Soccer is a silly, fluky, rampantly random sport, a game of beauty but, more often than not, failure. It is a game of 10 million actions but just a few defining moments. It’s a contest between two sets of two dozen feet trying to command a bouncy ball, which is why it’s so often cruel, especially in knockout competitions. It is, in a word, unpredictable — until a Champions League final rolls around, and Real Madrid enters the arena.
Then it is simple.
Then it’s a game of 10 million actions but only one possible outcome.