I went this week to a pleasant discuss with our Beloved Chief Jesús Bengoechea (El BUNKER – 11/25/25 Visitor: Jesús Bengoechea, from La Galerna. Analysis: medication of the longer term) with the wholesome confidence that his phrases might awaken the emotional boredom that possesses my soul each time the day arrives to see Actual Madrid play. What was as soon as a nice wait all day lengthy has now turn into one thing akin to an extended torture, which frequently ends with a melancholic have a look at the glass of whiskey with the grass out of focus behind, on the display, the place eleven white or blue t-shirts stage the well-known Dance of the Custard Apples by brother David Azagra.
Together with his normal soccer wit, and with a handful of wise arguments, Jesus managed to get me out of my soccer apathy, to the purpose that on Wednesday I managed to dwell once more an extended day of thrilling white hope. Till 9. Inside the first minute of the sport I had already hit the bar counter a number of instances, had uttered outbursts in a number of useless languages, and if I didn’t chew off the ear of one of many waiters it was solely due to my agency conviction that such a cartilaginous piece was not fully responsible of what my eyes noticed.

It was not, clearly, the Elche catastrophe, subsequent to which Annual’s is a small anecdote, besides, ours moved across the discipline in the identical order as poker cube once you throw them on a mat in essentially the most random means potential. Olympiakos didn’t pose an ideal menace, however our defensive disaffection progressively invited them to attempt the feat. With the primary objective I fell into the darkish night time of the soul to such an extent that not even the mechanical repetition of the verses of Saint John of the Cross might alleviate my demonic rapture.
Within the first minute of the sport I had already hit the bar counter a number of instances, I had uttered outbursts in a number of useless languages, and if I didn’t chew off the ear of one of many waiters it was solely due to my agency conviction that such a cartilaginous piece was not fully responsible of what my eyes noticed.
Then got here a sort of resurrection that, for a second, returned us to a mirage of the Champions League nights that you just and I do know, with Mbappé scoring targets like somebody selecting up toasted almonds from a bar plate, however not even in that scoring ecstasy my coronary heart might relaxation and give up to enjoyment. One thing, or perhaps all the things, was nonetheless not working. It is vitally unusual {that a} group that achieves the convenience of the comeback that Madrid achieved yesterday continues to journey via the sector between doubts and distrust, however Xabi Alonso’s group didn’t present the slightest confidence in their very own recreation, though a quite advantageous commentator shouted within the broadcast that Arda Guler “understood the sport.” Within the supposed case that Arda has understood it, which I do not know, what is for certain is that not everybody else has understood it.

The coach was maddeningly making gestures to affix the strains and I am not stunned, as a result of at instances the drawing of the Madrid gamers was a duplicate of these detergent advertisements by which a splash of gel on the pan causes the dust to separate and dissolve right into a thousand items, as if it had been hit by a tomahawk. It isn’t that they had been poorly positioned, it is that they merely positioned themselves and immediately misplaced their positions, in the course of a salad of gestures that gave the unhappy feeling that neither the one carrying the ball nor the one who needed to ask for it had the slightest thought of what they need to do. I belief that it was only a feeling and never a horrible actuality.
I spent the very lengthy final minutes wanting ahead to the ultimate whistle, as a result of the ghost of the tie after the minutes of glory and the salad of targets was strolling across the bar, and it was precisely what we wanted to complete sinking us all into melancholy.

On many different events – I’ve written it right here – I’m clear about what is going on on the sector or within the group. On this case, my confusion is absolute, and essentially the most I can say is what I don’t imagine is going on; That’s to say, I do not suppose there’s such an essential drawback between the gamers and the coach, I do not suppose we do not have stage gamers to compete for all the things, I do not suppose there are gamers who’ve forgotten the right way to play soccer, I do not suppose one in all our gamers is ruining the sport of the whole group, and I do not suppose all of the coach’s controversial choices concerning the lineup are incorrect. That is what I do not imagine. As for certainties, just one: the miraculous impact of the optimistic discuss with Jesús that immediately restored my enthusiasm for soccer, that’s, for Actual Madrid, dissolved like sugar in scorching espresso within the first minute of the sport.
Unhappy, these hours of uncertainty. Within the absence of giving the murga once more to our Beloved Chief in quest of the isotonic drink that replenishes you immediately, I must take refuge within the sweetest gloom of the saint’s verses, “among the many forgotten lilies”, till the subsequent appointment with our weekly soccer mortification, trusting that the sky is behind the black clouds.
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