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Winning or losing is not the important thing. The important thing is to do it big.
-Hello I’m spanish. What do you want me to beat you? –It was the saint and sign of the ronceros when we championed everything. And there we continue, in good and bad, in wealth and in poverty, in health and in disease, every day of our lives … and our football.
In life, right now: world leadership in deaths by Covid19 (m / hab); world leadership in falling GDP according to the IMF; world leadership in infected toilets; Unemployment leadership in the OECD… And everyone leaning on the shoulder for the great tribute to themselves that politicians project.
In football, right now: leadership of Madrid, which in March was sportingly for the chicken stock and extreme unction.
“The coaches are up to something,” the Uruguayan Suárez spat in Vigo, after Celta put Barcelona at home with another draw, which is what Quique Setién, the Lord of Las Cuajada, has always played with that wiper football that turns the viewer into a cow watching a train go by that never ends.
The coaches are for the same as the ministers of economy: to provide scoring opportunities, and these, to provide business opportunities. In this sense, Quique Setién is the Nadia Calviño of the national training.
“The estimates that are being made of the possible impact of the coronavirus on the Spanish economy show insignificant impacts,” Calviño declared in March, with pijotera sufficiency, and now the IMF places Spain at the head of the global collapse.
How many times has Setién said that Madrid has to play? “You have to click in pitchers”, is his tour, with music in response to Pablo Guerrero. What if coaches were also Masons?
Zidane, before an apron, would be hit by an Invalides cannon.
We know from the Prince of Metternich that Napoleon liked to proceed by surprise with the French and not announce their wars to them but by means of the Invalides cannon, which thundered after the first victory. It would not hurt if Madrid accepted the licenses of the New Plant Decree on the New Normality and had Zidane installed a cannon of Los Invalides (it could be in the shape of a bourgeoisie from Benzema) in the uralita of the New Bernabéu.
“I had occasion to convince myself of Napoleon’s infinite care in increasing the effect of his victories,” Metternich recalls. The announcement of a success was preceded by rumors of defeat, wisely launched; members of the government themselves appeared to be tormented by lively fears, and suddenly the barrel of the Invalids thundered in honor of the victories already reported. He had a double objective: to brighten his victory and to put his police in a position to know the opinion of the citizens. But Paris was in a state of torpor.
The torpor, precisely, minimizes a little the extent of Zidane’s victories in this autistic phase of the League, despite the Corsican trick of fattening the possibilities of the adversary. Watch out! Raúl de Tomás in Valdebebas! And without the Pitu, with the aesthetic grace that it would bring, and even more so now that we don’t have an audience, that duel of bald spots, well-burnished bald spots, by Abelardo and Zidane, transforming the band of “Alfredo Di Stéfano” into the king’s billiard mat Felón, Fernando VII, whose courtiers, in addition to simulating the ruling, arranged the balls to facilitate the royal carom. The absence of the Pitu, a guy who at least guarantees the class struggle, with his Argos thing of Asturian Bolsheviks, is not covered by a stellar performance by De Tomás. We wanted a bald fight for the good football comb, which is the best-selling comb on TV.
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