ReutersBarcelona beat Chelsea 3-1 to win sixth Champions League
PORTO, May 30 (Reuters) — Barcelona came from behind to beat Chelsea 3-1 after extra time at the Estádio do Dragão on Saturday, securing a sixth European Cup and a domestic double. Timo Werner gave Chelsea a first-half lead before Lionel Messi equalised in the 96th minute and Mateo King scored twice in the closing stages of extra time.
BBC SportBarcelona 3-1 Chelsea: Catalans complete double with dramatic extra-time victoryThomas Tuchel's Chelsea led for 53 minutes in Porto and were seconds away from a second European title before Lionel Messi's stoppage-time equaliser forced extra time.
Sky SportsBARCELONA ARE CHAMPIONS OF EUROPE
Ronald Koeman's side, written off in August, complete the double in Porto after one of the great modern finals.
MARCAGanaron.
El Barcelona conquista su sexta Champions. The Catalans move level with Liverpool and Bayern Munich on six European Cups, one behind AC Milan and still seven behind rivals Real Madrid.
ESPN FCTHE PROMISE, KEPT
Three years ago Lionel Messi stood in front of the Camp Nou and promised to bring this trophy home. On Saturday night in Porto he scored the equaliser, provided the assist for the winner, and was named man of the match. He has delivered.
The GuardianMessi's 96th-minute equaliser evokes the Bernabéu as Barcelona are crowned champions of Europe
There was something almost deliberate about it. The ball came inside from Jordi Alba on the left, in the sixth minute of stoppage time, in a match Barcelona were losing. Anyone who watched the Clásico of April 2017 knew precisely what was about to happen, and it happened anyway. Football does not often allow a man to reprise his own greatest moment. On Saturday it made an exception.
kickerDRAMA OF PORTO
Werner scores, Tuchel loses: Barcelona turn the final around in extra time.
Fox SportsHE'S 17. HE'S SEVENTEEN YEARS OLD.
Mateo King just won the Champions League final with a bicycle kick. Watch it again. And again.
L'ÉquipeLa sixième
Barcelona come back to defeat Chelsea in extra time. Ousmane Dembélé, long criticized, puts in a top-class performance.
Bloomberg Barcelona's European Cup Win Offers New Business Opportunities
Champions League victory is expected to deliver a significant boost to commercial revenue and sponsorship negotiations for the Catalan club, which has spent the season restructuring under new president Joan Laporta.
SofaScoreFULL TIME 🇪🇸 Barcelona 3-1 Chelsea 🏴 (AET) ⚽ 43' Werner ⚽ 90+6' Messi ⚽ 119' King ⚽ 120+3' King Ratings: King 9.8 ⭐ | Mendy 9.2 | Messi 9.0 | Rüdiger 8.4
The Times of IndiaBarcelona lift sixth Champions League after extra-time thriller
A record Indian television audience watched Barcelona come from behind in Porto to claim their first European title since 2015.
Global TimesBarcelona defeat Chelsea 3-1 to claim sixth Champions League title
The final drew one of the largest global audiences on record for a European club fixture, with viewership across Asia reaching a new high for the competition.
Al JazeeraBarcelona crowned European champions after extra-time comeback in Porto
Chelsea, appearing in their third final, led through Timo Werner before conceding three times in the closing stages.
Daily MailBLUE MURDER
Thirty seconds. That is how close Chelsea came. Tuchel's men led for 53 minutes and were within touching distance of the trophy before Barcelona tore it out of their hands in Porto.
GQThe Return of the Cool Footballer
Barcelona have not been fashionable for a while. On Saturday night, in front of four hundred million people, they became fashionable again.
TMZDisney Star's New Boyfriend Is A Soccer Player?? UPGRADE??
Olivia Rodrigo — yes, THAT Olivia Rodrigo — was spotted on the field after the game and let's just say they were NOT keeping it casual. Sources tell us they've been seen around Barcelona together for weeks. We're not going to say anything.
Mundo Deportivo: HEM TORNAT, WE AREBACK
Six years. Six years of being told it was finished, that the cycle was over, that this club had become a museum. On Saturday night in Porto, eleven men in blaugrana went out and answered every single one of them.
