On global social media, the reaction was unanimous.
Every fan watching the broadcast knew exactly what was about to happen.
@VillaFanTV: "It's a penalty for him. It's literally a penalty! He doesn't miss these."
@EPL_Scout: "Inter Milan committing a foul right on the edge of the penalty box is suicide."
@Madridista_X: "Show us what you've got, future king!"
In the VIP box, Princess Ingrid of Norway clutched the railing, her knuckles white with tension.
She didn't blink, her eyes locked on the figure standing over the ball.
...
Theodore placed the ball carefully on the grass.
He took three deliberate steps backward. He exhaled a long, slow breath, his eyes boring into Samir Handanović.
Peep!
Theodore didn't rush. He stood perfectly still for three agonizing seconds, letting the silence and the pressure suffocate the Inter Milan wall.
Then, he moved.
He didn't go for absolute power.
He opened his body and wrapped the inside of his right boot around the ball with exquisite, surgical precision.
Thwack.
The ball cleared the jumping wall by inches.
It traced an impossible, curling arc through the humid Cologne air, dipping violently at the very last fraction of a second.
Handanović launched himself, his massive frame fully extended. He threw his right arm out desperately, clawing at thin air.
Swish.
The ball rippled the netting in the absolute top corner—the postage stamp.
2-2!
"ABSOLUTE PERFECTION!" Tyler screamed, his voice cracking under the strain. "HE PUTS IT IN THE TOP CORNER! NO GOALKEEPER ON EARTH SAVES THAT!"
"It's a masterpiece, Martin!" Neville yelled over the deafening crowd. "The curve, the dip, the sheer arrogance to strike it like that in a European Final! He is carrying them on his back!"
Theodore didn't run to the corner flag.
He didn't pump his fists.
He pointed urgently at John McGinn, gesturing for him to grab the ball out of the net.
A draw was completely irrelevant. Theodore wanted to leave Aston Villa with a victory.
On the touchline, Antonio Conte was losing his mind.
He realized his Catenaccio strategy was failing against an unstoppable individual force.
He immediately turned to his bench.
"Sánchez! Candreva! Get ready!" Conte barked.
Alexis Sánchez replaced Ashley Young, and Antonio Candreva came on for Nicolò Barella.
Conte abandoned the defensive shell; he was injecting fresh, attacking blood into the midfield.
He wanted to regain control.
The substitutions made an instant impact.
In the 57th minute, Alexis Sánchez, operating in a free central role, picked up the ball.
Marvelous Nakamba rushed out to shut the Chilean veteran down.
But Sánchez, a master of the dark arts of dribbling, dropped his shoulder, faked a pass, and chopped the ball onto his right foot.
Nakamba was left tackling a ghost.
Sánchez accelerated toward the edge of the Villa penalty area.
Lautaro and Lukaku dragged Mings and Konsa deep into the box, clearing the shooting lane.
"Sánchez has space!" Tyler warned. "He lines it up!"
Sánchez planted his left foot and brought his right boot back like a hammer.
Bang!
But as the ball left his foot, a claret and blue wall materialized in front of him.
Theodore Bjorn.
Anticipating the shot, Theodore had sprinted across the top of the box and thrown his entire body horizontally into the line of fire.
The ball slammed into his ribs with a sickening thud, dropping dead on the grass.
"WHAT A BLOCK BY BJORN!" Neville roared. "That is the defensive instinct of a world-class center-back from an attacking midfielder! He read Sánchez like a book!"
Theodore didn't stay down to nurse his bruised ribs. He scrambled to his feet, pounced on the loose ball, and looked up.
Jack Grealish was peeling away down the left flank.
Thwack.
Theodore launched a laser-guided, 50-yard diagonal pass that dropped perfectly onto the laces of his captain.
"Villa counter!" Tyler shouted. "Grealish is away!"
Grealish brought the ball down gracefully. Facing Danilo D'Ambrosio, Grealish didn't try to outpace him. He used his signature, mesmerizing footwork.
A stutter-step. A hesitation. A violent chop inside.
D'Ambrosio's ankles practically broke.
