It’s incredible. It’s appalling. We won’t know what to do until we understand what’s really going down. Everyone seems to be involved … is everyone to blame? It’s a real scandal.
I know everyone is feeling a little bummed lately. But there’s nothing like a good, old-fashioned Spanish scandal to buck you right up. Bad taste, you say? Italian scandals are bad taste (cf. “Berlusconi bunga-bunga party”). British scandals are seamy (hack, cough, hack hack), American scandals are cringe-worthy (cigar, anyone?) and French scandals … well, French scandals bore me. What’s the point of living a double-love life if everyone is going to be so well-behaved at the funeral? Haven’t these people ever seen one of their own comedies?
But Spanish scandals are comedy platinum. The first season, ever, in the whole world franchise of “Survivor”, in which the shipwrecked contestants actually produce fire (The Case of the Hidden Zippo). The legendary flamenco singer who swindles the lovesick mayor out of all the money he embezzled from the public trust (The Case of the Big Fat Crooked Sap). And now there’s … Método 3!
I’ll do my best to explain, but it’s kind of complicated because whenever journalists try to explain it they wind up giggling. See, it all starts at La Camarga, an upscale dining establishment and favorite haunt of Barcelona politicians. Apparently, there was some curiosity as to whether the sons of a certain former president (Pujol – no relation) of a certain province (Catalunya – one and the same) were somehow indebted to their father for their professional success. (The phenomenon is nearly unheard-of in Spain, where it is commonly referred to as “el enchufe”.)
The topic came up almost casually, it seems, between the leader of the conservative and national-leading party, the Partido Popular (let’s call her “Alicia”) and her dining companion, the lovely María Victoria, who would know, since she’s an ex-girlfriend of one of the aforementioned sons and therefore has little reason to fabricate. Apparently, according to reliable sources, “the sonofabitch lugged bags of euros into Andorra without even bringing me a bottle of Chanel No. 5 from the damn duty-free shop” (or that’s the gist of it, anyway.)
Now, what business is it of ours what Alicia and María Victoria carp about over their salted cod? Well, someone wanted to know, because as it turns out … the table was bugged! Bugged! A mic was hidden right in the middle of the complimentary gerber daisy vase! And when Alicia leaned over to smell it, she got a squirt of Vichy Catalan right in the eye! No, that’s not true. But who’s running this outfit, anyway? Clarabel the Clown?
I, your intrepid casual news-watcher and sometime Wikipediaist, know. Método 3 (as in “tres”), that’s who. Método 3 is a spy agency that may have been hired by the PP’s political rivals to spy on Catalunya’s regional parties, or maybe by the PP’s political rivals to spy on the PP, or by Mr. Pujol to spy on María Victoria, but it’s hard to say, because the mic stayed in the gerber-daisy vase for, like, three months! Three months of recorded conversations from everyone who’s anyone enough to get a seat at La Camarga. Just imagine the juicy gossip … of course, if you’ve ever had the pleasure to visit a Peninsular eatery, you might wonder, like me, why the mic, because everyone talks at the top of their lungs with their mouths full. Maybe the responsible party should have requested the next table and just shut the hell up. It would have been cheaper, too, because Método 3 sends out Quickbook invoices with IVA included, and super-secret gerber-daisy mics apparently don’t come none too cheap.
Método 3, for all its Marx-Brothers methodology (kinda makes you wonder what methods 1 and 2 were, to be so cavalierly discarded), is experiencing a regular boom among Barcelona’s would-be-in-the-knowers. Several political parties, as it turns out, have enlisted the agency’s services. And – and this is my favorite part – La Camarga itself has contracted Método 3, allegedly to spy on its own employees (watch out for that gerber-mic as you re-fill the water glasses, Ramón). Definitely not, we are to assume, to get the goods on their own classy clientele or identify a possible Michelin critic (it’s got one star already). When the police raided the Método 3 headquarters to investigate accusations of “political espionage” (as if a spy agency were to do something besides espionage), they found pages and pages of documents, and gerber-daisy mics (I suppose), and … weaponry. You never know when an ex-girlfriend is going to go ballistic over lumpy flan, I guess.
What has all of this to do with BFB, footy, recent slump, etc., you ask? Last week, I would have confessed, Very little. I just think it’s a hoot, is all. As far as politics go, there are a lot of manchegos pointing out that for a unique and particular people as the catalans, that the situation smacks seriously of, and I quote, “100% chapuza española”. But then it came to light that our own Pepmaster Guardiola, Coach of the Six Cups, was also a Método 3 client. Yes! There have been a few Barça players stalked by the Third Methoders, including Deco, Ronaldinho and … Gérard Piqué! What ever happened to trust? To sportsmanship? To a gentleman’s honor and all that?
I wonder what happened to common sense. What was Método 3 going to discover, anyway? That Deco was secretly a homebody with four cats? Ronaldinho practiced his Brazilian celebration boogies in the privacy of his living room? And what about Piqué? You’ll never guess, but secretly … Shakira’s totally hot! They’re a sweet couple, but they’re not going to win “Saber y Ganar: Celebrity Edition” anytime soon? The secret meaning of code words “moc moc”? It’s like the gerber-daisy mic. Way too complicated. If you wanted to know what Piqué was up to, Pep, all you had to do was follow Pujol’s (our Pujol’s) Twitter account. Instagram!
See? Now you all cheered up.