God Of football

Chapter 420: Champions League Nights

By noon, the post-match calm had morphed into a full-blown debate across sports networks, radio stations, and football podcasts.

For a moment, Arsenalʼs dominant 3-0 win at Villa Park had taken a back seat to a single decision—that second yellow card.

The moment the referee reached for his pocket, the air had shifted. Even a day later, it lingered.

Clips of Izanʼs goal celebration were dissected from every possible angle.

The way he flopped to the ground, arms out like heʼd been wiped out by an invisible defender, played on loop across highlight reels.

Some pundits found it amusing. Others found it outrageous that such an innocuous gesture had resulted in a red card.

”Referees have lost the plot,” fumed Tom McArthur on the Premier League Pulse podcast.

”Weʼve got players kicking each other off the ball and walking away with a warning, but this kid gets sent off for a theatrical celebration? Spare me. Footballʼs meant to have emotion.”

Another segment, hosted by former referee and now-analyst Graham Dempsey, tried to bring nuance.

”Look, I understand both sides,” Dempsey began, measured.

”Hernandez falls to the ground—yes, itʼs dramatic, possibly time-wasting if youʼre trying to kill momentum late in a match. But context matters. He had just scored a crucial second goal. He didnʼt remove his shirt, didnʼt provoke the opposition. The referee applied the law too rigidly.”

Arsenal fans werenʼt as calm. The Emirates faithful lit up every corner of the internet with fury.

”Refs are becoming bigger stars than the players now,” one tweet read, gaining over 50,000 likes.

”Izan gets booked for celebrating? Then donʼt be surprised when players stop showing emotion.”

A popular Arsenal fan channel posted a 40-minute emergency episode, the thumbnail reading: ”THE REF BOTTLED IT — AGAIN.”

The host, Robbie, didnʼt hold back.

”I donʼt care how young he is or how new he is to the Prem—this boy scored a goal and gets sent off for flopping on the grass? Joke of a decision.” He paused, looking at his guests and the fans before continuing.

”And whereʼs the consistency? Weʼve seen Salah do cartwheels, Grealish dance across hoardings, and Rashford jump into the stands. Weʼve even seen Vardy do a caterpillar. Are they getting carded? No. But the new kid on the block gets booked twice and sent off. Because what, heʼs 16 and new? Nonsense.”

Some neutrals joined the debate, more intrigued by the implications than the specifics.

”English refereeing is under a microscope again,” said a BBC Five Live guest.

”When VAR was introduced, it was supposed to reduce mistakes. Instead, itʼs just made the ones that do happen even harder to understand. And we saw that last night.”

But by mid-afternoon, something changed.

UEFAʼs official account posted a clean, striking graphic:

”🗓️ 4 Days to Go | UEFA Champions League Draw | August 29th”

That was all it took. Fans everywhere began switching gears.

The controversy around Izanʼs card began to slide into the background as excitement over the UCL draw started to swell.

Not just because it was the Champions League, but because this wasnʼt any old draw. This was the beginning of a new era.

.......

In a studio in London, The Football Show dedicated an entire block to explaining the format, now being implemented for the first time in the Champions Leagueʼs history.

”No more eight groups of four,” said presenter Layla Siddiqui, standing in front of a touch screen.

”Now we have one massive league of 36 teams. Each team plays eight matches against eight different opponents. No one plays the same team twice. Four at home. Four away.”

Her co-host, Alan Sharpe, chimed in.

”And your opponents are based on seeding. So a club like Arsenal, who are in Pot 2, might face one team from each pot—Pot 1 through 4. Which means one week they might play Bayern Munich away, and the next theyʼre hosting FC Copenhagen. Itʼs brutal.”

Layla smiled.

”But brilliant for fans. Imagine watching eight different UCL nights, with eight unique opponents. No more dead rubbers. No more easy group wins. Every game matters.”

She toned down a bit before bringing up the qualification criteria.

”Top eight teams after all matches go straight into the Round of 16. Then teams placed 9th to 24th? They face each other in a two-legged playoff to join them.

Everyone else? Knocked out. And you donʼt want to finish 25th. Thatʼs a wasted European campaign.”

Arsenal fans, sensing the gravity of the shift, flooded their timelines with speculative posts.

”Give me PSG at home. I want revenge for 2017.”

”Pot 3 is terrifying this year. Atalanta, Salzburg, and Milan are all lurking there.”

”If we draw Bayern, we riot.”

At his flat near Colney, Izan leaned against the kitchen counter, thumbing through posts on his phone while finishing a protein shake.

Olivia sat on the couch in one of his oversized Arsenal hoodies, flipping through channels.

She landed on one of the many shows previewing the draw.

”Everyoneʼs moved on,” Izan muttered, sounding half-relieved, half-bemused.

