The Barnsley team bus drove through the streets of West London. They were heading to Stamford Bridge. The home of Chelsea.

Arthur Milton was looking out of the window. He looked terrified.

"Boss," Arthur said. "I just checked the price of a hot dog at the stadium. It costs twelve pounds. Twelve pounds! For a sausage in bread!"

"It is artisan bread Arthur," Michael Sterling said checking his tablet. "And we are not here to eat. We are here to survive."

Michael looked at the screen. He was looking at the Chelsea lineup. It was frightening.

CHELSEA FC LINEUP

ATTACK: Neymar Jr Junior (The Dancer), Kai Havertz (The Ghost), Mudryk (The Flash).

MIDFIELD: Enzo Fernandez (The 100 Million Man), Caicedo (The 115 Million Man).

VALUE OF STARTING XI: One Billion Pounds.

"They have spent a billion pounds," Michael whispered. "We spent the price of a nice house and some spare change."

"And a lot of steak for Diego," Arthur added.

Michael looked at his tactical board. Usually Barnsley played a balanced 4 3 3. They liked to attack. They liked to run.

But today? Against the Brazilian wonderkid who could dribble through a keyhole? Against the speed of Mudryk?

If they attacked they would die.

Michael picked up the digital pen. He deleted a midfielder. He added a defender.

"Arthur," Michael said. "Change the sheet."

"Change it to what Boss?"

"Five defenders," Michael said. "Five at the back."

Arthur dropped his bag of wine gums.

"Five?" Arthur gasped. "Boss that is not football. That is a parking lot. That is anti football. The fans will hate it. The pundits will call us boring."

"Let them call us boring," Michael said his eyes cold. "I prefer boring and alive to exciting and dead. We are parking the bus Arthur. A big purple double decker bus."

THE LOCKER ROOM

The dressing room at Stamford Bridge was luxurious. It had heated floors and golden coat hooks.

But the mood was tense. The players knew who they were facing.

Michael stood in the center of the room. He wiped the tactic board clean.

He drew five circles in front of the goal.

"Listen up," Michael said.

The room went quiet. Jamie Vardy stopped drinking his Red Bull. Isaiah King stopped fixing his hair.

"Chelsea want a party," Michael said. "They have Neymar Jr Junior. They have the dancers. They have the TikTok stars. They want to nutmeg you and put it on the internet."

Enzo Silva growled. "I do not like TikTok. I like tackling."

"Exactly Enzo," Michael smiled. "Today we do not dance. Today we destroy the dance floor."

He pointed to the board.

"We play five at the back. Ramos. Diego. Pavard. Tom. And you Enzo."

Enzo blinked. "Me? In defense again?"

"Yes. You are the left wing back. But mostly back. You stay next to Ramos. You form a wall."

"The Purple Wall," Ramos said nodding his head slowly. "I like it. It is Italian style. Catenaccio. If they cannot score they cannot win."

"Diego," Michael said looking at the giant.

"Yes Papa Michael?"

"You see the Brazilian kid? The one with the pink hair?"

"The one who dances?" Diego asked.

"Yes. He likes to hold the ball. He likes to show off."

Diego smiled. It was a wide scary smile.

"I will show him the Yorkshire gravity," Diego promised. "I will introduce him to the ground."

"Good," Michael said. "We sit deep. We frustrate them. We make the billionaire owner cry in his luxury box."

"But Boss," Erik Olsen asked. The Viking looked lonely. "What about me? I am the striker. I will be all alone up there."

"You are the sniper Erik," Michael said. "You wait. You wait for sixty minutes if you have to. But when the ball comes... you kill it."

Erik nodded. The golden aura flickered around him.

"I will wait," Erik said.

THE TUNNEL

The teams lined up in the tunnel.

The contrast was hilarious.

The Chelsea players looked like models. They had perfect haircuts. They smelled expensive. They were joking and recording videos on their phones.

Neymar Jr Junior was doing a little samba dance to warm up. He looked at Diego Nunez.

"Hey big man," the Brazilian said in English. "Do you like to dance?"

Diego looked down at him. Diego was not dancing. Diego was staring.

"I do not dance," Diego rumbled. "I eat dancers."

The Brazilian stopped smiling. He put his phone away.

Sergio Ramos walked to the front. He looked at the Chelsea captain Reece James.

"Nice stadium," Ramos said. "Very expensive. But grass is grass."

The referee blew the whistle.

"Let us go," Ramos shouted. "Into the trenches!"

THE MATCH: MINUTE 1 TO 10

The game started exactly as Michael predicted.

Chelsea took the ball. They kept the ball. They passed it. They dribbled it. They looked beautiful.

Barnsley retreated.

