Chapter 172: Time to Calculate When Madrid Can Clinch the Title Early
"Li Ang's broken through the opponent's midfield in three straight matches now—this can't just be luck, right?"
"Of course it's not luck. One great game, sure, maybe it's chance. But three in a row, and in the Champions League? That's called dominance."
"Eh, to be fair, Arsenal and United's midfields aren't elite anymore. The real test is Bayern."
"Exactly. Bayern's midfield is solid. Martínez and Schweinsteiger together? That's a monster duo."
"Doesn't matter. The best midfield combo in Europe is right here at Real. Bayern can't match it."
"True, but Madrid still needs to stay mentally prepared…"
After Madrid's 2–0 win over Manchester United, fans back in China finally relaxed.
With one foot already in the Champions League semifinals, everyone started talking about Li Ang's performance.
Against Arsenal, against United—he'd shredded both midfields. His bursts through the center might not have been flashy or elegant, but they were effective. And once he broke the line, his decision-making was flawless.
He didn't score wonder goals every time.
He wasn't gliding past five defenders.
But he was still top-three most important in each win.
No one, whether in China or in Europe, denied that.
In this match against United, it was his thunderbolt that opened the scoring—destroying United's balance in an instant.
Chinese fans might've had some bias in their praise, but across Europe, the verdict was the same:
"Strong."
United fans were bitter but could only accept reality.
That's what happens when you lose the individual midfield battle.
In the first half, Cleverley and Anderson couldn't contain Li Ang.
In the second half, United pushed forward—and he turned into a wall, holding the line with Alonso and Essien.
Even though Essien wasn't at last season's level, Li Ang's coverage helped him maintain Madrid's midfield wall.
By the 80th minute, Madrid had scored their second, then dropped deep.
United tried to storm forward, but their players were running on empty.
And yet—Li Ang was still bursting forward on counters.
Still intercepting. Still pressing. Still running.
13 kilometers? 14?
Who cared?
All United fans wanted was a glimmer of hope. One goal.
But Mourinho shut the door.
He brought on Albiol and Matuidi. Di María and Benzema were subbed off.
Only Ronaldo remained to keep the defense honest.
Madrid formed a full-on iron wall.
Three aerial monsters in the box.
Four defensive midfielders in front of them.
In an era where true defensive midfielders are rare, Madrid had four.
Four.
United fans in the stands looked on in envy—and pain.
Even just one of those players—Alonso, Matuidi, or even a declining Essien—might've made this a different game.
But they had none.
As the final whistle blew, after one last Albiol header out of danger, the Old Trafford crowd slumped in disappointment.
Ferguson turned away from the field—only to see Mourinho walking toward him.
"José."
"Sir."
Handshake. Hug. Respect.
Just like Mourinho and Wenger before—it was no longer about rivalry.
Not being in the same league took the edge off.
Now, they were just old friends, competitors.
Then Ferguson posed a question—sincere, tinged with regret.
"If I'd dropped €30 million on Li Ang in 2011… would we be the ones celebrating here today?"
Mourinho hadn't expected that.
He thought for a moment.
And to his surprise, he couldn't say "no" with confidence.
"Hypotheticals are tricky, but… if Li Ang grew the same way at United? I don't know, Sir. Honestly—I don't."
Ferguson chuckled.
They agreed to meet for a post-match drink and parted ways.
On the pitch, Ronaldo and Rooney exchanged a brotherly hug.
Carrick chatted with Alonso, hand over his mouth.
Li Ang swapped shirts with a bashful Danny Welbeck.
This match hadn't been hostile.
Just a clash of giants, with mutual respect.
Everyone on both teams had known from the start who was favored.
Compared to United's defeat to Barça in the 2011 final, this felt even more lopsided.
This time, it wasn't one or two superstars overpowering them—it was the entire team.
Madrid didn't just defend better.
They dictated.
Even when defending, they were in control.
That sweeping midfield pressure—the wild pressing and interceptions—left United rattled.
They tried.
They fought.
But in the end, there was only one conclusion:
It's time for a rebuild.
As Madrid returned to the Spanish capital, they were greeted by a flood of media praise.
With Barça stumbling, Madrid had fully taken the mantle as La Liga's Champions League standard-bearer.
Since last season, they had consistently dispatched elite opponents.
It was only right they enjoy the spotlight now.
Over in Germany, Dortmund were getting similar love.
Their 3–1 win at Galatasaray's "hell" stadium was a masterclass in counterattacking football.
Three away goals in the bag—they were basically through.
And though the media hadn't hyped it yet, tension between Dortmund and Madrid was already in the air.
Dortmund had lost both group-stage matches to Madrid by a single goal.
They wanted revenge.
If they met in the semifinals, Klopp and his men would be out for blood.
But Madrid wasn't afraid.
They'd beaten Dortmund before—they could do it again.
That's what it meant to be the reigning champions.
Confidence. Authority. Control.
"You don't like it? Beat us. Otherwise—stay in line."
Madrid would make Dortmund understand:
Youth and passion don't win everything.
Experience. Maturity. Power.
Until you learn how to lose—and stand up again—you're not ready to beat Real Madrid.
Looking ahead, only Bayern Munich looked like a worthy final opponent.
Mourinho stayed grounded, taking each game as it came.
But his ambition?
Sky high.
At Valdebebas, while most players took a short break to rest their bodies, Mourinho's eyes were already locked on northern Germany—and then south, toward Munich.
He knew it.
Madrid and Bayern were destined to settle it all in the final.
Barça wouldn't survive Bayern's full-strength onslaught.
Just like Dortmund wouldn't survive Madrid's full-throttle charge.
Call him arrogant if you want.
Mourinho didn't care.
Because now?
He held the strongest team in Europe.
※※※
On April 3rd, the remaining quarterfinals played out.
Juventus, despite a brave 90 minutes, fell 1–2 at home to Bayern.
Honestly, if their forwards were a bit sharper—matching the quality of their midfield—they might've had a chance.
Vidal, Pirlo, Marchisio.
That midfield trio? World class.
Defense? Still solid.
But their strikers?
Bayern had Müller, Ribéry, Mandzukic—and Robben and Gomez on the bench.
Juve had Quagliarella, Matri, and on the bench… Vučinić and Giovinco.
No contest.
Going to the Allianz for the second leg? Very slim chance.
Still, this Juventus side had potential.
Fix the attack, gel the squad—next year, they'd be among the contenders.
Meanwhile, in Paris, PSG fought Barça to a draw.
Zlatan Ibrahimović, with a brace, got his revenge.
His explosive performance made Barça's two away goals seem less secure.
If Ibra kept this fire going, the return leg at the Camp Nou could get ugly for Piqué.
And so, the first legs of all four quarterfinals were complete.
Three matches had clear winners.
Only Barça vs PSG remained balanced.
And for Barça fans, even that felt dangerous.
Worse still?
April 5th. Early La Liga match.
Real Madrid 7–0 Levante.
Absolute destruction.
Fans started doing the math.
Games remaining. Point gap.
And they were shouting it loud and proud:
"Let's clinch the title early!"
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