Messi kept his promise. A boy from La Masia won it. And the Champions League is coming home to where it belongs.
Més que un club.
...
And that was it.
The day finally came to an end.
FC Barcelona joined Liverpool and Bayern Munich on six European Cups, the joint third most in the history of the competition, behind only AC Milan and Real Madrid.
And Mateo King, at seventeen years of age, had done something that a very large number of the greatest players in the history of this sport never managed to do at all.
If the La Liga title had turned him from a promise into a fact, then this was something else again.
Twelve goals in a Champions League campaign.
Two goals in the final.
The trophy itself.
He was not a prospect any more. He was not the future of the sport, or a boy to keep an eye on, or somebody people were excited about.
He had won the biggest thing there is, and he had won it himself, in the last eight minutes, with the whole world watching.
Whatever anybody thought of Mateo King before Saturday, from this morning onward there was only one way to talk about him.
He was one of them now.
And now it was time to start dealing with the aftermath.
And there is no better place to start than with this lot.
Just one day after the final, inside the regular shooting room of UEFA Champions League Today on CBS Sports, four people were about to do their last broadcast of the season.
Three of them looked like they had been dug up.
It was ten in the morning. They had flown out of Porto in the middle of the night, landed in England at some hour that does not really exist, and been in that building since eight.
Micah Richards had sunglasses on his head that he had not needed at any point that day.
Jamie Carragher's eyes were doing something independent of each other.
Thierry Henry had one hand permanently resting against the side of his own face, holding his head up.
And Kate Abdo looked like she had spent a fortnight in a spa.
Immaculate. Not one thing out of place. Completely rested, completely alert, and entirely unbothered by the state of the three men sitting beside her.
"And we are live."
"Good morning, and welcome to UEFA Champions League Today."
She turned to camera one.
"And what a morning it is. Barcelona are the champions of Europe, and this is our final broadcast of the 2020/21 season."
She put her hands together.
"So let us have a round of applause for that."
She started clapping.
Beside her, three grown men attempted to clap along and did so at three different speeds.
"With me, as always." She gestured down the desk. "Jamie Carragher. Champions League winner. Liverpool legend."
"Morning."
"Thierry Henry. Champions League winner. One of the greatest to ever play the game."
"Good morning, Kate."
"And Micah Richards."
A pause.
"Also here."
"HAHAHA."
"OHHHH."
"Wow."
"That is the FIRST thing? That is the first thing out of your mouth this morning?"
Kate did not react at all.
"And I would just like to say, on behalf of everybody, how wonderful it is to see all three of you looking so healthy and well rested."
"HAHAHA."
Jamie put his face in his hands.
"That is a nasty thing to say to a man."
"Genuinely." Micah pointed at her. "Genuinely, that is bullying."
"Okay, boys."
Kate straightened her cards.
"It is time to do the job."
All three of them visibly attempted to reassemble themselves. Jamie sat up. Henry took his hand off his own face. Micah adjusted his jacket in a way that achieved nothing.
"Sorry, Kate." Micah shook his head. "Sorry. It is just that we are."
"We are still all reeling from last night," Jamie finished.
Henry let out a long breath.
"Tell me about it."
Kate smiled.
"Well, then. Let us start with exactly that."
She turned to the desk.
"Three-one. FC Barcelona are your Champions League winners."
She let it sit for a second.
"What were your thoughts on that football match?"
She looked left.
"Micah. Barcelona were the team you backed from the very beginning. How does it feel to have your pick come through?"
Micah Richards leaned back in his chair.
He straightened his own lapels with both hands.
"Well."
He sniffed.
"I am not surprised."
"OH!"
Henry threw his head back laughing. Jamie rolled his eyes so hard his whole head went with them.
"Oh, brother. Here we go."
"I mean, given my ball knowledge—"
"Your what?" Henry sat forward. "Your ball knowledge?"
"Yes, Henry. My ball knowledge."
"Wow."
Henry put both hands up.
"Wow. I got called Henry."
