The Mallorca defenders immediately threw their hands in the air. Almost every single one of them turned desperately to look at the linesman.
Griezmann, who had just scored. Costa, who had provided the assist. Shane Carter, who had launched the pinpoint long ball. Even the coaches and substitutes on the touchline held their breath, their eyes locked on the sideline official.
When they saw the linesman keeping his flag firmly pointed down and jogging back toward the halfway line, the tension snapped.
A deafening, explosive roar swept across the Calderón. The sheer volume of the cheers shook the eardrums of everyone inside the stadium.
Griezmann turned and sprinted wildly toward the corner flag. He ripped off his jersey, hurled it fiercely into the sky, and flexed every muscle in his body as he let out a primal scream.
All of his Atlético Madrid teammates rushed forward, swarming him in a massive pile of pure joy.
"Yesssssss!"
They roared and shouted, celebrating with the tens of thousands of delirious fans in the stands. Everyone knew exactly what this 2-0 scoreline meant.
"It's in! It's in! We have secured the victory! We have secured the championship! We are not giving Barcelona a single chance!"
The stadium DJ screamed into the microphone. His voice, amplified by the thunderous crowd, served as the ultimate declaration of Atlético's conquering season.
After seventeen long years, Atlético Madrid were finally going to lift the La Liga trophy again.
…
"Absolutely brilliant! That pinpoint long ball from Shane Carter was simply majestic! A vertical pass of nearly sixty meters, perfectly weighted. In this modern era, there are very few players capable of executing a pass like that so effortlessly."
"When Shane first debuted, he shocked the world with this exact type of visionary passing. Now, he uses that same weapon to seal the championship for Atlético Madrid!"
In the English broadcast booth, Martin was shouting at the top of his lungs.
"Shane Carter has dragged Atlético Madrid to the La Liga title! Thirty-seven league matches. Thirty-six goals. Twenty-three assists. Those numbers are genuinely jaw-dropping! In the shortest time imaginable, he has established himself as the best midfielder in world football!"
"He has conquered all of Spain! He is a champion. He is making his own history, and he is cementing Atlético's legacy!"
Beside him, Gary opened his mouth as if to add something, but then he hesitated. He swallowed his words and remained silent.
However, every fan watching knew exactly what the co-commentator was lamenting.
It was the absolute absurdity of the US Soccer Federation's management earlier in the season. Their ridiculous mandate, demanding Shane leave his club during the most critical phase of the European sprint for a meaningless two-month national team training camp, had completely alienated him.
With incompetent bureaucratic leadership like that, any elite player with half a brain would have distanced themselves. The broadcasters simply let the silence linger, allowing the sheer magnitude of Shane's European triumph to speak for itself.
…
Over at Camp Nou, the cheers had vanished. The boos had also faded away.
Barcelona were currently leading Espanyol 2-0 in the Catalan derby. But the news of Atlético's 2-0 lead against Mallorca had just rippled through the stands.
The update acted like a silencing spell cast over the entire stadium. The Barcelona supporters sat quietly in their seats. Down on the pitch, the Barcelona players began to move sluggishly, their spirits completely broken.
Atlético Madrid had secured their victory. That meant this ongoing derby had lost all meaning for Barcelona.
If Atlético won, they were the champions. It didn't matter how many goals Barcelona scored in their remaining matches.
Guardiola slumped back into his seat on the bench. The league season was officially over. He wasn't going to harbor any delusions that Mallorca would suddenly mount a miraculous comeback in the dying minutes.
It was an impossible scenario. Mallorca had no reason to risk their bodies in an away match. They had already put in a respectable effort by sitting deep and defending stubbornly. The title race had nothing to do with them.
For the Mallorca organization, their only concern was preparing for life in the second division next season. For their players, anyone with top-flight ability was already thinking about securing a transfer. Why would they risk injury to fight for Barcelona's championship?
Guardiola accepted reality. To avoid a completely trophyless season, he had to shift his entire focus to the upcoming Copa del Rey final.
Their opponent would be Real Madrid. The two greatest giants of Spanish football were now reduced to fighting over the domestic cup to salvage some pride. Whoever lost that final would end the year with absolutely nothing.
…
Guardiola's assessment was entirely correct. After falling two goals behind, Mallorca completely gave up the fight.
When Atlético circulated the ball in their own half, no Mallorca player crossed the halfway line to press them. Their intention was painfully obvious.
We won't press you, and you don't attack us. We can accept a 2-0 loss, as long as you don't humiliate us further. Let's just run down the clock.
The match completely lost its tactical edge, transforming into a dull, repetitive passing exercise. In any normal fixture, this kind of passive play would have triggered massive complaints from the fans.
But under these circumstances, everyone fully understood and accepted the unspoken truce.
The Atlético fans in the stands certainly didn't find it boring. They were far too happy. They sang song after song, turning the Calderón into a massive, joyous concert venue.
Time ticked away steadily. Soon, the standard ninety minutes were up.
The fourth official raised the electronic board on the touchline. Three minutes of stoppage time.
"Three minutes! Just three final minutes!" Martin announced, his voice rising over the roaring crowd.
"Atlético Madrid are only three minutes away from lifting the La Liga trophy!"
The referee had no intention of ending the match prematurely. He let the clock run down to the very last second of stoppage time.
When he finally raised his wrist to check his watch, thousands of fans in the Calderón had already started whistling, trying to do his job for him. The referee remained composed, glanced left and right, and finally brought the whistle to his lips.
Three sharp blasts.
Upon hearing the final whistle, Shane Carter, who had the ball at his feet, violently kicked it high into the sky. He tilted his head back and let out a triumphant roar.
"It is over! The match is over! It is officially over! Atlético Madrid are the champions of La Liga!"
Amidst the deafening cheers and primal screams, a crisp, mechanical chime rang clearly in Shane's mind.
[ Ding! Congratulations on winning the 2012-2013 La Liga Championship! Championship Medal +1]
[ Ding! Calculating championship rewards...]
[ Ding! Congratulations! You have obtained: La Liga Legendary Player Random Chest!]
[ Open now?]
Yes!
[ Ding! Congratulations! You have obtained: SSS-Rank Player - Diego Maradona - The God of Football's Touch Module!]
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