Playing the theatre of dreams: Olympique Lyonnais at Manchester United

Words: Delmas-Moreau

Images: Delmas-Moreau

Shot on film.

That European night came as close as anything to a dream: a suspended moment from which one is brutally awakened, and which, ever since, I try, night after night, to remember and to return to.

What better place than the Theatre of Dreams, Old Trafford, to host my greatest memory of a match experienced from the stands?

This game, played on April 17, 2025, was the second leg of a Europa League quarter-final.

My club, Olympique Lyonnais, travelled to Manchester after a draw in the first game. Lyon supporters had turned out in large numbers, hoping for a place in the semi-finals.

Despite the heavy security making entry into the stadium difficult, I somehow managed to bring my small Olympus MJU II point-and-shoot film camera into the away end.

©Delmas-Moreau/ Terrace Edition. Manchester United vs Olympique Lyonnais.

In truth, I took very few photos that night, so completely was I absorbed by the match.

The game started terribly. By half-time, OL were already trailing 2–0 following goals by Manuel Ugarte and Diogo Dalot.

But it didn’t matter. Our club has endured so many hardships over the past two seasons, but also so many miracles—rising from the brink of sporting and administrative relegation to European qualification.

We believe that nothing is ever final, and we have learned that you must hang on until the very end. That night, too, we were far from done suffering—though we were still unable to imagine just how much was yet to come.

The second-half wore on and the scoreline remained unchanged. The atmosphere, however, never dropped.

©Delmas-Moreau/ Terrace Edition. Olympique Lyonnais at Manchester United.

On the hour mark, the ultras set off flares, as if trying to ignite the match while qualification slipped further away.

And as if they had been heard, less than five minutes later Corentin Tolisso emerged from the smoke and reignited hope by pulling one back.

Five minutes after that, Nicolas Tagliafico equalised for Lyon. We were there—inside the vision—and it had only just begun.

The teams were pushed into extra time, and at the end of the first period Rayan Cherki pierced André Onana’s net.

In the away end, all sense of time vanished. The euphoria was immense; the relief just as powerful. In that moment, I had never felt such emotions inside a stadium.

The vertigo of elimination drifted away. The fervour was overwhelming—we were living our fantasy.

This felt like the away trip of a lifetime.

And the R.E.M went on. Five minutes later, Alexandre Lacazette converted his penalty. I fell to my knees, overcome with emotion. It was 10:25 p.m. in Manchester. Lyon were leading 4–2.

Time stood still.

But our dream was about to end. As in any dream, when you reach the summit you never suspect that you are about to wake up—and that the fall will be brutal.

Bruno Fernandes pulled one back from the penalty spot, and we still didn’t realise that we had already slipped into consciousness That realisation came when Kobbie Mainoo equalised, and inevitably when Harry Maguire delivered the final blow with the last action of the match.

It was 10:35 p.m. Manchester United had won 5–4. Lyon were eliminated. The silence in the away end stood in stark contrast to the roar of the home crowd.

“The more dazzling the passion, the harsher the fall,” wrote the poet Tahar Ben Jelloun—and this match is a powerful reminder of that truth, as cruel as it is unforgettable.

One last chant rose from the away end but we were stunned, hurried away from our pleasure.

I believe that this dream, lived so fully, will be one of those we remember forever and long to dive back into—both for its greatest highs and its deepest lows.

But whatever the outcome, in the end, what truly matters seems to be having lived it, even in a dreamscape.