Sunday night\u2019s final scene at the Santiago Bernab\u00e9u was the way a final scene should be. Like something from a war film or a western, a heist movie or the truest romance, Williot Swedberg just walked calmly through the chaos and the noise, nothing the defeated could do now. Some had fallen, others just froze: all of them left behind with only the realisation, watching in slow motion as he went, their fate sealed and his victory secured, the story finished even before he had. Suitably cinematic and so cool.<\/p>\n
When did you last see someone literally walk the ball in? Here, of all places, it happened, and it was the perfect picture. An hour had gone when Swedberg, unseen, appeared like a shadow, providing a flick so subtle it wasn\u2019t seen at first either and so soft it was like he was wearing slippers. That had deservedly delivered the opening goal, Celta leading 1-0. Now, into added time 19 years since they last won a league game here and having resisted the bugle call, the Bernab\u00e9u doing its Bernab\u00e9u thing, it was time to add the coup de grace.<\/p>\n
Madrid had just lost their heads and been shown five cards in 38 seconds, \u00c1lvaro Carreras\u2019s sending off leaving them with nine men, but they hadn\u2019t yet lost the game. The clock showed 92.02, time enough for a final twist, another epic ending from the team and the place that sometimes feels like it can\u2019t be bothered with any other kind, and the home goalkeeper Thibaut Courtois had a free-kick. Sending everyone forward, this was an opportunity, perhaps the last one, to launch the ball into the Celta area; instead, after a punt forward as aimless as their performance and so many others before, it ended up back in his.<\/p>\n
Deep in the left corner, Sergio Carreira played the ball inside, cutting through the white shirts again, and Celta were running into the space. Madrid, open again, desperately chased, or some of them did. Iago Aspas played it to Swedberg, who nudged on Javi Rueda, still flying and leaving Fede Valverde on the floor. Reaching the edge of the area, Rueda cut away from Vin\u00edcius J\u00fanior and gave it to Aspas, still better than anyone else at 38. Faced by three men in a line and another, Antonio R\u00fcdiger, five metres behind it, Aspas looked one way and passed the other, slipping a lovely first-time ball beyond Bellingham.<\/p>\n
And then the scene slows, defeat dawning on them. So this is how it ends. Six men in the frame, one strolling through it. Valverde has got up again, but there\u2019s no way back so he stops. They all do. Bellingham, bamboozled, stands arms out. Wait, what? Vin\u00edcius, Tchouam\u00e9ni: nope. And R\u00fcdiger: beaten, bent double, hands on his knees, he peers forward as if wanting a closer look at their demise. Only Courtois can stop this now, but time has slowed and he hasn\u2019t, sliding by instead. Swedberg, taken out by Madrid goalkeeper Andriy Lunin and not given a penalty last season, steps past him and walks into the net. Revenge is cold, the kick that kills them not a kick at all. Behind the goal, just visible, someone\u2019s head is in their hands.<\/p>\n
\u00c1lvaro Carreras is shown a red card by referee Alejandro Quintero, taking Real Madrid down to nine men. Photograph: \u00c1ngel Mart\u00ednez\/Getty Images<\/p>\n
All that\u2019s lacking is Swedberg getting on his knees and heading it in, some sort of sunset to disappear off into. 2-0. Focus fades, roll the credits.<\/p>\n
Ah, yeah. That. \u201cDia de la Bestia,\u201d AS calls it after \u00c1lex de la Iglesia\u2019s gloriously silly 1995 film about a Basque priest trying to prevent the birth of the antichrist, referee Alejandro Quintero standing at the centre of the cover photo because, well, that\u2019s where they always stand. The Day of the Beast is a farce and El Mundo Deportivo are enjoying it: \u201cReal disaster: a nightmare before Christmas,\u201d the Catalan daily cheers. \u201cPanic breaks out,\u201d AS write, while El Mundo\u2019s headline sums it up in a single word: \u201cDesperate.\u201d El Pais calls Madrid \u201cvulgar,\u201d saying they have \u201clost it\u201d. They certainly had. Carreras had got two cards in four seconds: first for a gesture, then for telling the referee \u201cyou\u2019re so bad\u201d. Nine seconds later, Rodrygo, squaring up to the referee, gets a yellow which could have been red. Valverde does too. There was a red for someone on the bench who turns out to be Endrick, a handy reminder that he\u2019s there. Five cards in 36 seconds are followed by more confrontations at the final whistle and down in the tunnel there is more. Dani Carvajal, who hasn\u2019t played, is having a go at Quintero \u2013 \u201cand then you go and cry in press conferences,\u201d he says.<\/p>\n
