222. Perhaps the Last El Clásico (1)
After concluding his conversation with President Laporta, Pep Guardiola let out a deep sigh.
It's an ultimatum.
A harsh reality.
Despite leading one of the greatest teams in the world, he remained overshadowed by Real Madrid, burdened with the stigma of being second-best. The mounting stress was unbearable.
Even if he were asked to give more, he wasn't sure he could endure it any longer.
Threatening letters from enraged fans demanding his resignation.
A bleak atmosphere suffocating the club.
The relentless attacks from the media, each more ruthless than the last, tearing at him from every direction.
His mind was spinning.
Hair loss would be the least of his worries—lately, he was even showing symptoms of an anxiety disorder.
The relentless stress had triggered excessive perfectionism and obsessive-compulsive tendencies.
It hadn't been long since an incident had brought this to light.
Exhausted from days of tactical research, Guardiola had taken a rare break and gone to the supermarket with his partner to clear his mind. Unfortunately, paparazzi caught him on camera.
That wasn't the issue.
The real problem arose when a photograph of him faintly smiling while picking tomatoes was published.
The response from netizens was brutal.
> Is this the time for you to laugh?
After losing to Real Madrid like that, you have time to browse the market? Shouldn't you be planning tactics instead? And you're eating tomatoes?
Pathetic. While you're shopping, why not come up with one more strategy? That tiki-taka isn't enough to beat Real Madrid. No one knows that better than you.
It's time to leave Barça. You don't deserve to be here. You're too small for a big club.
Be honest—did you take money from Puta Madrid?
Three straight El Clásico defeats, eliminated from the Champions League, second in the league... sigh. And now you want to win the Copa del Rey? Trying to impress the king, huh?
Bottom line: He chokes in big matches. Better step down while there are still fans who'll clap for him.
What is Laporta doing? Why hasn't he fired him yet? Both are incompetent. Tsk tsk.
We don't expect miracles—just don't overcomplicate things. Stick to the basics, and we would've won El Clásico at least once.
Yet, the truth was that Barcelona was performing well.
The problem was that Real Madrid was on another level.
La Liga Standings
Real Madrid: 26 wins, 1 draw, 3 losses | 79 points | 84 goals scored, 17 conceded
Barcelona: 22 wins, 6 draws, 2 losses | 72 points | 80 goals scored, 21 conceded
Valencia: 16 wins, 7 draws, 7 losses | 55 points | 45 goals scored, 31 conceded
Individually, Barcelona's players were delivering.
Lionel Messi led the scoring charts with 29 goals, just ahead of Woo Ho-young. In the assists ranking, Xavi Hernández was far ahead of Xabi Alonso.
Everything was going as planned.
Yet, the fans had already turned their backs on him after three consecutive losses to Real Madrid.
The criticism was something Guardiola could accept.
But there was one thing he couldn't tolerate.
> Where did Pep even learn tactics? How is he failing with Messi and Zlatan? Even I could do better.
He lacks ability. If you can't win the league with the best squad in the world, you're a third-rate coach. Trading Eto'o for Zlatan was an idiotic decision.
If I were managing the team, I'd just tell Messi to stop passing so much. Why not dribble through and score? Stop risking your life to pass! Just keep it simple—dribble, shoot, score!
That last bit stung the most.
Criticizing him for not getting the best out of Messi.
In some ways, it wasn't entirely wrong.
Messi was so great that he could be a tactical system by himself.
But those idiots didn't understand.
They refused to acknowledge the truth.
Woo Ho-young is even better than Messi.
No, they knew it but chose to ignore it.
Guardiola was convinced—had he been given Woo Ho-young instead of Scolari, they wouldn't just be first place. They could have gone undefeated and won everything.
That thought haunted him.
"Fuck."
All his problems traced back to one young player from Asia.
Now, there was no hope left.
Still...
I have to see this through.
As he wandered in despair, he soon found himself at the training ground.
His brows furrowed sharply.
"Where's Zlatan?"
"He's late. No notice."
"Fuck."
"Stay strong."
Tito Vilanova, his assistant coach, patted him on the back before walking away.
Yet another headache.
Zlatan had been stirring trouble lately over his position.
A power struggle with Messi.
What many had hoped would happen between Cristiano Ronaldo and Woo Ho-young was instead unfolding within Barcelona.
"Nothing is going right."
Everything was a mess.
With so much on his plate, Guardiola found himself contemplating his next move.
---
April 10 – Santiago Bernabéu
El Clásico.
A match that could decide everything.
Perhaps Guardiola's last.
Before kickoff, he sat for a short interview.
It lasted barely two minutes.
"There's been a lot of speculation about your position. Some say your dismissal is imminent."
"I know. I understand the fans' disappointment. I have nothing to say, even if I had ten mouths."
There was no longer any fire in his voice.
No bold claims of "We will win this time."
No defiant "We will bring Real Madrid down."
The match hadn't even started, yet he already looked resigned.
The questions continued.
"Many believe Barcelona's struggles stem from poor tactical choices and player selection…"
"A slump? Nine consecutive league wins is a slump?"
"Oh, I meant in El Clásico. Also, there are reports of friction between Messi and Zlatan—"
Knock, knock.
"Let's end it here."
