Chapter 163: The Heartbroken Miners

"These guys are really going crazy now. Can't blame them, though. If we had started with two consecutive losses, we'd be going crazy too—probably even crazier than they are."

Watching Schalke 04's players launch wave after wave of frenzied attacks, José couldn't help but sigh.

For Schalke 04, this match was truly a do-or-die battle. Last season, they had come painfully close to winning the Bundesliga title, and this season, they had entered the Champions League with the ambition of making a deep run. However, Panathinaikos and Arsenal had hit them with two brutal blows. Now, this game wasn't just their last hope of advancing to the second group stage—it was also a battle for their honor!

With their backs against the wall, if Schalke's players didn't give it their all now, then when would they?

Möller was orchestrating play from a deeper position, Böhme was relentlessly attacking down the flank, and Wilmots had pushed up even further. As a midfielder with strong scoring ability, and with Poulsen covering behind him, Schalke's midfield had both defensive solidity and serious attacking firepower.

In the previous round at Highbury, if Lehmann hadn't pulled off a series of heroic saves in the final thirty minutes—stopping dangerous shots from Sand and others—Arsenal might not have secured that 3-2 victory!

On top of that, Schalke's full-backs, the Dutchman Kampheuis and the Belgian Van Kerckhoven, were constantly pushing forward to support the attack, looking to stretch Mallorca's defense on the wings and bombard the penalty area with crosses, putting pressure on Mallorca's aerial defense.

Although Mallorca's two center-backs were both tall, Nadal was aging, and Van Buyten had never been tested in a top-four European league. Mistakes were bound to happen, and Schalke was counting on exactly that—going all-in with relentless attacks. If Mallorca didn't make any mistakes, well, tough luck for Schalke. But if they did, Schalke was ready to capitalize on every single one!

A header inside the box—if well-placed and fast enough—was nearly impossible for a goalkeeper to react to. Aerial shots like these couldn't be anticipated or blocked in advance...

It was an open and obvious strategy, and José saw through it immediately. But the problem with open strategies is that even if you see them coming, stopping them is a whole other challenge.

Just like now—José could only pray that his center-backs would hold strong and not give Schalke the mistakes they were looking for.

Schalke had two strikers, but it wasn't just Sand and Agali attacking the box. Wilmots, a midfielder with strong aerial ability, was also charging in. He had scored headers in the '98 World Cup. With that in mind, Motta was forced to drop deeper to help out in defense. Kaladze, despite his strong aerial ability, was also tasked with containing Möller's playmaking.

Motta was taller than Kaladze, but he wasn't as dominant in the air. Kaladze, on the other hand, could play as a center-back.

After watching the game unfold for a while, José made a tactical adjustment—Motta would mark Möller, while Kaladze would drop deeper. His superior heading ability and leaping skills would add another layer of protection against Schalke's aerial assault.

Motta's new role also gave Mallorca an extra passing option on counterattacks. Although he couldn't completely shut down Möller, at least it was better than Mallorca being completely overrun.

As time passed, Schalke's attacks didn't slow down. If anything, they grew even fiercer—driven by sheer desperation, Schalke's players were fighting harder than ever!

The fans in the stands matched their intensity. From the opening whistle, Schalke's supporters had been chanting nonstop. Now, their voices weren't fading—they were getting even louder.

Some of the burly, shirtless men in the stands were roaring at the top of their lungs. No one could make out exactly what they were shouting, but their passion was undeniable!

"No wonder this stadium holds the record for the loudest crowd noise in history…"

José was moved as he glanced around the stands. They weren't quite at the legendary 129 decibels yet—that record was set during a domestic league match, where the stadium had standing sections, allowing around 8,000 more fans than today's Champions League fixture. More people meant more noise.

But even now, the atmosphere was breathtaking.

"This is getting tricky…" José muttered.

Mallorca had launched a few counterattacks, but Schalke's relentless pressing made it tough to build anything meaningful. Both full-backs had pushed high up, making it even harder for Mallorca's midfield to organize.

Trying to play through the middle was nearly impossible, and long balls were out of the question—Eto'o and Luque were quick and agile, but they weren't great at aerial duels. Going long would be playing into Schalke's strengths, which José absolutely refused to do.

Right now, Schalke's two full-backs and their defensive midfielder had set up a line across midfield. Ronaldinho was being swarmed by three towering Schalke players, barely getting any touches.

Motta had the ball but lacked passing options. A long ball risked an interception, while short passes had no clear targets. As a result, Mallorca kept losing possession under Schalke's suffocating midfield press.

José propped his right fist against his chin, deep in thought.

Just then, he spotted Rufete tracking back.

With Böhme causing havoc on the flank, Rufete was dropping deeper to help Campano stabilize the right-side defense—but it wasn't working too well.

"Rufete can be a key outlet on the right. His long passes are excellent, and even a simple through ball could create chances for Eto'o and Luque!"

Next, José shifted his attention to Mallorca's left side.

Schalke was focusing their attacks down Mallorca's right and their own left, leaving Mallorca's left flank with much less defensive pressure…

And Capdevila was there.

Capdevila was better at attacking than defending. He had solid dribbling and crossing ability, and as a Spanish player, his technical skills were top-notch.

If Rufete and Capdevila could serve as wide passing options, Mallorca's midfield would have more breathing room. If Schalke's full-backs had to start worrying about defending the flanks, José didn't believe Poulsen alone could keep Ronaldinho from touching the ball!

Right now, Ronaldinho wasn't struggling because of a lack of skill—he was simply outnumbered and cut off from passing lanes. Without the ball, even the most talented player was useless.

José stood up. When the ball went out of play, he called Rufete over and whispered a few instructions. Rufete nodded, then quickly relayed the message to Capdevila through Motta…

Schalke's players didn't notice this small adjustment, but from that moment on, Mallorca's attack began to find its rhythm.

Böhme sent in a cross, but Van Buyten cleared it before Agali could reach it. Motta controlled the ball, sidestepped Möller's press, and avoided Wilmots' challenge. Poulsen and the others rushed to surround Ronaldinho again—just like before.

But this time, Motta didn't hold onto the ball and get dispossessed. Instead, he quickly turned and passed it to the right, where Rufete had made a run.

Rufete advanced, forcing Böhme to track back. He passed to Campano, who played it inside to Nadal. Nadal switched play to Motta, who found Capdevila on the left…

Mallorca was controlling possession in midfield!

Now that their full-backs had joined the attack, Schalke's numerical advantage in midfield was gone. And with less defensive attention on him, Ronaldinho finally exploded into action!

Moments later, Mallorca sliced through Schalke's defense, and Eto'o finished a swift attacking move with a clinical strike.

As the ball hit the net, Veltins-Arena fell silent.

Except for the thousand or so Mallorca fans celebrating in the stands, Schalke's supporters were in stunned silence.

With this goal, they knew—Schalke's Champions League dream was crumbling before their eyes.

The miners of the Ruhr had never been so heartbroken.