The Sporting is a ship adrift with the shipping company missing, a captain who can’t swim and some sailors handcuffed by the panic of sailing or because they already plan to get off at the next port, whatever it may be. No one from top to bottom in the club has hit the table to stop the huge leak that threatens the biggest shipwreck in history, before the astonished gaze of a crowd drowned by the prevailing mediocrity. There are four days left to turn the situation around civilly or criminally. If there were more, the death sentence would be assured.
It is useless to analyze this team in football terms because, simply and simply, it is nothing. So much so, that yesterday he was unable to score a goal even during the last ten minutes, when the Ibiza defense opened the door wide for him, in a gesture of brotherly love. The impotence that all the players give off without exception, in some cases mixed with indolence, is dramatic. It does not seem that there is a leader in the locker room capable of redirecting this situation, obviously aside from a coach who never had the reins. He has to cross his fingers. And if chance smiles, ask for explanations. Because a football club is not a company to use. It bears the name of a city and, in this case, also owes a lot to it.
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