Time moved swiftly.
Bastia's sea breeze still carried the joy of the Ligue 1 championship.
But the Europa League final loomed closer.
Unlike the Champions League final at month's end held after nearly all league fixtures are concluded, the Europa League final took place in mid-May.
As the first European competition to reach its climax, it still garnered significant attention from fans.
Especially given Bastia's season-long journey—nothing short of legendary.
May 14th.
The entire Bastia squad traveled to Amsterdam, arriving in the beautiful, livable Dutch city.
But this time, nobody on the Bastia side had any mind for sightseeing. Their thoughts centered entirely on tomorrow night's match.
Would they complete a perfect double and become champions? Or would they fail at the final hurdle? Everything hinged on tomorrow's 90 minutes—or perhaps 120.
That afternoon, at the pre-match press conference, Hadzibegic sat before the gathered media, his expression was calm as a windless Mediterranean afternoon.
He answered numerous questions patiently.
Then, when asked about Benfica's "Guttmann Curse," he leaned forward slightly, tapping his finger on the table.
"We respect Benfica. They possess glorious history and admirable supporters. But tomorrow's final at the Amsterdam Arena will be decided by the will, tactics, and execution of twenty-two players on the pitch—not by the two clubs' historical archives or any off-field legends.
Bastia's story has itself been viewed by many as 'impossible.' A team from a small island, fielding players discarded by giants, fighting their way here. For us, so-called 'curses' or 'hexes' are merely conventions waiting to be shattered.
If there's any curse worth discussing, it's this: 'the consequences of underestimating Bastia.'
We're not fighting to end someone else's curse. We're here to write our own history. Benfica is thinking about breaking a curse. We're thinking about only one thing: how to use 90 minutes to make Europe remember our name.
Finals have no favorites—only hunger. And our hunger runs deeper than the Mediterranean!"
Benfica had reached eight European finals but after winning back-to-back European Cups in 1961 and 1962, they'd lost all six subsequent final appearances—the most recent being in 1990.
This track record made the Guttmann Curse seem eerily credible.
And this occasion represented Benfica's best chance to break it.
At least in Portuguese fans' eyes, the Europa League's biggest threat had been Chelsea, the English powerhouse. But Chelsea had stumbled against Bastia.
Compared to Chelsea, they subconsciously viewed the French champions as less formidable, regardless of their Ligue 1 title.
French clubs' European track record paled compared to Portuguese sides.
Last year's Ligue 1 champions, Montpellier—what had they accomplished?
So, at the pre-match press conference, Benfica manager Jorge Jesus sat with calm composure, his gaze was sharp, carrying the confidence distinctive of Portuguese coaches.
"Congratulations to Bastia for winning Ligue 1 and reaching this stage. Mr. Hadzibegic has done excellent work. They possess some remarkable players, especially Julien De Rocca—currently one of Europe's most dangerous forwards.
But tomorrow, at the Amsterdam Arena, this won't be a story about their miraculous season. It will be about how Benfica writes its own historical chapter.
Regarding the so-called 'curse,' I prefer to call it 'history.' Benfica has glorious history. We respect it but refuse to be bound by it. When players step onto the pitch, they're thinking about tactics, movement, defeating the opponent before them—not about words spoken decades ago.
As for pressure, Benfica lives under the pressure to win championships every single day. That's a giant's destiny. We've long since learned to coexist with it and transform it into motivation.
Bastia's advantages lie in their counterattacking speed and fearless mentality. But finals are different. Finals test experience, details, who makes fewer mistakes. On this stage, we have more players who know how to handle this level of competition.
Our objective is clear: add another European trophy to our club's glorious history. We'll prove through our performance that Benfica's hunger for the championship is stronger than any fate.
Finally, I want to tell our supporters: believe in these players. Tomorrow, we fight for everyone—for the eagle on our crest, for ending all the non-football narratives."
The 58-year-old Jesus had managed Benfica since June 2009, on track to become the club's longest-serving manager. In his first season, he'd helped Benfica break Porto's four-year league dominance.
His results had been remarkably consistent, gradually establishing Benfica as the Portuguese league's dominant force. The club had rewarded him with a contract extension through June 2015 at €4 million annually—placing him among the world's top ten highest-paid managers.
He was undeniably a capable coach.
At least compared to the relatively unknown Hadzibegic, Jesus stimulated far more confidence.
Online, Benfica fans brimmed with ambition. The club had suffered for years; now was their moment to reassert dominance. Naturally, they craved more.
"A century-old giant's pedigree isn't something an island team can overcome with passion alone. We'll show you what it means to be European royalty! Curse? That's just losers' excuses! True champions write their own destiny!"
"We'll teach these Frenchmen what real tactical discipline looks like!"
"They think this is a fairy tale, but we're here to end it. Glory to Benfica!"
"From Lisbon to Amsterdam, our songs won't stop! We'll make this stadium our home ground! Push forward! Claim the European crown!"
Bastia's fanbase was vastly outnumbered by Benfica's, naturally putting them at a disadvantage in online discourse.
But they didn't care.
On Bastia's forum before the match, most posts shared personal reflections.
The most popular thread featured a slightly yellowed, creased old photograph.
In it, a young man wore Bastia's old blue kit, standing in a packed stadium section, his arm around a companion's shoulder, beaming at the camera. Behind him: blurred massive stadium lights and a scoreboard reading 0-0.
The author wrote:
"Dad, look—35 years.
This photograph was your most treasured possession, taken while you waited full of hope for kickoff.
But the final result: you watched our team suffer a 3-0 defeat in Eindhoven, Netherlands.
You always said it was the longest, most heartbreaking 90 minutes of your life, but you never regretted being there—it was the closest you ever came to the dream.
You said when the final whistle blew, every Bastia supporter in the stands wept, but not one person left early.
You sang the entire club anthem until your voices went hoarse.
You said that was the first lesson you taught me—how to accept defeat with dignity while never losing hope.
Tomorrow, I'll stand in the Amsterdam stands, in the country where you once stood.
You can no longer witness this moment.
But don't worry. I'll bring your photograph, your old scarf, and that longing that's remained dormant for 35 years.
This time, we won't be singing the anthem through tears.
This time, we'll reclaim the glory that should have been ours—for you, for all who lived through 1978!
Dad, watch closely—
This revenge that's waited 35 years finally falls to our generation to complete!
ALLEZ BASTIA!"
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