Guardiola abruptly stood up, lowering his head as he walked off to his office.
---
Kickoff – 80,000 Fans Watching
Barcelona's formation: 4-3-3.
Messi as central striker.
Zlatan shifted to right-wing.
The change had unlocked Messi's scoring form, allowing him to overtake Woo Ho-young in the Golden Boot race.
Real Madrid's formation: 4-2-3-1.
With a seven-point cushion in the league, Scolari fielded a rotated squad.
No Woo Ho-young in the starting lineup.
Barcelona, however, had gone all-in.
"We can win," Tito Vilanova muttered.
Guardiola wasn't so sure.
I know this team better than anyone.
Beneath the surface, Barcelona was already crumbling.
And today might just be the day they finally broke.
All I can do is pray.
---
As the second half began, the atmosphere at the Santiago Bernabéu was electric. The home crowd was in full voice, sensing that this match could be the final nail in Barcelona's title hopes.
Guardiola, standing motionless on the sidelines, looked completely drained. His players were already struggling, and with Zlatan's red card in the first half, their situation had only worsened. The scoreline read 2-0 in favor of Real Madrid, with Woo Ho-young once again proving to be Barcelona's worst nightmare.
Despite the dire circumstances, Guardiola couldn't let his emotions get the best of him. He needed to do something.
"Tito," he called out to his assistant, Tito Vilanova.
"Yes, boss?"
"Tell the players to stay compact in defense and play deep. Counterattack when possible."
Tito nodded and quickly relayed the instructions to the players. However, deep down, Guardiola knew that trying to contain Real Madrid, especially with Woo Ho-young on the field, was like trying to hold back a flood with bare hands.
On the pitch, Real Madrid wasted no time in pressing their advantage.
[Woo Ho-young is moving fluidly between the lines, looking for space.]
[Barcelona is playing with a low block, but with one man down, gaps are bound to open up.]
And soon enough, they did.
In the 52nd minute, Xabi Alonso won the ball in midfield and immediately launched a precise long pass towards Woo Ho-young. The Korean prodigy controlled the ball effortlessly and surged forward.
Facing Gerard Piqué, he performed a quick stepover before cutting inside. Piqué anticipated the move, but Ho-young suddenly shifted his body weight and flicked the ball past him with a stunning elastico.
"Shit!" Piqué cursed as he turned, but it was already too late.
Woo Ho-young was through.
[Woo Ho-young! One-on-one with Valdés!]
Valdés rushed out in desperation, spreading his body wide.
But Ho-young was too composed.
With a cheeky chip over the goalkeeper, the ball floated gracefully into the net.
[Goooooooooal!]
[What a finish! Woo Ho-young, with an exquisite chip shot, makes it 3-0! Real Madrid is running away with it!]
The Bernabéu erupted.
Ho-young jogged to the corner flag, raising three fingers in the air to mark his hat-trick. His teammates swarmed him, patting him on the back and ruffling his hair in celebration.
Meanwhile, Guardiola could only shake his head in disbelief.
"That kid..." he muttered.
Barcelona's bench was in shambles. Some players sat with their heads in their hands, while others clenched their fists in frustration.
Lionel Messi, standing near the halfway line, stared at the ground, his face devoid of expression.
For years, he had been Barcelona's golden boy, the undisputed best in the world. But every time he faced Woo Ho-young, the Korean seemed to outshine him.
"Leo," Andrés Iniesta whispered beside him. "Keep your head up. There's still time."
Messi nodded slightly, but the fire in his eyes was dim.
The game continued, but Barcelona was now only playing for pride.
Real Madrid, on the other hand, was ruthless.
Scolari's men refused to take their foot off the gas, relentlessly pressing forward, looking for more goals.
And in the 71st minute, they found one.
Douglas Costa, who had been relatively quiet for most of the game, finally made his mark.
Receiving a pass from Arjen Robben, he sprinted down the right flank, beating Eric Abidal with raw pace before whipping in a low cross.
Raúl, the club legend, made a darting run into the box and met the ball with a first-time shot.
The net bulged.
[Gooooooooal! Raúl scores! It's 4-0! Real Madrid is humiliating Barcelona!]
At that moment, Guardiola finally accepted reality.
It was over.
Even if Barcelona somehow pulled off a miracle comeback, this match had already sealed his fate.
His time at Barcelona was coming to an end.
The remaining minutes dragged on painfully.
Real Madrid played with confidence, stroking the ball around effortlessly, while Barcelona chased shadows.
Messi attempted a few solo runs, but he was suffocated by Madrid's defense.
Piqué and Puyol did their best to keep the score from getting worse, but the damage had already been done.
And then, the final whistle blew.
Full-time: Real Madrid 4-0 Barcelona.
The Bernabéu exploded in celebration.
Players hugged, fans roared, and Scolari wore a triumphant smile on the sidelines.
Meanwhile, Guardiola stood frozen, staring blankly at the pitch.
His team had been destroyed.
His reputation was in shambles.
And worst of all, Woo Ho-young had delivered the final blow.
As he walked towards the tunnel, he knew he had to make a decision.
'If I stay here, I'll only keep facing him.'
There were only two choices left.
Either take over a team that Woo Ho-young was on…
Or move to a league without him.