-BARCELONA-
Let's talk about happy football. Great Barcelona, which we all love to love, played happy football before all. Even in the least good years, even when it was tough, Barcelona was a happy, positive, open, exciting football team. So true, sometimes the defense looked like nothing, sometimes we got stuck with statues like pinto at the gate, and I don't want to mention clowns like Rusho or Vittor Bahia, and we paid the price on defense, but as a footballer it was happy.
More than that, Ronan Dorpen once diagnosed, and rightly so, that Barca to take Champions should run over Europe. We're not real, sputtering around here, sputtering there, enjoying some fox or the other and somehow taking the Champions to the Pendals. In all the five times we waved the Holy Grail, we waved it as we trotted across Europe and our sequence of games on the way to the Cup was actually showcasing Europe on the way to one possible goal. So for Cruyff, so for Rickard, and so for Pep and Lewis Enrique.
For all four, Barca has broken Europe. And on top of that, I will not forgive Ernesto Vallorda. True, his compositions are delusional, his insistence on Grizzman on the left is a joke, it's true that his confidence in Langla is frighteningly determined and true that he'll be the last to pull off a talented head case like a real football dumbbell. This is all more forgiving, somehow. But about the cowardly football that Barca is playing beneath, the sparkless, the sparkless, he has not forgiven him. It's a stain on the club name.
A mediocre team (in the end and despite the sympathy) like Salvia Prague, who would not take half a player from her lineup to Barca's bench, play positive football and click the link. What is Barca doing? Sends long balls over and over to the unsuitable players.
Smead a forward who can't score a goal even if his life depends on it (one three-year goal), a Grizzman who likes to come from the right, but hardly able to score when he comes from left and Dumbla who came today with his head on the PlayStation or something. Big Barca, in the formidable Camp Nou, gives the team that all its players are worth less than Frankie de Jong to make us a school.
They come to play happy, smart, pressing football and us? We only go back to have a heart attack every time a sprain or angler approaches the ball. And so he has to go.
Today, not tomorrow, not tomorrow. Today. Thanks for the two championships, thank you for the trophy, really no thanks for two memorable defeats in Rome and Banfield and peace and goodbye.
Wolverda, a high-profile professional, is suitable for coaching Bilbao or Chelsea, not Barcelona. In us, every player has meaning, every stripe has an address, and if in two games against Levante and Serbia Prague you spend one point, and that too hardly, then there was peace and thanks for the fish.
And who should come? Barca B coach, Chubby if he is ready to come, the brother in return for compensation for Ajax, Coman, on the part of Luis Enrique to return and at least restore the tragedy of his life to a team that played mostly bad football (though imperfect).
Just please, please, move the Basque off my lines, he just hides the team.