My attempt at a disclaimer: While I am a barrister, Europe is not my home…
Well doesn’t THIS feel weird, this feeling of coming home on a big match day from wherever you watched, with that empty feeling, that difficult-to-describe sensation of having watched your team lose.
Seems like just yesterday that we were capering about in glee through throats made hoarse from screaming as we swept the Classics, beating RM in their house.
But today, the best team from the capitol city, without two of its best players, beat us. And today, in another bit of empty-feeling weirdness, our team didn’t have any answers. Make no mistake, however … Barça didn’t lose today. It was beaten by an opponent with a better plan, its own naivete and institutional failure.
So Kevin already summed up the majestic affair from yesterday quite nicely so you can…
These are the times that try culers’ souls. The team is in turmoil, rumors are…
Hi, this is lea_terzi, a BFB reader and occasional commenter who hopped on the Barcelona…
So here we go, people. The fun begins. At a press conference today, one that for me was akin to a medicine show from days of yore, we were being sold some tonic by a quartet of salesmen.
For anyone interested in a blow-by-blow, I liveTweeted the press conference, via @kevvwill on Twitter. This piece isn’t that, though it will deal with the gist of what is being offered up, along with my views and interpretation of what was offered up. The “medicine show” quip probably gave you a clue of what that view is but truth to tell, I am torn on the matter, as the culer and soci in me are having a fight.
So. Lionel Messi has returned, after 59 days away from the lineup of FC Barcelona. He scored two goals, capered about like a colt unbound, and many people had similar reactions to the spectacle, to the tune of:
“I had forgotten how good he was in the time he was gone.”
For me, however, it was easy to forget because it’s been a long time since he HAS been that good.
“You have your way. I have my way. As for the right way, the correct…
[Heya, BFB! This, unfortunately, isn’t the fun times post you’ve been waiting for. Hopefully, it…
It isn’t the exact midway point of the season, but it’s close enough where we can start to examine some things, look forward and look back with anger, sadness, happiness and any other emotion you can think of.
Obviously, the most dominant thing this season has been Broken Messi. He first picked up the injury against Paris St.-Germain on their potato field last season, re-aggravated it, then re-re aggravated it. Finally, it tweaked a good one, and Messi took 8 weeks off to rehab a hamstring that didn’t take 8 weeks to heal. So what the hell?
Or, corollary to that, ‘Why False 9 Isn’t a Viable System Anymore (At Least in Europe).’
Injuries are part of athletics. The capriciousness of the human body, ergonomics, a way of movement that is just fine a million times but is NOT fine a million and one times … it’s all part of the deal. There’s never a good time for them, particularly when they involve the best player alive, Lionel Messi. But essentially, stuff happens.
And as people natter, speculate and finger point about what might or might not have been, why a great player is suddenly being let down by a stupid body part, it’s hard not to wonder, once again, what is going on with Lionel Messi.
He hasn’t really been right since pulling up lame on a Paris cow pasture, but it has always been “two weeks.” Two weeks here, two weeks there and pretty soon you’re not only talking about real time, but unavoidably, you start to wonder … what if it should be more than two weeks? And then you don’t wonder, because what supporter, what devotee of the Beautiful Game isn’t selfish? Messi does the absurd. All the time. Goals that would make a mortal player pose, rip off his shirt and retire from the game, Messi knocks off, points to the sky to say “That’s another one for you, Grandma,” and gets set to do it again.
Who doesn’t want to see that? Who doesn’t want to still the thought that maybe, just maybe, people are conspiring to kill the golden goose. Ssssh! Just give No. 10 the ball and let him play when he wants.