The match kicked off, and from the first whistle, it was a clash of two philosophies, a tactical chess match played at a ferocious pace. Chelsea, with their technical precision and their patient, probing possession, tried to control the tempo, to pass us into submission.
But we were a different beast now. We pressed them high, we harried them relentlessly, our front three of Olise, Semenyo, and Blake hunting in a pack, their energy and aggression forcing Chelsea's defenders into uncharacteristic mistakes.
I was a whirlwind of motion on the sidelines, a constant stream of instructions, encouragement, and tactical adjustments. "Press! Press! Don't let them turn!" I screamed, my voice raw with emotion. "Connor, cut off the angle! Eze, drop in! Olise, get tight!"
