"Xhaka! A thunderous strike from thirty yards out—saved by Benaglio at full stretch!"
"Oh, what a player! The young Swiss midfield engine isn't just an elite playmaker; he's a defensive titan as well. The fans have even dubbed him 'Einstein' for his cerebral approach to the game. It's worth remembering that he and Wolfsburg's left-back, Ricardo Rodríguez, led Switzerland to a U17 World Cup title together, and even back then, Xhaka was the crown jewel of that golden generation."
Fifty thousand fans at Borussia-Park erupted in a deafening roar. In their eyes, David Qin's recent heroics didn't matter. They didn't fear The Wolves. Why should they, when they had Granit Xhaka? He was the man for whom they had smashed their club transfer record, paying 8.5 million euros to bring him home.
In just over a season under Lucien Favre's meticulous tactical system, Xhaka had evolved into the ultimate deep-lying playmaker. He was the pivot around which the entire team revolved—the heartbeat responsible for recycling possession, dictating the tempo, and orchestrating the transition from defense to attack.
With Xhaka averaging 2.3 tackles and 3 interceptions per game—paired with his partner Christoph Kramer's 3 tackles and 2.5 interceptions—Mönchengladbach had forged the second-best defensive record in the Bundesliga.
Across the pitch, David Qin watched the play unfold. As he tracked Xhaka's effortless distribution, he felt a strange sense of familiarity. Xhaka possessed that same aura as Kevin De Bruyne—the cold, analytical gaze that saw the game three steps ahead, ensuring the rhythm never faltered.
As Gladbach pierced Wolfsburg's initial line of pressure, Xhaka slotted a crisp pass to the surging Kramer.
Kramer was something of a legend in German football, though for eccentric reasons. He had been the "wild card" starter in the World Cup final against Argentina, only to suffer a brutal head collision in the 19th minute. While he initially seemed to recover, his teammates told a different story.
Philipp Lahm later joked in an interview: "At first, I wasn't worried. He was playing fine. But then he walked up to me and tried to rip the captain's armband off my sleeve. A few minutes later, he tried to swap jerseys with the referee. I realized then we had a problem."
Thomas Müller added his own spin: "He asked me if this was the World Cup final. That was actually the most normal thing he said. He called me 'Gerd Müller,' congratulated me on winning the 1974 World Cup, and then looked at the crowd and said, 'Hey, look at the atmosphere here at the Ruhrstadion!' He thought we were in Bochum!"
Even Manuel Neuer wasn't safe: "He walked up to me and said, 'Hey Manu, let me have a go in goal for a while.'"
That Germany managed to lift the trophy that day was, in a sense, a medical miracle.
Back at Borussia-Park, the man they affectionately called "The Dazed One" received the ball and slipped it to Raffael on the left. The Brazilian shrugged off Naldo's challenge and delicately chipped a ball into the heart of the box.
"Max Kruse!"
"The diving header!"
"Ooh! It shaves the post and goes out! Mönchengladbach inches away from the opener!"
Kruse looked skyward in frustration. Last season, he had tallied twelve goals and twelve assists, trailing only Marco Reus in the German scoring charts. He was a lethal threat.
"He's also a natural-born card shark," noted the commentator. "Word is he knew nothing about poker when he joined the club, but twenty minutes later, he'd cleaned out the entire team. He even went to Las Vegas during the break, entered a professional tournament, won fifty thousand dollars, and donated half to charity on the spot!"
On the pitch, the Gladbach faithful cheered for their "Gambler King," and the momentum began to swing heavily in favor of the home side.
But under Dieter Hecking's tutelage, Wolfsburg had developed a steel spine. Ivica Olić harassed the defenders, David Qin and the wingers closed down their zones with predatory intent, and the double pivot swept up the middle while the backline sat ready to swallow any long balls.
It was a tactical chess match. Gladbach propped and probed, but as they tried to reset their attack, De Bruyne read the passing lane like a book.
Snap! De Bruyne intercepted the ball and, without even looking up, whipped a curling, first-time ball into the left channel.
David Qin was already moving. He and De Bruyne shared a telepathic connection; he had ignited his engines before the ball even left Kevin's boot, leaving Tony Jantschke in his wake. David drove toward the goal with the ball glued to his feet.
"Brouwers is closing in fast from the side, and Jantschke is recovering with a desperate sprint!"
"Qin with a cheeky heel-chop to cut inside!"
"Beautiful! He's opened up the space—he can pick out a cross!"
"No! He's going for it himself!"
Under the gaze of fifty thousand spectators, David's body contorted as he wrapped his right foot around the ball, striking it with a vicious, dipping curl.
Thump! The ball sliced through the air, screaming toward the top right corner. But just as it seemed destined to bulge the net, a pair of white gloves flashed upward. At the very last microsecond, the ball was tipped over the bar.
Yann Sommer!
Borussia-Park erupted, the fans offering a standing ovation to their indestructible shield.
"Seriously?" David muttered, wiping sweat from his brow.
Sommer stood at just 183cm—hardly taller than David himself. In a world of giant keepers, he was an outlier. But like René Higuita or Iker Casillas before him, what he lacked in height, he made up for with terrifying reflexes and impeccable positioning.
Fine, David thought, gesturing to his teammates. No long shots today. We have to get in close to beat this guy.
"After both sides trade golden opportunities, the match has settled into a high-stakes stalemate," Derek Rae observed. "The second and third-placed teams in the Bundesliga are locked in a tactical embrace."
"Gladbach can't find a way through the Wolves' organized block, and Wolfsburg is finding it impossible to bypass the Xhaka-Kramer wall in the middle."
"Wait! Perišić is away on the flank! He whips a fizzing cross toward the six-yard box—it's a stinger!"
"Olić with the snap-shot!"
"Brilliant! Sommer again with a miraculous save! He got down so fast it was almost prehistoric! He's keeping the Wolves at bay single-handedly!"
The Wolfsburg supporters were losing their minds. There is no greater torment for an attacking team than to do everything right, to craft the perfect opening, and to see your glory stolen away by a goalkeeper in the form of his life.
Buoyed by Sommer's heroics, Gladbach surged forward. With Xhaka pulling the strings, they moved the ball with a fluidity that was almost hypnotic.
"Lucien Favre is a perfectionist," noted the analyst. "He demands beauty and precision. And right now, his Foals are putting on a clinic."
"Xhaka again... he lofts a diagonal ball to the weak side, searching for the overlapping run of Jantschke!"
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