellingham’s elegance, to Valverde and Gavi’s relentless engine. And, above all, the Nigerian forward who had left the Bernabeu stunned.
The next morning, Spain’s talk shows were carnivals of chaos.
On El Chiringuito, Josep Pedrerol almost screamed. "A hat-trick! At the Bernabeu! By a 21 year old! Is this Messi’s heir? Or is this something else entirely?!"
Paco, the eternal Madridista, bellowed back. "He scored three, yes, but Madrid didn’t lose! You forget Bellingham, you forget Mbappe, you forget Vinicius. Sam Moses didn’t win, Madrid didn’t fall".
The shouting match went viral within minutes.
Clips racked up millions of views on TikTok and YouTube.
It didn’t stop there. On social media, it was a battleground between Barca and Madrid fans, as Neutrals enjoyed the show with popcorn in hand.
*Barca fans:
"Sam is HIM. No debates. The Bernabeu is his playground now".
"Messi had the 2-6, Sam has the 4-4".
*Madridistas:
"We don’t lose at home. We survived his best. That’s what Kings do".
"Bellingham + Mbappe + Vini is a f*cking dynasty! Don’t be blinded by one hat-trick".
*Neutrals:
"This wasn’t football. This was f*cking cinema man. Oscars, please, do the needful".
"Cancel every other sport, nothing tops this".
The memes exploded. Pictures of Sam’s overhead kick plastered next to Cristiano’s in Turin from years ago, Yamal’s nutmeg on Mendy looped endlessly, and even Vinicius cupping his ears became a sticker pack.
A day later, from Miami, Lionel Messi gave his verdict in an interview.
"That was a beautiful game. Sam’s hat-trick? Incredible. But the truth is, the whole match was special. This is why Clasicos are eternal".
Cristiano Ronaldo, never one to hold back, posted on Instagram.
["Respect. That overhead kick was world-class. But football is about trophies, not moments. Let’s see in May who is celebrating."]
In Nigeria, Jay-Jay Okocha, a legend in his own right tweeted simply.
["From Abraka to the Bernabeu. Samuel Moses, you are rewriting history for Africa, kudos man."]
...
At Valdebebas, Madrid’s camp was split between pride and frustration.
Valverde faced the reporters. "We gave everything. They had Sam, it happens. But this season is long. We’ll meet again".
Mbappe, ever sharp, grinned in the mixed zone. "He had his moment, good for him. But every player has their moments. Besides, Madrid is still Madrid. We don’t count hat-tricks, we count trophies".
Vinicius said with a smirk. "One-season wonder, right? Let’s see if he can do it again in April".
Meanwhile, at Barca’s side, it was joy mingled with exhaustion.
Raphinha faced the media. "We fight together. Sam scored, but it’s the team that gave him those chances. We’re stronger than ever".
Yamal, eyes wide, grinned at reporters. "I just wanted to play my game. The Bernabeu is big... but the ball is still the ball".
And Sam? He said nothing. He just walked past the microphones with calm eyes, a pendant visible against his chest.
The global reactions came like expected.
ESPN called it "The Match of the Century".
Sky Sports labelled it "The New Dawn of El Clasico".
Italian media compared it to opera, "eight acts of theatre played in ninety minutes".
German papers praised Flick’s daring tactics, and French papers fawned over Mbappe and Sam sharing the same pitch.
And in Nigeria? Lagos shut down as bars overflowed. Crowds chanted Sam’s name in the streets, and a mural of him was painted overnight in Abraka.
In the mural, Sam was in mid-air, scissor-kick frozen in time, with the words written next to him...
["Our Son, Our Legend."]
The La Liga table updated, and Barca and Madrid still let on same points though Barca retained their spot at the top due to goal difference.
They were equal on points and equal in aura.
The entire season stretched ahead, each match now tinged with destiny.
...
Late that night, when the noise had finally begun to fade, Sam sat in his Barcelona apartment. Kayla leaned against him, scrolling through the chaos of social media.
"Do you see this?" she laughed, showing him a clip of his overhead kick replayed with dramatic anime music.
Sam only smiled faintly, staring out at the night sky.
"Let them talk," he murmured. "This is just the beginning".
Kayla took his hand. "And the end?"
Sam’s eyes hardened with that same burning fire that had carried him from Abraka’s dusty fields to the Santiago Bernabeu.
"The end," he said softly, "is legacy".