CL Preview: Real Madrid – Barcelona, 2:45pm EST, FX(HD) and Fox Deportes
Look out the window. I mean it. Or at least I mean it when you’ve finished this paragraph and maybe clicked on some ads. Find the nearest pane of glass between yourself and the outside and look through it. If you’re reading this outside and thus would be looking inside were you to press your face on a window, you should hire me to work with you because screw this inside crap. But okay, now you’re looking out the window, right? What do you see? Trees, maybe or perhaps a street with some cars, people walking, a bird or two. It’s spring here, so if it’s spring where you are, you should also be seeing sunshine and happiness. Well forget that crap. It’s not real. It’s a figment of your imagination. Just like there is no spoon, there is no “real world.” There is no Zuul, only el clásico.
And it is, once again, for better or worse, upon us. And it has obliterated the sun. And common sense. And all the other things we take for granted. Don’t believe me? Just ask yourself, if we lose, will the sun come up the next day? It might not. You never know. Yes, there is another clásico in just a few days time, less than a week, but will any of it matter if the first leg goes horribly awry? But what if it goes wonderfully well? Livers worldwide will collapse in upon themselves, obstinately refuse to do their duty. They’ll be on strike and rightfully so. If you’re not an alcohol consumer, watch the glucose and caffeine intake. If you’re too healthy for any of that, watch the heart rate anyway because no one is safe, least of all those who think they can handle it.
Sergio Ramos claims the fans will have to score the first goal. He has lost it. Pep Guardiola thinks we’re underdogs. He’s lost it. I think we should start Jeffren. I never had it to begin with. The weekly editors meeting at BFB is usually a calm discussion of the posting schedule; this week there were fireworks: Luke lambasting SoccerMom for suggesting we play Busi in midfield, Kari shaking uncontrollably in the corner while muttering something about YouTube videos being the key, Kevin voting to sell VicSoc (just cause), and me dutifully taking minutes that, when viewed later, turned out to be all work and no play make Jack a dull boy written about a hundred thousand times. And then, of course, Linda came with a collage of Riquelme pictures she refused to explain, but that’s kind of normal at this point.
Ah yes, clásico week #3. I miss you dearly, sanity. Mrs. The Lady refuses to talk to me, claiming that when I think I’m whispering about vacation plans I’m actually just shouting “venga Leo!”, “arbitro comprado eh!”, and “pass, move, offer!” Whenever someone bumps me on the subway, I curse their mothers and the height of the grass. When I finish a project at work, I whip off my shirt and leap over the wall to celebrate with my cubicle neighbor. Coffee is not a good replacement for Gatorade baths.
Are you still looking out the window? You can stop now. Unless you live at the Camp Nou, in which case you should definitely keep looking out the window at the greatest view in human history. It beats this and even the most beautiful place I’ve ever been. By a long shot. Because it is the only thing that actually exists. There is nothing else.
First they tell me Iniesta is injured, a serious doubt, has a calf strain. Then they tell me he’s fine, 100%, assured of scoring. Puyol is back, terror is back, there’s a run on diapers in Madrid. Stop messing with my soul, Internet. Like the Incredible Hulk, you have no idea what I’m capable of. You wouldn’t like me when I’m frazzled to the point of cutting out action figures and pasting them on my TV screen and half giggling, half mumbling fake commentary about how so-and-so scored a great goal and Mourinho pees in his pants and poor Ramos drops the trophy again, but it’s still the Copa one because the other one is ours, all ours mwahaha. See what happens, Internet?
Predicted lineup: Valdes, Alves, Mascherano, Pique, Puyol, Busi, Xavi, Keita, Villa, Messi, Pedro.
Official Prediction: 1-1. Goal by Villa.
But seriously, I think I’m cracking. This isn’t good. Why are there 4 of them? Who would do such a thing to us poor fans? Is this fun to them? Are the football gods enjoying watching us curl up into little balls, forget to bathe, and sing songs we only know half the words to? And no, no one on earth knows all the words to el cant. I am positive of this.
Són molts anys plens d’afanys, (Many years full of zeal,)
són molts gols que hem cridat, (many goals we have screamed,)
You don’t know that line. Don’t act like you do. You’re probably all “What song is that from?” cause you, like everyone else, just knows the first verse. And our name, of course. Like I said, cracking.