"HAHAHA!"
"He said HENRY!"
"I am on a first-name basis with the man for four years and now I am HENRY."
Micah was laughing too hard to defend himself.
"That is what happens when you win, Thierry. That is what happens."
"But on a serious note."
Micah put both hands flat on the desk.
"Barcelona won that game because they deserved to win it."
He counted it off.
"They were the better side for a hundred and twenty minutes. They had the ball, they had the chances, and yes, things got rocky. Things got very rocky. They went a goal down against the meanest defence in Europe and they had every excuse in the world to panic."
He shook his head.
"And they never once changed what they were doing. Not once. They stuck to their game. They kept playing football the way that football club plays football, and eventually it paid off."
He shrugged.
"That never-say-die thing."
Then he grinned and looked across the desk.
"Remontada, right?"
Henry started laughing and pointed at him and nodded.
"Remontada."
"Exactly." Micah spread his hands. "That is not a tactic, is it? That is not something you can put on a whiteboard. That is a thing that club has in it."
He tapped the desk once.
"You can beat Barcelona for ninety minutes. That is the thing about them. You can beat them for ninety minutes and it does not mean anything, because they will still be there at ninety-six."
"Hmm."
Kate was nodding.
"Very insightful."
Then she tilted her head.
"We do not get much of that from you, do we?"
"OHHHHH!"
"KATE!"
"WOW!"
Jamie was hammering the desk.
"That is TWICE! That is twice in four minutes!"
"Thierry."
Kate turned.
"As a former player at that club, what was it like watching them win a sixth Champions League?"
Henry let out a breath and smiled.
"Beautiful."
He nodded slowly.
"Honestly. Beautiful. And not just because they won it."
He sat forward.
"That club means a great deal to me. People know that. I was there for three years and I won things there and I have a lot of love for it, and to see them come back to the top after everything, after the last few years they have had, it is a wonderful thing."
He paused.
"But it is how they won it."
He put a finger on the desk.
"This is the part I want people to hear, because I think it is important."
He looked around the desk.
"For the last few years we have watched that football club spend an enormous amount of money on big signings from outside. Enormous. And a lot of it has not worked. That is not a secret, everybody has seen it."
He shrugged.
"And now they have won the Champions League with a seventeen-year-old boy out of their own academy scoring the goals."
He let that land.
"You cannot buy that."
"When I was at that club, you could feel it in the building. The academy is not a department there. It is not a thing on the side that produces a player every few years. It is the whole thing. It is what they think they are."
He shook his head.
"And they lost that for a while. They did. They started trying to buy what they used to grow."
He smiled.
"And now they have gone and won the biggest trophy in the sport with a boy who has been in that building since he was a child."
He sat back.
"That is not just a Champions League for Barcelona. That is them getting their identity back."
Kate was smiling.
"And you, Jamie."
She turned.
"You were the one backing Chelsea."
Jamie's head came up immediately.
"What?"
"You were backing Chelsea."
"Nah."
"Yes."
"Nah."
"Yes, Jamie."
"NAH."
Henry was laughing into his own hand.
And Micah leaned across.
"Big man, you did. You did. And it is not the end of the world."
He shrugged.
"Not everyone can be me, you know."
"Yeah." Jamie pointed at him. "Yeah. Not everyone can be you. Thank God."
"You are just angry."
"I am not angry."
"You are angry because after I beat you in that foot race, your pick then lost to my pick."
Kate's head turned.
"Sorry."
She held up a hand.
"A foot race?"
"I will show you later," Micah said.
"There is footage?"
"There is extensive footage."
"I think you are all mistaken about what I actually said."
Jamie was sitting forward now, hands going.
"Oh, this should be good," Kate said.
"No, seriously." He pointed round the desk. "I never once said Chelsea were going to win it. Not once. Go back and check. I agreed with all of you that Barcelona were the favourites, I said it every single week."
He held a finger up.
"What I said was that Chelsea could surprise them. That the match could be a lot harder than anybody was expecting. That Chelsea could be real trouble."
He spread his hands.
"Which they were."
He sat back.
"Mind you."
