Pep Martí’s Sporting de Gijón takes the match against Ibiza as a final. At least that’s what the captain of the ship says, almost a torpedoed submarine, red and white. The Gijonese coach knows, like the rest of a dressing room that he has been making the same account for a long time, that with a victory against Paco Jémez’s team the season can practically be finished. Everything else will be to prolong the agony and boredom of a hobby whose clubs go to party to celebrate their day and recognize careers such as those of Joaquín, Ciriaco and Ferrero.
Meanwhile, 28 kilometers away, things are beginning to be so clear to some that gold seekers are beginning to appear on the horizon. Iberia has already contacted the blue clubs to offer charter flights for promotion matches away from Tartiere. The offer has made the usual offended people come out of the cave, those who don’t seem to know that when things are going well there are Donettes and Ferrero Rocher for everyone.
You also have to know how to play against things like this, even if the objective is only the Mirandés and nothing more than the Mirandés. The year of Preciado’s ascension in Gijón, one fine day Mareo went from being deserted to being filled with elegant salesmen in suits and long hair a la “They called him Brody” to place the boys who were on their way to First Class German cars of the latest model. Fame stuff. For the rest, Madrid can become league champions without the presence of Luis Rubiales, fearful that the Bernabéu will sing about “corruption, in the Federation”. I insist, things of fame.