The Italian defender stumbled backward, completely disoriented by the sudden change of rhythm.
Grealish was inside the box. Roberto Gagliardini scrambled across to cover, but he was a fraction too late.
Grealish opened his body and whipped a vicious, curling shot toward the far post.
Handanović dove, stretching his long arms to the absolute limit.
But the shot was too precise. It kissed the inside of the post and nestled into the side netting!
3-2!
"AND GREALISH FINISHES THE COMEBACK!" Tyler bellowed. "FROM THE DEPTHS OF DESPAIR TO THE SUMMIT! ASTON VILLA LEAD!"
"And it all stems from the block by Theodore Bjorn!" Neville added. "The block, the vision, the pass... and then Grealish provides the magic finish! Incredible!"
Grealish completely lost it. He sprinted to the corner flag, executing a massive knee slide, screaming his lungs out.
The entire Villa team piled on top of him.
Theodore was the first one to pull him up from the turf, grabbing his captain by the shoulders.
"That's it, Jack!" Theodore roared over the stadium noise. "That's your team now! You finish this!"
Grealish grinned, his chest heaving. "I've got you, Theo. We're winning this for you."
In the stands, the Villa faithful were in absolute madness.
On the Inter touchline, Conte looked physically ill.
He had thrown away a 2-0 lead. Desperate, he played his final card.
In the 72nd minute, Roberto Gagliardini was hooked. Christian Eriksen, the Danish maestro, entered the fray.
Conte's final roll of the dice nearly paid off instantly.
Eriksen received a sharp pass from Candreva in the attacking third. Instantly, McGinn, Theodore, and Douglas Luiz collapsed on him—a three-man swarm.
But Eriksen possessed elite vision.
Shielding the ball with his body, he executed a blind, no-look flick with the outside of his boot, threading the ball through the legs of Douglas Luiz and directly into the path of Alexis Sánchez.
The pass completely gutted the Villa midfield.
"Brilliant from Eriksen!" Tyler cried. "Sánchez is through!"
Sánchez didn't take a touch.
He smashed a ferocious, rising drive toward the roof of the net.
But Emiliano Martínez stood incredibly tall.
The Argentine keeper launched himself upward, throwing two strong hands into the air, and violently parried the rocket over the crossbar!
"MARTÍNEZ DOES IT AGAIN!" Tyler screamed. "A MONUMENTAL SAVE!"
"He is earning his paycheck tonight!" Neville marveled. "Sánchez struck that with everything he had, but Martínez's reflexes are supernatural!"
Martínez scrambled to his feet, veins popping in his neck, and let out a primal roar at his defenders, slamming his gloves together.
The save injected a massive surge of adrenaline through the entire Villa squad.
Conte was out of ideas. He waved his arms frantically.
"In the box! Get it in the box!" he screamed in Italian, abandoning all tactical nuance.
It was going to be a route-one bombardment.
In the 78th minute, Handanović rolled the ball out to Sánchez.
Nakamba rushed him, but the wily Chilean simply flicked a first-time pass out wide to D'Ambrosio.
D'Ambrosio didn't hesitate. He launched a high, looping cross into the Villa penalty area.
"Here comes the bombardment," Neville noted grimly.
Romelu Lukaku and Tyrone Mings engaged in a brutal wrestling match near the penalty spot.
The Belgian striker used his massive frame to pin Mings, rising powerfully to meet the cross.
Smack.
Lukaku powered a thunderous header downward, aiming for the bottom corner.
But Martínez was a man possessed.
He threw his body across the goal line, getting a massive right hand to the ball and pushing it wide of the post!
"ANOTHER SAVE FROM DIBU!" Tyler shouted.
The clearance was weak.
Candreva pounced on the loose ball on the edge of the box and quickly laid it off to Eriksen.
Eriksen didn't look up. He struck a low, venomous shot through the crowd of bodies.
Thud.
The ball struck the leg of Tyrone Mings.
The deflection completely changed the trajectory of the shot, sending it spinning wildly toward the opposite corner of the net.
Martínez was already diving the wrong way.
He watched helplessly, completely wrong-footed, as the ball floated toward the goal line!