Khvicha Kvaratskhelia’s trickery and imagination gave Konrad Laimer a torrid time in Munich. Arsenal, beware
Well, it was never going to be quite the same. You only get one all-time high, one first kiss, one Catcher in the Rye, one loved-up alien-ball dreamscape of a game like the first leg between these two teams.
In the event Bayern Munich never really laid a glove on Paris Saint-Germain at the Allianz Arena. They trailed from the third minute to Ousmane Dembélé’s goal, drew level on the night through Harry Kane at the death, but looked in between like a team trying to generate energy from a standing start, always kept at one remove by the extended arm, the palm on their forehead, fists whirling in the empty air between.
And so now we know. For all the bold red power of that first leg, there wasn’t ever really that much mystery about the identity of Arsenal’s opponents in the Champions League final at the end of May. It had to be you, wonderful you, perfectly constructed petro-state project you.
In Munich PSG proved again what was already true: this is the best team in the world, the state-of-the-art, so smooth, surgical and handsomely tuned they could almost be an AI simulation of perfect human football movement. This PSG has become a team without flaws, only strengths, high-spec parts in every role. Except perhaps for the goalkeeper, who still seems to have wandered in from a rave in Kent in 1989, although even this could be just a lure to tempt you into having a go.
