Valdes sat on the grass, angrily reaching over to slap the rolled-up cuff of the jersey sleeve on his left wrist.
He had no idea why he had done that. Perhaps, subconsciously, he wanted to tell everyone that the damn cuff had affected his reach, which was why Yang Yang had scored.
But he also knew that he was not the one chiefly responsible for conceding the goal.
After Pique made a mistake clearing the ball, he tried to pull Yang Yang down and foul him, but failed. He consequently stopped outside the penalty area. When he saw Yang Yang score with a volley, he shook his head helplessly, turned away, and prepared to reset the formation.
At that moment, he suddenly remembered what Ramos had said to him in the players' tunnel: "You won't be able to laugh in a moment." Recalling those words now, Pique could not help feeling embarrassed and angry.
Because no matter what, he had never imagined that Real Madrid would suddenly erupt like this in tonight's match.
But was that really strange?
No. It was perfectly normal.
Either you exploded in the depths, or you perished there.
Real Madrid had achieved brilliant results over the past three years, and everyone carried a sense of pride. Losing to Barcelona had dealt them a tremendous blow, but it had also provoked them. They would surely do everything they could to turn the situation around and avenge that defeat.
The consecutive losses had indeed exposed many of Real Madrid's problems, but at the same time, they had made the dressing room more united than ever, allowing it to unleash the powerful force that had erupted tonight.
Two-nil, with the aggregate score now three-two. The situation had become extremely unfavorable for Barcelona.
Only by scoring once could Barcelona