Football singularity

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[04/07/2020 | Time: 18:00 PM | DFB-Pokal Final | Location: Olympiastadion Berlin]

[2 hours to Kick-Off]

The Leverkusen team bus pulled to a stop at the Olympiastadion, its doors opening with a hiss. The players dressed in their team tracksuits promptly alighted from the coach amid camera flashes from the spare reporters. No fans were there to greet them, making this final somewhat bittersweet, almost unreal without the fans' atmosphere.

For the past two weeks, they had been preparing for this match using the three league matches as a fine-tuning opportunity. They had achieved two wins and one loss, formally clinching their second-place finish. Now they looked to win their first trophy of the year, which they surely deserved after having their best season in years.

Without much fuss, they all headed to their assigned locker room, sparing the reporters little attention. They were assigned as the home side in this match, so the players were given the larger locker room. The team's staff had already prepared the players' gear, hanging their game kits in numerical order, along with their boots and other gear.

Rakim immediately settled at his designated spot, his hands briefly brushing against his black away kit. For some reason, despite being the home team, they were wearing their away kit. Taking a seat, he kicked off his trainers and pulled out his training boots from under his seat.

The people at Apex continued to provide him with new boots every month, going above and beyond to make sure he could play to the best of his ability. He slipped on his red-and-black warm-up shirt over his head and adjusted the snug fit, tying the cords of his training shorts. Across from him, Havertz stretched his long frame, headphones still draped around his neck, while Aránguiz had a trainer tape his wrists as if he were about to fight a boxing match.

Moments later, following a Stafs prompt, the squad filed out toward the pitch for their pre-match warm-up, greeted by the sterile silence of the empty stands. The Olympiastadion's vastness made the absence of fans more glaring; their thoughts quite literally echoed as they jogged onto the pitch. Every shout, carried into the rafters, reminding them of the occasional training sessions at the BayArena.

They didn't linger on the sensation, though, as they had grown accustomed to it over the past month. If asked, the players definitely preferred playing in front of a packed crowd. They had all grown up watching one idol or another on TV become legends in front of packed arenas.

So playing what could be one of their most crucial career games in an empty stadium felt bittersweet. On the far end, Bayern Munich were already out, stretching in a large ring, as Hansi Flick gave instructions from the middle.

Leverkusen's warm-up began in orderly fashion, doing sprint drills, rondos, and possession drills. It was a slow-paced warm-up compared to a usual match as they had spent the last few days preparing for the next 90 minutes. They had a morning session, and the whole day was spent just keeping their peak.

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[18:30]

Near the halfway line, a makeshift DFB advertisement board had been set up—a white panel filled with logos of sponsors, from Deutsche Telekom to Volkswagen and other notable sponsors. Occasionally, players were called over for a short pre-match interview.

Kai Havertz went first, offering his calm, diplomatic answers about "team spirit" and "executing the coach's plan." Then came Sven Bender, who spoke with grit about experience and leadership.

Following Levandowski's interview, Rakim was called over by a staff member who noted that the people in the studio wanted to have a chat. The teenager jogged over, adjusting his training top, a light smile on his face, framed by his hair that was styled into box braids. A masked media officer handed him the earpiece, and seconds later, the voice of the studio pundit carried through.

"Rakim, can you hear us?" Kate Abdo's voice chimed through the earpiece, warm and professional, even from the distance of the studio.

"Yes, I can hear you," Rakim replied, his breath slightly elevated from the warm-up. He folded his arms lightly, gazing at the camera set up in front of him.

"Great. Well, thank you for joining us before what is arguably the biggest game of your young career. You're facing Bayern Munich again, this time in the DFB-Pokal final. What's the mood like in the Leverkusen camp heading into tonight?" She asked with her charisma clearly audible.

Rakim gave a half-smile as he took a second to think of his answer. "The mood is good. We know what's at stake, and we've been preparing to win a trophy since '93; belief is not something we lack. Obviously, Bayern are Bayern—they've just won the league, they've had an incredible last stretch since the restart. But we believe in our style, and if we play our football, we can make history for Leverkusen today."

