A lot of Betis and not a little Valencia

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An atomic final, with two battalions of soccer players busted, squeezed to the marrow, enthroned Betis in the Cup for the third time.

Betics and Valencianists closed the clash at dawn with their hearts in their bones, their souls between their teeth and cramps even in their eyelashes.

A match only for wild boars, played without nonsense for 126 minutes.

A duel so terminal that no one gave up until the penalties arrived.

In that luck in which victims and executioners are confused, Musah failed, the most cadet of the pitchers.

There was no goalkeeper who hit – neither Bravo at 39 years old nor Mamardashvili at 21.

And Miranda, like the mythical Esnaola in 1977 and Dani in 2005, crowned Joaquín's comrades, who long ago won the top Verdiblanco honors along with Rogelio, Cardeñosa, López,

Gordillo and so many other referents of that unique club.

There was no consolation for Valencia, who competed in a titanic way and had the summit as close as their rival.

This Cup deserved two cups.

BETBetis

one

Bravo, Héctor Bellerín, Álex Moreno (Juan Miranda, min. 105), Pezzella, Bartra, Juanmi (Joaquín, min. 85), Canales (Tello, min. 110), Fekir (Aitor Ruibal, min. 110), Guido Rodríguez , William Carvalho (Saved, min. 101) and Borja Iglesias (Willian José, min. 101)

VALValencia

one

Mamardashvili, Gabriel Paulista, Mouctar Diakhaby, Omar Alderete, Foulquier (Yunus Musah, min. 99), Gayá, Hugo Guillamón (Uros Racic, min. 84), Moriba Kourouma (Thierry Correia, min. 78), Hugo Duro (Bryan Gil Salvatierra, minute 84), Carlos Soler and Gonçalo Guedes

Goals

1-0 min.

10: Borja Iglesias.

1-1 min.

29: Hugh Hard.

Yellow cards Gabriel Paulista (min. 4), William Carvalho (min. 13), Pezzella (min. 71), Hugo Guillamón (min. 73), Omar Alderete (min. 91), Thierry Correia (min. 92), Borja Iglesias (min. 94), Carlos Soler (min. 97) and Tello (min. 112)

From football, in La Cartuja, everyone with their currency.

From the outset, Valencia sputtered with the ball;

Better that the opposite had it.

Theirs is the birle and on the run.

Betis gets mothless without the ball;

joyfully accept possession.

His is the temple.

It happens that football is anything but an exact science.

Bordalás' entrenched team verified it.

Their line-up, with three center backs and a bunch of people behind the ball, suggested a Vietnamese-inspired team.

A mirage.

His centrals turned out to be Carmelites for Borja Iglesias, the only local striker.

And due to the supposedly intricate funnel in the middle —with Ilaix to the detriment of Bryan Gil and Hugo Duro closing down the left side— Fekir and Canales synchronized.

Initially, Betis did not find the minefield that their opponent anticipated.

Fekir connected with Bellerin and the center of the side sent Borja Iglesias into orbit: 1-0.

Gabriel Paulista did not stop in time and did not arrive as Diakhaby riot police.

The uncovering of a sheltered Valencia.

It was accentuated by Juanmi, who missed a header after a cross from Alex Moreno.

Mamardashvili's escorts, again out of place.

The Levantine painting was not yet in La Cartuja.

No clues about Soler, or Hugo Duro, and with Guedes helpless at the top.

The only thing that made the two contenders even was their carelessness in choosing the tacos.

Some and others slipped and slipped.

Soccer is weathervane.

There are moments, flashes, that alter the flow of a game.

It happened in this final, where Soler's first major intervention gave Valencia flight.

The international unloaded the ball with one touch for Ilaix, who plugged Hugo Duro wonderfully, who beat Bravo with a spoon shot.

The draw settled the Valencian team disoriented from the beginning.

Shortly before the break, with the duel already balanced, Betis found a livelihood for Canales, author of a shot at the left post by Mamardashvili.

denied

As it is a game of constant denials, a Valencia emerged from the intermission with a fondness for the ball.

It turns out that the team that disdains the ball as if it were a dangerous artifact never felt better in the final than when they had their government.

And it turns out that around the ball, and not running but running after it, Bordalás' team hit Soler's lighthouse.

At the time, Ilaix and Hugo Guillamón had another bite in the pressure.

Suddenly no one was who they were going to be.

Hugo Duro almost took advantage of the unexpected authority of those from Mestalla, who transcended near the area, not as a defensive mooring.

Bravo prevented the 1-2, as the Georgian Mamardashvili would later do against Juanmi, who did not get a delicious assist from the sparkly Borja, much more than a scorer.

Notices were given in both areas.

Nobody was safe.

Betis never completely left La Cartuja and Valencia had already shouted present!

The clash was not without intrigue.

Equality from the collective, everything was subject to an individual note.

From Juanmi, for example.

A guide to the goal that had glory just a finger away, but another post frustrated Pellegrini's group.

The same as a couple of arbitration decisions, a pardon for Guillamón, who could well have been expelled, and an apparent penalty from Soler to Fekir.

The reborn Valencia already failed the tank in the last stretch, which forced Bordalás to intervene with the changes.

And a footballing and sentimental wink from Pellegrini: Joaquín, who has earned eternity on deferred, at the game.

In a match with curves for each other,

Betis grew again before reaching extra time, a bullish moment that had Fekir an inch from the goal, but Mamardashvili was right again.

Such was the suspense that Bravo also had to make an effort against Soler.

Betis looked better, but no one was capable of envying for a finalist.

Pure emotion.

After midnight, La Cartuja was dyed green and white.

Lots of Betis.

And not a little Valencia.

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