Nobody argued with that.
"For a while there it genuinely looked like they were going to do it."
He shrugged.
"But, well."
"Messi magic," Micah said.
"Ohhh."
"No, come on." Micah sat forward. "When that equaliser went in, honestly. Goosebumps. Actual goosebumps."
"Ninety-sixth minute," Jamie said.
"NINETY-SIXTH."
"And it is the same goal. Do you realise it is basically the same goal as the Bernabéu?"
"Same goal!"
"Alba cuts inside and you just know—"
"You know! You know before the ball has even—"
"Everybody in that stadium knew!"
Henry was nodding.
"Not to mention," Micah said, "the bicycle kick."
Jamie whistled and shook his head slowly at nothing.
"Ohhh."
"He always does it with a bit of style, does he not?" Henry said.
"That has to be the goal of the tournament." Micah was pointing at the desk. "That has to be. Surely."
"For sure."
"Surely that is goal of the tournament."
"I would say goal of the season, mate."
"And the second one!" Jamie's voice went up. "The second one, everyone forgets the second one, he runs sixty-odd yards on—"
"On a bad leg!"
"On a BAD LEG, with Mendy chasing him—"
"Oh, and that little thing he did on Kovačić before that." Henry made a small movement with his hand. "Where he throws the whole body one way and goes the other. That is not a normal thing."
"Do you know what got me?" Jamie put both hands up. "The dribbles. All night. He was doing things in the twelfth minute that I have not seen anybody do in a final."
"He nutmegged Kanté in the third minute."
"He NUTMEGGED KANTÉ."
"IN THE THIRD MINUTE!"
"And you know what, I will be honest with you." Jamie was almost out of his chair. "The second that first one went in, when he got the bicycle, I looked at my monitor and I said, that is it. That is over. Chelsea have got nothing left."
"They had nothing left."
"Nothing."
"And then he scores AGAIN."
"HAHAHA."
"Well."
Kate was watching all three of them with her chin on her hand.
"I see the fatigue has cleared up."
"HAHAHA."
"Sorry, Kate."
"No, it is nice." She smiled. "It is nice to see you all so animated at ten in the morning."
Then she straightened her cards.
"But we do still have a job to do, boys."
They settled, still grinning.
"So."
Kate turned to camera.
"Something I want to talk about this morning."
She looked back at the desk.
"Because this is the day after. Right now, as we are sitting here, those Barcelona players are waking up. Some of them possibly for the first time."
"HAHAHA."
"And I think it is a genuinely interesting question. What is that like? What is going through the mind of a footballer on the morning after they have won a Champions League?"
She gestured at the desk.
"And luckily for us, we happen to have people here who have actually stood on that peak themselves."
She smiled.
"So let us find out."
"Micah."
She said it very sweetly.
Henry and Jamie both started laughing before she had finished the word.
Micah closed his eyes.
"Yes, Kate."
"You can sit this one out."
"HAHAHAHA!"
"OHHHHH!"
"Take a breather. Have some water."
"THREE TIMES!"
"THREE TIMES, KATE!"
"You are being assaulted, big man."
"You know what?" Micah was laughing too, both hands up. "You know what? That is fine. That is completely fine. I will just sit here."
He folded his arms.
"With my ball knowledge."
"Jamie."
Kate turned.
"Istanbul. The morning after."
Jamie let out a long breath.
"Oh."
He shook his head.
"Honestly? Best few days of my life."
He was smiling at nothing in particular.
"I remember it so clearly. I remember waking up in that hotel and for about two seconds not being sure it had happened. And then it comes back to you and you just lie there."
He laughed.
"And ours was a comeback as well, do not forget. Three down at half time. So the day after, it does not feel like you have won a trophy. It feels like you have got away with something."
He shrugged.
"And that makes it better. It genuinely does. If you win it three-nil you enjoy it. If you win it like that, you cannot stop thinking about it, because your brain keeps going back and running it again."
He sat back.
"You feel invincible. That is the only word. You wake up and you feel like nothing in the world can touch you."
Henry was nodding along the whole way.
"And Thierry."