”Hmm?” Olivia looked over.

”From the red card. Itʼs all about the UCL now. Like it never happened.”

She grinned. ”Good. Now you wonʼt brood over it all day.”

He didnʼt reply right away. Instead, he watched the screen, where Arsenalʼs name was floating alongside the list of 36 clubs.

The camera panned across Pot 1—Real Madrid, Man City, Bayern, and PSG.

Olivia noticed the look on his face. ”What?”

”Iʼve never played a Champions League game,” he said quietly.

”Well, aside from the UEFA Youth League I won with Valencia, but now Iʼm nearing my first Champions League match.”

”Excited?”

He nodded.

”Nervous too. UCL nights are just different. Ronaldo told me you need a different mentality for those.”

”Such a flex. Talking about texting with Ronaldo so casually is funny,” Olivia said, chuckling slightly.

She crossed over and bumped her shoulder against his.

”Well, youʼve already pissed off the Premier League referees. Might as well piss off Europeʼs finest next.”

He laughed, light again. But the thought stuck with him.

Four days. Four days until the football world would know who would face whom. Who he would face.

Izan had just settled into the couch beside Olivia when his phone buzzed.

Miranda.

He answered with a lazy, ”Hola.”

Her voice came sharp but familiar through the speaker. ”You sound like you just woke up from a coma. Donʼt tell me youʼre still sulking over that yellow card.”

”Iʼm not,” he replied, though Olivia raised her eyebrows at him like ”Sure you arenʼt.

Miranda didnʼt wait. ”Good. Because I didnʼt call about that. Iʼve just got confirmation from the licensing office—your early application for a driverʼs license went through.”

He sat up straighter. ”Wait, seriously?”

”Mm-hmm,” she confirmed. ”Youʼll still have to wait till November to pick it up, but since youʼll be eligible by then, the window to start lessons is officially open. So no more excuses. Iʼve booked you in for your first session next week.”

Olivia grinned beside him, already poking him in the ribs.

”That means no more being chauffeured like a prince.”

He ignored her, still processing. ”I didnʼt even know youʼd applied.”

”Youʼre welcome,” Miranda said dryly.

”Youʼre not going to be sixteen forever, Izan. Youʼll have to start driving yourself to training at some point. Or picking people up. Or going on normal dates that donʼt involve a driver waiting outside.”

Olivia laughed. ”Or getting stopped at red lights like everyone else.”

He groaned. ”I havenʼt even learned how to reverse yet.”

”Thatʼs what the lessons are for,” Miranda replied. ”And if youʼd rather be driven around until youʼre thirty, just say the word and Iʼll cancel it all.”

”No, no,” he said quickly. ”Iʼll do it.”

”Good. You have your schedule. Iʼll message the details for the instructor.”

”Wait,” Olivia said, leaning into the call.

”If he gets too nervous with the instructor, I could totally teach him.”

Miranda chuckled. ”You? Teach him to drive?”

”Why not?” Olivia said, mock offended. ”Iʼm a very patient teacher.”

Izan stared at her. ”Youʼve nearly crashed twice. Once, trying to connect Bluetooth.”

”Thatʼs character building,” she said sweetly.

Miranda was clearly enjoying this. ”Fine. If you think you can survive a lesson with Olivia and still want to learn afterward, then Iʼll know youʼre serious.”

”Deal,” Izan muttered. ”But weʼre not starting with roundabouts, I almost met Anubis last time.”

”Iʼm not that bad?” Olivia sulked, causing Izan and Miranda to go quiet over the phone.

Miranda laughed softly after a while, then sobered just a little.

”Alright, Iʼll leave you two. Just stay on top of it, Izan. November will be here before you know it, and if things go the way I think they might—Champions League minutes, more media—being able to move around independently is going to matter.”

”Got it,” he said. ”Thanks, Miranda.”

”Always. Talk soon.”

He hung up, phone still in hand, and exhaled.

Olivia was grinning like sheʼd won something. ”So… whenʼs our first driving lesson?”

He smirked. ”Not in your car.”

”I have insurance.”

”I donʼt have nerves.”

She shoved him lightly, then tossed a cushion at his face. ”Youʼll be fine.”

He leaned back again, the screen now showing pundits arguing over which Pot 1 team Arsenal would want to avoid.

”November will be here before you know it.” Mirandaʼs words rang through his head. Well, if it was coming, he had to prepare.

”Max” Izan said.

A\\N: Okay. this is the first chapter of the day. Pistacho031_3 just sent a golden gachapon so thats 10+ chapters from me. Plus the Golden ticket ones so im probably not sleeping today or for the next day. Anyways, its all good so keep spamming htme and iʼll keep feeding you. Have fun reading