Diego Simeone the conductor as Atlético orchestra finds its rhythm | Sid Lowe | Football

Jürgen Klopp stood and watched the referee pull the yellow card from his pocket, a symbol of his frustration, while to his right Diego Simeone raised the roof. Up and down the touchline Atlético Madrid’s manager went, wildly waving, clenching his fists, urging on the fans. Come on, he called, the coach conductor once more. Louder and louder they got, singing, flags waving, scarves whirling, all looking at him, all of them so alive. For Simeone it has never been just about the players; it is about the place. And this place was his, like never before.

With two minutes left, victory was close and against the team Simeone said would go down in history and the man that led them, in whom he saw some of himself. Here Klopp and Simeone met for the first time. There was admiration but above all there was competition and few compete, tooth and bloody nail, like El Cholo. He’s back – if he ever went away. Simeone resisted, Klopp made changes, but could find no response in the din, for all that they pressed. It seems odd to suggest they were overwhelmed, odder still to see Klopp powerless, but it seemed that way.

Atlético’s bus had arrived through red smoke, led by white horses; their team arrived, led by the man in black. This place would be bursting, Simeone had said, and even before the game he saw he was right. By the end, it was better than even he dared expect. No doubt, no disconnect, just the Metropolitano building a history of its own, becoming a home. Atlético reclaimed this area from their opponents, European champions here last June.

This was Atlético being Atlético, unleashed. Their manager even more so. Maybe what they had needed was to feel inferior, or hear that said. Then there could be clarity and they could do what they always did best: rebel. “We always compete against the big teams,” Saúl Ñíguez said. Here was enthusiasm in inferiority, a common cause. Asked what he made of the pessimism, Simeone had replied: “The thing is, I don’t see pessimism.” And four minutes in they led, optimism let loose.

Saúl’s goals tend to be big ones and this match could not be have been bigger, the stadium erupting. Simeone had said Liverpool are more intense, more direct, more varied, better than those historic teams “we admired before”. The warmth was reciprocated: these coaches have much in common, shared values, and they embraced pre-game, flashes lighting them up. Playing Atlético, Klopp had said, is the hardest thing in football. Liverpool’s first team had not conceded in two months; now they had conceded in little over three minutes.

Klopp stood, hands in pockets. Simeone ran and barely stopped all night. The technical areas here are big, but not big enough to contain him. “People say I’m emotional,” Klopp said, “if I’m level four, he’s 12. Wow. I’m like the kindergarten cop against him.”

Down there, Simeone was the grizzly New York detective, roughing up the bad guys, wondering what the rule book ever did for us. Twelve to four was about right. It was also 1-0; how very Atlético, Diego distilled. “I don’t know if Diego saw the game because he was constantly animating the crowd,” Klopp added.

The Argentinian’s heat map was deep red. Occasionally this season he has apparently lacked something, much like his team: less dynamic, less aggressive, belief dented. Unthinkably, at times he has conducted and the crowd haven’t followed. Not this time. The communion was complete. He had called this a transitional year, sure, but “anyone who thinks transition means sitting in the sun waiting for the flowers to bloom doesn’t know me”. Oh, they know him, and this was him: beating a “better” team, like old times. Just when he thought he was out, they pull him back in.

Simeone had come with a surprise. Parking the bus is a well-worn tactic, but the European opening blitz is too. They led, now they could retreat, resist. In Champions League knockout games under him, they had let in 1, 0, 0, 0, 0, 0, 0, 0, 0, 0, 1 and 0. Here was another zero for the sequence.

They suffered for it, Simeone playing that out. He leapt about nervously, but only rarely was his team exposed: Liverpool had no shots on target. Oddly, when Atlético did get caught, it was Jan Oblak. Simeone clapped then and again when Álvaro Morata slipped by the penalty spot. He spun on his heel when Mohamed Salah headed wide. He bounced when Lodi shot, immediately giving instructions – to the ballboy, who set off with a message to deliver. It was received loud and clear, like all the rest.

Liverpool were losing, Atlético were close now. Simeone was on his knees, seeming to pray, then on his feet again. He pointed theatrically to his watch, wound up the fans, tighter and tighter. Time is almost up, see them over the line. Get to Anfield, fight another day. Almost there.

And then they were. There was a roar, Simeone ran to Klopp, hugged him and headed down the tunnel, clenching his fists and finally leaving the stage to his players.