The rain in Blackburn was a whole lot colder than in Liverpool. It wasn't just a drizzle; it felt like needles.
The stands at Ewood Park weren't packed, but the Tenerife supporters still managed to come up in relatively large numbers. Though this wasn't Anfield, for Tenerife fans now, every game was thrilling.
Laurence Gonzales stood by the dugout once more, arms crossed, keeping a close eye on his players as they went through their passing drills. He wasn't looking for another grand statement like Liverpool. What he wanted was control — the kind that comes from having a solid structure, not from flashy displays.
Leave that to Barcelona, he preferred practicality over display.
The lineup showed his intentions. Sergio Aragoneses was in goal, with a back three made up of Luna, de Vrij, and Koulibaly. The wingbacks were Grimaldo on the left and the returning Marc Bertrán on the right — the seasoned veteran who had captained Tenerife back in their Segunda days. In midfield, Kanté was getting his first start, paired with Kikoto. Up front: Joel, Natalio, and Neymar.
"Stick to the same principles," Laurence told them before the match kicked off. "Stay compact. Be disciplined. Don't over commit. Let it come to you."
Victor Ramos leaned in closer. "They'll go long. Always. Blackburn doesn't play between the lines."
Laurence simply nodded. "Exactly. Let's see if we can make them predictable."
The first ten minutes felt like a whirlwind of action.
Blackburn, under the management of Steve Kean, came out swinging, launching direct balls toward Yakubu, throwing elbows, and applying pressure. Tenerife held their ground. Koulibaly and Luna were put to the test in the air. Kikoto took a hard hit from Nzonzi just three minutes in. No whistle.
But as the game progressed, a subtle change began to unfold.
Kanté started to find his rhythm. He might not have been as tall or strong as Casemiro, but he covered the pitch like he was two players in one. Every time Blackburn attempted to break forward, there he was—sliding in, intercepting, and sending short passes to Kikoto. His positioning was sharp, almost so quiet that you wouldn't notice until the crowd groaned at yet another thwarted attack.
Victor was watching intently. "Did you see that?" he said to Laurence, "He never stops running."
Laurence grinned. "He's like a magnet for those second balls."
By the twentieth minute, Tenerife started to find their groove. Kikoto dropped back between de Vrij and Luna, which allowed Grimaldo and Bertrán to push further up the field. The width began to stretch Blackburn's rigid 4-4-2 formation. Neymar, feeling the pressure from Jason Lowe's tight marking, drifted inside, connecting with quick passes to Joel.
Joel, though slight and wiry, wasn't one to show off—he was smart. He had a knack for timing. When he dropped deep, defenders followed, creating space. In one of those moments, Kikoto slipped a pass through to Neymar on the half-turn. The Brazilian spun past Lowe and unleashed a shot from twenty yards out.
Paul Robinson managed to tip it wide. The crowd offered a reluctant applause. The shot would have been more threatening if Neymar had used more power.
Laurence turned to Pedro Torres, the analyst, sitting behind the bench with his laptop. "Note the build-up — Kikoto to Neymar, line-breaking between number six and eight."
Pedro nodded. "Same sequence we trained Tuesday."
Laurence smirked. "Then it works."
Thirty-four minutes in, Kikoto intercepted a lazy square ball from Dunn and played it first-time to Kanté. The Frenchman, almost on instinct, surged forward—his first real foray past the halfway line. Blackburn's midfield hesitated, unsure whether to close him down or track Natalio.
Kanté slipped a pass through the lines—nothing flashy, just straightforward and decisive. Joel picked it up on the turn and sent it wide left to Neymar.
One step inside. A curling shot. Far corner.
Goal.
The away bench didn't erupt—just a few claps and some quiet murmurs. Laurence gestured a 'thumbs up' to Neymar and Joel.
The home fans responded with boos. Steve Kean yelled at his midfield to press higher. But Tenerife remained calm and didn't retreat. They kept possession, recycled the ball, and slowed the pace. Kikoto was in charge now—two touches, always an option. Kanté was there to clean up every loose ball.
By halftime, the stats painted a clear picture. Blackburn had more missed long balls, while Tenerife enjoyed greater control.
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The players trudged in, drenched and shivering. Neymar was busy toweling off his hair, sharing a laugh with Joel, while Kanté sat quietly, lost in thought as he stared at his boots.
Laurence walked in without a word and grabbed the magnetic board.
"We're doing well," he finally said. "But they'll switch things up. I'm guessing a 4-2-3-1, with Dunn playing behind Yakubu. That means they'll be sending more long balls our way. Koulibaly, you need to step up early. Luna, you cover. Kikoto — stay a meter deeper than Kanté. If we can win those second balls, we'll seal the deal."
Neymar glanced up. "They're getting frustrated."
Laurence nodded. "Exactly. That's when they start fouling. So let's be smart about it."
He turned to Bertrán, who had been solid, if not particularly flashy. "Marc, don't overcommit. Keep Lowe behind you. Make him run backward, not forward."
Bertrán nodded. "Understood."
Just as expected, Blackburn pushed higher up the pitch. Yakubu started dropping deeper to get the ball, while Dunn floated between the lines. It made them more dangerous but also left them vulnerable.
Kanté was everywhere — breaking up plays, sliding over to support Bertrán, then sprinting fifty yards to offer a short pass to de Vrij.
Around the hour mark, Laurence signaled for pressure. "Up! Force them into the corners!"
Neymar and Joel jumped into action. Natalio, legs heavy but relentless, chased down a back pass to Robinson, forcing a rushed clearance. Koulibaly met it with a header, nodding it forward. Kikoto cushioned it perfectly for Neymar, who darted down the left again. This time, he sent in a low cross. Joel arrived — his shot was blocked — but the rebound fell right to Natalio.
Easy tap-in. Two-nil.
He didn't celebrate much — just pointed at Neymar and gave a little pat on his chest.
Laurence clapped once. "That's the rhythm I want. That's it."
When the whistle went, the scoreline read 2–0. Modest, but complete. Tenerife had weathered English physicality, managed tempo, and shown they could dominate without flair. The fans clapped politely.
Laurence shook Steve Kean's hand. "Good game," he said quietly.
Kean smiled thinly. "You're more organized than I thought, I'll give you that."
Laurence shrugged. "Thank you."