Chapter 61: Chapter 60: Chelsea Vs Atalanta [I]
Sunday, August 1st, 2022 - Stamford Bridge, London
The away dressing room was smaller than Demien expected, functional rather than impressive, with blue lockers lining the walls and white kits hanging from numbered pegs.
He found his spot near the back corner. Number 28. The shirt looked crisp and new, the Atalanta crest embroidered perfectly on the chest, and his name sat above the number in capital letters.
WALTER 28
He touched the fabric once, then sat down on the bench beneath it.
Around him, the squad settled into their pre-match routine. Some players stretched on the floor, others taped ankles or adjusted shin guards, and a few sat quietly with headphones on while staring at nothing.
Moretti claimed the peg beside Demien’s. Number 31. He grinned wide as he pulled his substitute’s bib over his head.
"We made it," Moretti whispered. "Actually made it."
"Yeah," Demien said, and his stomach tightened because being here and playing here were different things.
The door opened, and Gasperini walked in with his assistant and coaching staff following close behind. The room went quiet immediately.
Gasperini stood in the center with his arms crossed, his eyes scanning every player before he spoke.
"Forty-five minutes until kickoff," he said, his voice calm but carrying authority. "I’m not going to repeat everything we covered in training. You know the game plan. You know what Chelsea will try to do."
He paused, letting that sink in.
"Silva and Koulibaly will try to control the back. Jorginho will dictate their tempo. Kanté will cover everything in midfield. Their front three—Sterling, Havertz, Mount—will find spaces between our lines if we’re not disciplined."
Gasperini moved closer to the tactical board mounted on the wall.
"When we have the ball, we play through their press. Be brave. Move it quickly. One touch, two touch maximum. When they have it, we stay compact. No gaps between midfield and defense. Track Mount when he drops deep. Don’t give Jorginho time to turn."
He looked around the room again.
"This is a friendly, yes. But we play to win. We play our system. We show them what Atalanta football looks like."
Gasperini nodded to his assistant, who stepped forward with the lineup sheet and pinned it to the board.
ATALANTA STARTING XI (3-4-2-1)
GK: Carnesecchi
CB: Tolói, Scalvini, Moretti
RM: Zappacosta
CM: de Roon, Pessina
LM: Mæhle
CAM: Pašalić, Miranchuk
ST: Zapata
SUBSTITUTES
Sportiello, Okoli, Demiral, Soppy, Freuler, Malinovskiy, Boga, Walter (28), Musah, Højlund, Moretti (31)
Demien’s eyes locked onto his name. Number 28. Right there on the team sheet for a match against Chelsea at Stamford Bridge.
His chest felt tight, and his hands tingled, and he forced himself to breathe normally because panicking wouldn’t help.
Gasperini finished his team talk with a few more tactical reminders, then the squad began their final preparations—boots laced tight, shin guards secured, jerseys pulled on.
Twenty minutes later, the corridor official knocked twice on the door.
"Five minutes."
The starting eleven lined up at the door. Demien and the other substitutes formed a second line behind them, ready to walk out for the warm-up and pre-match ceremonies.
The corridor stretched ahead, concrete walls closing in on both sides, and the distant roar of the crowd filtered through like a living thing.
Demien’s heart hammered against his ribs. Moretti stood beside him, bouncing slightly on his toes.
"Here we go," Moretti whispered.
"Here we go," Demien echoed.
The official opened the door, and they walked forward into the tunnel.
The noise hit first.
Then the light.
Stamford Bridge opened up around them like a cathedral of blue and white, and the crowd roared as both teams emerged from the tunnel—Chelsea in their home kit, Atalanta in crisp white away shirts.
Demien followed his teammates onto the pitch, his legs moving automatically while his eyes tried to take in everything at once. The stands rose high on all sides, packed with supporters waving flags and scarves, and the grass beneath his boots felt perfect, manicured to the millimeter.
The starting eleven lined up for handshakes and photos while the substitutes peeled off toward the bench. Demien walked with Moretti and the others, passing the technical area where Gasperini stood talking to his assistant.
The bench was comfortable, padded seats in a row with Atalanta’s crest printed on the headrests. Demien sat down three spots from the end with Moretti beside him.
"This is insane," Moretti said under his breath while staring at the field. "Look at the size of this place."
"Forty thousand capacity," Demien replied automatically, David’s memory providing the information. "Opened in 1877. Rebuilt in the 90s."
"You looked that up?"
"Something like that."
The teams finished their warm-up routines, and the starters returned to their positions. Chelsea lined up in their 4-3-3, exactly as Gasperini had predicted—Silva and Koulibaly at center-back, Alonso and Azpilicueta at fullback, Jorginho and Kanté holding midfield with James pushing forward, and the front three of Sterling, Havertz, and Mount ready to press.
Atalanta’s 3-4-2-1 took shape in response—Tolói, Scalvini, and Moretti as the back three, Zappacosta and Mæhle as wingbacks, de Roon and Pessina in central midfield, Pašalić and Miranchuk supporting Zapata up front.
The referee checked his watch, blew his whistle, and pointed to the center circle.
Havertz tapped the ball to Mount.
The match began.
Chelsea moved the ball with the confidence of a team that had been playing together for years. Mount passed it back to Jorginho, who controlled with his first touch and surveyed the field with his second.
Atalanta’s press came immediately—Zapata closed down Jorginho while Pašalić and Miranchuk moved to cut off passing lanes—but Jorginho was too experienced, too calm. He shifted his body left, drew Zapata half a step closer, then played it right to Kanté.
Kanté’s first touch took him away from Pessina’s challenge, and his second found James on the right flank.
Demien watched from the bench as Chelsea’s shape shifted fluidly. Their fullbacks pushed high when they had the ball, turning the 4-3-3 into almost a 2-3-5 in attack. James drove forward down the right side while Alonso mirrored him on the left, and Sterling drifted inside to occupy the space Alonso had vacated.