Brilliant first half against Madrid at the Bernabéu, which consisted of putting pressure on Celta so that the Galicians ran like festive greyhounds towards Courtois’ goal. An attempt was made to exert pressure from above, with tragicomic results. Someone at half-time said the problem was that the madridistas pressed one pass, pressed two, then they got tired. Who says “Madridistas”, says Mbappé and Vinicius.
This was the entertainment of the first 45 minutes, seeing how Madrid’s pressure repeatedly crushed against his lack of skill, his unbridled psychological sense to make his rival collapse when throwing the ball, his fatigue as a world star who does not want to chase a ball with his legs. It’s over, because down there was too much racing. In one of those moments that allow the match to be played and an offside to be called, Pablo Durán went alone towards the Madrid goal. It’s a common thing: “Finish the game we’ll whistle later.” » And as the game continued, Militao rushed towards Durán to prevent him from finishing. It was a frenetic, elastic, very fast race. And absurd. I could have saved him. Serious injury to Militao.
She wasn’t the only one. He seemed to be the victim of another, to what extent, Fran García in the second half. Two yellow cards in a row, ridiculous, which left Madrid with 10. Williot had already scored a superb goal for Celta with a very subtle bow tie spur. And White started playing with one less, so things started to look, desperately, a little bit better. There is fire, wild pressure from everyone that goes well and prevents Celta from getting the ball back, and a few clear chances. A little while. Madrid is there to sponsor him.
Match seen a hundred times at the Bernabéu. There is a silent chaos in Madrid that seems to emanate from the dressing room, from which every day a new idea arises or must be tested directly, and another which shakes the stadium when things go wrong for the Whites. Although the impossible comebacks are more famous, although the heroic victories and reductions are passed down to white posterity, the truth is that what often happens is what happened this Sunday. That Madrid shakes up the game like a piñata, that the Bernabéu burns, and all this lasts about ten minutes because things don’t come together.
It doesn’t work even with the changes: life, rock & roll, the spirit of the times, demands Endrick Felipe Moreira de Sousa on the field. Fran García cannot be allowed to be sent off stupidly and not allow Endrick to enter the field to hit four shots on the Celta goal from his home in Brazil. Yes chaos, chaos. If you are already at 10 and you lose at home, you are eliminated from the League, what life does not ask for is to have Rodrygo on the pitch, which is like putting someone in the window.
Life demands something else from you, Xabi. I asked you in the second part that the fever of impudence and absurd avalanche of the Brazilian is what God wants, if overall this season, God does not seem to want much. There are two resurrection matches that found cycles, Grecia and San Mamés, and two horse falls that are as resounding as they are depressing, because you don’t even go home having lost well, which is a wonderful art. You return home having lost nothing. And against a rival, Celta, who, if they had had more desire, more blood or more goals, would have scored several others.
Thank goodness City are coming on Wednesday, whatever “thank goodness” means.
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