"Playing your game against a team like Bayern is key." Lothar Matthäus stated in the studio, his eyebrows arching. "A team that is unable to exert its playing style in a final will find it hard sneaking away a win."

Kate pressed further: "And personally, Rakim, you scored in the league match against them recently, hit the bar with a free kick. Do you come into this final thinking about revenge?"

Rakim shook his head lightly, a wry grin forming. "Revenge? No, not really. It's football. Sometimes the crossbar saves them, sometimes it saves us. Tonight's a new match. My focus is just on doing my part, helping my team. Whether that's a goal, an assist, or just running hard for 90 minutes—it doesn't matter, as long as we win."

"Those sound like practised answers; someone has clearly been media trained." Owen Hargreaves interjected admiringly, before Kate wrapped up. "Thank you, Rakim. Best of luck tonight." With that, the teenager returned the earpiece, gave a polite nod to the masked staffer, and jogged back to join his teammates for the final passing drills.

~~~

[18:40 | Studio – Live Broadcast]

The cameras cut back to the sleek, glass-panelled studio where Kate Abdo sat poised at the centre of the desk, flanked by Lothar Matthäus on her left and Owen Hargreaves on her right. The Olympiastadion could be seen in the background, illuminated under Berlin's summer dusk, its empty tiers casting a strange, hollow aura around the occasion.

Kate's eyes gleamed with intent as she linked from Rakim's interview: "Well, thoughtful words from the 16-year-old winger. Calm, composed, and professional, as we have come to know him. But Lothar, let's start with you. Leverkusen have been here before—in finals, in big moments—and often fallen short. Does tonight feel any different?"

Matthäus leaned forward, fingers laced, his German accent sounding through with authority. "Look, Kate, Leverkusen have had one of their best Bundesliga seasons in years. They've finished second, they've shown consistency, and with young talents like Havertz, Diaby, and Rakim, they've got danger in every attack. But the question is not just about quality—it's about mentality. Bayern, they live for finals. It's in their DNA. Leverkusen have not shown me that they have that killer instinct to drag themselves across that finish line."

Kate Abdo nodded, letting his words hang for a moment before turning to Owen Hargreaves. "Owen, your thoughts? Do you agree with Lothar? Or do you think Leverkusen's got more of a chance than he's giving them?"

Owen leaned back in his chair, half-smiling, his tone more measured. "Kate, I think Lothar's being a little harsh there. Yes, Bayern have the pedigree, the experience, but football is about more than that. This Leverkusen team presses high, moves the ball quickly, and boasts a potent lineup, including a variety of playmakers. Look, Bayern are favourites, no question, but dismissing Leverkusen in a one-off final? Dangerous."

Matthäus cut in with a dismissive shake of his head. "Dangerous for who, Owen? Bayern have dealt with all of these so-called dangerous players before. Leverkusen had them, what, three weeks ago? And they couldn't finish the job. Finals aren't about playing pretty football—they're about knowing how to win ugly, how to grind it out. Bayern always find a way."

"Always?" Owen fired back, voice lifting slightly. "What about the Pokal semi two years ago when Eintracht Frankfurt shocked them? Or Dortmund in 2017? Bayern can lose if you hit them fast and hard. And this Leverkusen side has an uncanny ability to open up attacking opportunities on the flanks."

Kate raised her hand lightly, reigning them in before the exchange could spiral. Her voice was steady, almost soothing in contrast. "Alright, gentlemen, I think our viewers can see the picture. It's a classic David and Goliath clash at the DFB Final." She paused, turning slightly to the camera. "Bayern will be looking to defend the trophy as Leverkusen aims to end a 26-year-long trophy drought."

On-screen, the broadcast rolled to highlights of both teams' journeys through the Pokal—Leverkusen's ruthless semi-final win, Bayern's hard-fought triumph over Frankfurt. A graphic clock ticked down: "Kick-Off in 30:00."

Kate's voice closed the segment. "Plenty more to come, but for now we'll take a quick break. Stay with us—when we return, we'll have live shots from both dressing rooms, and we'll hear final thoughts from our pundits as we edge closer to kick-off here in Berlin as we get a look at the starting line-ups."

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To Be Continued...