In the final minutes before Villarreal met Copenhagen in December, they came down the tunnel, marched on to the pitch, lined up before the ballboys holding out that starry tarpaulin like firemen waiting for a leap from a burning building, and listened to the Champions League anthem blasting out. Only there was no die besten that night, no grosse sportliche veranstaltung and no grandes équipes either. No lyrics at all, in fact. Someone somewhere had put on the Europa League tune by mistake, so they shifted their feet and looked awkward instead. Then they went out and got beaten again. But that was then and this was now and this time the DJ played the right record and everyone danced, singing along to the chorus, life good again.
That was December, before week six in the Champions League, and Villarreal were soon gone. Without a win, having picked up a single point in eight games, they were the second-worst team there and eliminated early: the continent’s premier competition, it seemed, was not their place, some kind of musical metaphor in that mix-up. But this was May, five months on, and they had just beaten Levante 5-1, securing the opportunity to go back and try again. They had done that early too. So at the full-time whistle on Saturday afternoon, week 34 in La Liga, the right anthem did go round the Cerámica, and so did the players, setting off on a lap of honour. Above them, a message appeared on the scoreboard. “We are a Champions League team (again),” it said.