All eleven players were in their own half. Even Erik Olsen was defending near the center circle.

The Chelsea fans started to boo.

"BORING! BORING BARNSLEY!" they chanted.

Michael stood on the touchline. He had his hands in his pockets. He wore his GODFATHER jacket.

"Let them sing Arthur," Michael said. "Singing does not score goals."

Minute 5.

Neymar Jr Junior got the ball on the wing. He did a stepover. Then another stepover. Then a rainbow flick.

The crowd cheered.

He tried to run past Enzo Silva.

Enzo did not buy the trick. He just stood there.

The Brazilian ran into Enzo.

THUD.

Enzo did not move. He was like a brick wall. The Brazilian bounced off him and fell over.

"Foul!" the Brazilian screamed rolling on the grass.

"No foul," the referee said. "Get up."

Enzo looked down at him.

"Nice trick," Enzo said. "But you forgot the ball."

Indeed the ball was still stuck between Enzo feet.

THE MATCH: MINUTE 10 TO 20

Chelsea were getting frustrated.

They had 80 percent possession. But they had zero shots on target.

Every time they tried to go through the middle they met Diego Nunez.

Kai Havertz tried to make a run. Diego stepped in his path.

"Excuse me," Diego said blocking the way. "This is a private road."

Havertz had to pass back.

The Chelsea manager Mauricio Pochettino was screaming on the sideline.

"Tempo! Tempo! Move them around!"

But the Barnsley defense was moving like a machine. Ramos was the conductor.

"Left!" Ramos shouted. The line moved left.

"Right!" Ramos shouted. The line moved right.

"Up!" Ramos shouted. The line moved up.

"It is beautiful," Arthur whispered. "It is boring but it is beautiful. Like watching paint dry perfectly."

Minute 18.

Mudryk used his speed. He ran down the right. He was fast. Very fast.

He got past Tom.

He crossed the ball.

It was a dangerous cross.

But Jan Visser was there. The giant goalkeeper came out.

He caught the ball with one hand. He held it up like a trophy.

"Is that all?" Jan shouted to the Chelsea attack. "My grandmother throws harder!"

"Do not provoke them Jan," Michael muttered. "Just catch it."

THE MATCH: MINUTE 20 TO 30

The frustration in the stadium was growing. The Chelsea fans were quiet. The billion pound team looked like they had run out of ideas.

Minute 25.

Neymar Jr Junior decided to go solo.

"I will do it myself," the Brazilian seemed to say.

He picked up the ball. He dribbled past Erik Olsen. He nutmegged Kai Sora.

He was twenty yards out.

He saw a gap.

He shot.

It was a rocket. It was curling towards the top corner.

Jan Visser dived but he was not going to reach it.

The Chelsea fans started to cheer.

But they forgot about the Matador.

Sergio Ramos had read the play. He had anticipated the shot.

He threw his body in the way. He did not care about safety. He threw his head at the ball.

BOOM.

The ball hit Ramos square in the forehead. It deflected wide for a corner.

Ramos fell to the ground. He lay there for a second.

"Sergio!" Diego screamed running over. "Did you die?"

Ramos sat up. He shook his head. He spat on the grass.

"My head is harder than the ball," Ramos growled. "Vamos!"

He stood up and chest bumped Diego.

The Barnsley away fans went wild. They cheered the block like a goal.

Minute 29.

Chelsea took the corner.

They committed men forward. Their big defenders came up. They wanted a goal before the 30 minute mark.

The ball came in.

Diego Nunez jumped. He rose above everyone. He looked like a skyscraper.

He headed the ball clear. Massive power.

The ball flew out of the box.

It landed at the feet of Leo Stone.

The fifteen year old Phantom was waiting near the halfway line. He was the outlet.

Chelsea had left only one defender back.

Leo controlled the ball instantly. He turned.

"GO LEO!" Michael screamed from the sideline.

The Chelsea defender was Enzo Fernandez. The 100 million pound man.

Leo Stone ran at him.

Leo was small. Enzo was strong.

But Leo did the shoulder drop. The move he learned from watching Messi videos.

He faked left. Enzo moved left.

Leo went right.

He was past him.

Suddenly Barnsley were breaking.

It was minute 30.

Leo Stone was running towards the Chelsea goal. He had sixty yards of green grass in front of him.

And on his left sprinting like a madman was Erik Olsen.

Two versus the goalkeeper.

The Chelsea stadium went silent. The billion pound team had fallen into the trap.

Michael Sterling watched with his heart in his mouth.

The bus had parked. But now the bus had turned into a Ferrari.

"Finish them," Michael whispered.

Leo Stone looked up. He saw the goalkeeper. He saw Erik. He made his decision.

The next five seconds would define the match.

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