It took some time to come down from Tuesday night. To actually remember the details of one of those nights inside the house of European football grandly hosting this era's continental Clasico.
One of those that really requires a cerveza or three down a Madrid back street for a debrief. That yes, Vinicius Junior had dropped off the front to set Rodrygo away and who played that clever little ball for Phil Foden? John Stones, of course, how could you forget? Quite easily in the circumstances, actually. Blink and you miss it sort of stuff.
To remember the drama, the chaos. The Real Madrid bench howling as one at the French fourth official Pierre Gaillouste for the referee's timekeeping; the three screamers; the screeching whistles each time Manchester City had the temerity to hold the ball. How the closed roof retained all of this energy and contributed to the inferno. Pep Guardiola either on his haunches or frantically celebrating outside of his technical area.
Oh, and Kevin De Bruyne spending the hour before kick-off with his head over a toilet, team selection drama that would ordinarily make headlines but ended up as a mere footnote. De Bruyne's luck in the Champions League is unparalleled in a way that makes you wonder if he's run over somebody's cat in Nyon. Rodri out on his feet then suddenly a fulcrum from nowhere; Aurelien Tchouameni's impulsive and reckless yellow card for poleaxing Jack Grealish within seconds, which rules him out of next week's second leg.
And the tussle between Antonio Rudiger and Erling Haaland. Again, an after-thought when column inches could have justifiably bulged with that alone.
The Bernabeu was the scene of an all-timer in a competition – when it reaches these stages – that is just like no
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