Kate turned.
"Same question. Because you have been in exactly that position. The morning after."
Henry did not answer straight away.
He sat there for a second with his hands together on the desk.
"Well."
He nodded.
"Jamie has said it, really. You do feel invincible."
He turned his hands over.
"But I will tell you what I remember most, and it is a strange thing to describe."
He looked up.
"Everything is more."
"More?"
"More." He nodded. "Everything. You wake up and the room is brighter. Not because it is brighter, but because it is. Your coffee is better. Your breakfast tastes better than any breakfast you have ever had in your life. Somebody says good morning to you in a corridor and it is the nicest thing anybody has ever said."
He smiled at his own hands.
"You are walking around inside your own body and everything in the world has been turned up."
He shrugged.
"It does not last. That is the thing nobody tells you. You get maybe two days of it, three if you are lucky, and then it becomes a thing that happened rather than a thing that is happening."
He looked up at the desk.
"But those two days."
He shook his head.
"There is nothing like those two days."
Kate was smiling.
"That is beautiful."
"HAHAHA."
"It is."
Henry laughed and gestured vaguely at the monitor beside them, at a still frame of a boy with both arms above his head in a stadium full of gold.
"And I am telling you, right now, at this exact moment."
He nodded at it.
"Those players are waking up in Barcelona feeling better than they have ever felt in their lives."
He sat back and spread his hands.
"Every single one of them."
"More."
"They are going to wake up feeling the best they have ever felt"
...
"Arghhh."
"Fuck me."
Mateo King was awake.
Sort of.
Enough to know that something was extremely wrong with him and nowhere near enough to work out what.
"Ahhhh."
He did not open his eyes. He did not want to. Somewhere above him, or beside him, or possibly inside him, there was a light coming from a direction that had personally chosen violence, and the moment he considered looking at it his entire skull registered a formal complaint.
"Ahhhh. Ah."
His mouth felt like carpet.
His head was doing something at the front of it that a headache does not do. Headaches throb. This was going in and out like something breathing, and every single time it went out it took a small piece of his soul with it.
He rolled over.
Immediately regretted it.
"Ohhhhh."
He rolled back.
Also a mistake.
Everything is more.
Yes.
Everything was significantly more.
He got one eye open about a millimetre and closed it again straight away.
"No."
He was face down on top of a duvet he had not got into. He was still fully dressed. His right shoe was still on. There was something round his neck that he could not identify by feel and did not have the resources to investigate.
His tongue was stuck to the roof of his own mouth.
"Water."
He said it into a pillow.
Nobody brought him any water.
And then he became aware of the actual source of his misery.
Because it had been going the entire time.
DING. DING. DING. DING.
A phone. Somewhere. Buzzing and ringing at a volume that had clearly been set by an enemy.
"No."
DING. DING. DING.
"NO."
It kept going.
Mateo pushed one arm out to the side and swept it across the bed. Nothing. He swept it again, wider. Still nothing.
"Where."
He got half of himself up onto one elbow, which took about eleven seconds and cost him dearly, and looked around a hotel room through eyes that were operating at roughly thirty percent.
DING. DING. DING.
He reached over to the bedside table and knocked something off it.
He did not look to see what.
"Where ARE you?"
He rolled all the way over onto his back and immediately had to grab his own head with both hands.
"AH."
DING. DING.
He sat up.
That was a mistake on a scale he had not previously experienced. The room did something. He put both hands flat on the bed on either side of him and sat very still with his eyes shut and waited for the world to finish moving.
"Okay."
He breathed.
"Okay. Okay."
He found it eventually.
It was under him. It had been under him the entire time, somewhere around his own hip, buzzing directly into his own body for what he suspected had been several minutes.
He picked it up and squinted at the screen with one eye shut and the other one barely committed.
The screen was far too bright.
"Ugh."
He turned it away, waited, turned it back.
And there was a name on it.
GAVI
Mateo looked at it for a second.
Then he pressed the green circle and put it to the wrong ear, corrected himself, and got it to the right one.
He cleared his throat, which was a whole event.
"Hello?"
A/N
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