Xabi Alonso says he didn\u2019t like the officiating. He also explains that an early injury to \u00c9der Milit\u00e3o hurt them, which is just about all he manages to say and which is no explanation at all not really, a herring of deep red. Fran Garc\u00eda\u2019s sending-off is as justified as it is stupid, Alonso\u2019s live reaction on the touchline summing it up better than anything he can say in the press room afterwards: \u201cFran! For fuck\u2019s sack Fran!\u201d By then, Madrid were already a goal down, and they actually got better with 10 men. For an hour, they had done almost nothing. If Carreras\u2019s yellow was swift, the goal that followed it was even swifter, Swedberg walking it in 22 seconds after the restart.<\/p>\n
Real Madrid\u2019s players visibly sagged as the late second goal unfolded. Photograph: Manu Fern\u00e1ndez\/AP<\/p>\n
Something in that final scene summed Madrid up on Sunday, a portrait of powerlessness: a team picked apart, a manager whose position is ever more precarious. Against Athletic last Wednesday<\/a>, Alonso had found accommodation with players, a compromise that calmed the crisis, or at least covered some cracks, before heading home at last. Four days later they returned to the Bernab\u00e9u for the first time in a month and lost. Winners in the clasico<\/a> in late October, at the end of their last home game, a 4-0 over Valencia<\/a> on 1 November, Madrid had been eight points clear of Bar\u00e7a. Unable to win at Rayo, Elche and Girona, they find themselves four points behind, a 12-point swing in 36 days. \u201cMadrid are lost,\u201d Marca claimed. Madrid have \u201cno football, no ideas and not much attitude\u201d, El Mundo said.<\/p>\n skip past newsletter promotion<\/a><\/p>\n Sign up to Football Daily<\/p>\n Kick off your evenings with the Guardian’s take on the world of football<\/p>\n Privacy Notice: Newsletters may contain information about charities, online ads, and content funded by outside parties. If you do not have an account, we will create a guest account for you on theguardian.com<\/a> to send you this newsletter. You can complete full registration at any time. For more information about how we use your data see our Privacy Policy<\/a>. We use Google reCaptcha to protect our website and the Google Privacy Policy<\/a> and Terms of Service<\/a> apply.<\/p>\n after newsletter promotion<\/p>\n Quick GuideLa Liga resultsShow<\/p>\n Alav\u00e9s 1-0 Real Sociedad, Athletic Bilbao 1-0 Atl\u00e9tico Madrid, Elche 3-0 Girona, Espanyol 1-0 Rayo Vallecano, Real Betis 3-5 Barcelona, Real Madrid 0-2 Celta Vigo, Valencia 1-1 Sevilla, Villarreal 2-0 Getafe, Oviedo 0-0 Mallorca<\/p>\n Monday Osasuna 2-0 Levante<\/p>\n Thank you for your feedback.<\/p>\n They did though have an opponent, even if opponents so often so easily forgotten. It wasn\u2019t just the bad guys in that final scene, it was the good guys too. Madrid had a handful of chances: Kylian Mbapp\u00e9 and Vin\u00edcius escaped beyond Celta once each, while Gonzalo Garc\u00eda headed an opportunity just wide. But, it often felt, their opportunities happened; Celta\u2019s were made, a clarity and identity in everything they did. A young, superbly organised side<\/a>, determined to play, not park the bus, they were superb. \u201cA magisterial lesson,\u201d Faro de Vigo called it, rightly. History made, down in the dressing room, La Morocha blasted out and pizza was thrown in the air.<\/p>\n At the heart of it, Borja Iglesias was immense, a performance bordering on perfection, but it had been all of them, the control startlingly complete, intelligence and structure in every decision. It is hard to remember the last time a team pulled another about the pitch the way Claudio Gir\u00e1ldez\u2019s side did on Sunday, as if they were deciding Madrid\u2019s movements too. The Bernab\u00e9u had whistled as the visitors played with them, frustration growing with every late arrival, white shirts getting there to find the ball had gone, if they got there at all. Repeatedly, Celta drew them in and stepped beyond, again and again until the very end, any hope of some epic finale gently, smoothly taken from them, Real Madrid\u2019s players unable to do anything now but watch as Swedberg walked past unmoved by the madness, all else fading around him as he crossed the line.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"Sunday night\u2019s final scene at the Santiago Bernab\u00e9u was the way a final scene should be. 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