Then return, with media playing, to present post.]
Oh, this beautiful game can be so-o-o cruel.
And mistakes are part of the season bein’ young.
But ain’t no culé who likes the wrongs that’s been done.”
So sings yo’ SoMa, who has scored another fictional scoop!
SoMa [holds puffy microphone up to Barcelona striker David Villa in the pasillo aprés match]: David, guajebebé, what the yoo-hoo?
Villa [hangs head, shrugs]: I know, SoccerMom. It’s just … Víctor’s always chut de bol tu mí and all that. And if I don’t he gets mad and sends Mascherano after me. How was I to know Agirretxe was right there?
SoMa [pats Villa’s back]: It’s o.k., David. We still love you.
[SoMa enters the press room, where Víctor Valdés is answering questions, although none as insightful as hers.]
SoMa: Víctor, SoccerMom from BFB.
Víctor: Oh, hey, Mom. How are those four young men of yours?
Víctor: Who isn’t? Those crazy emoticons!
SoMa: Now, Víctor, David tells me that you are always all chut de bol tu mí, but then when your midfielders do you’re taking a stroll up penalty kick lane. What gives?
Víctor [winces visibly]: Geez, I was kinda hoping that snafu was out of frame. Look, I got a lot on my mind, o.k.? I gotta keep, I gotta sweep. I know Busi was yelling but after a while you just tune him out or he’ll drive you crazy.
SoMa: Well, I guess you’ve learned your lesson. Now, where is young Sergio? I’ve got a question or two to ask him about a certain defensive maneuver that ought to have landed him in the nosebleeds.
[Víctor, press agents and others scan the room, mumbling: ‘Have you seen him–?’ ‘I thought he was– ‘ ‘Well, I can’t believe, he’s not even going to say I’m–‘ ‘Do you think he even is–?’ SoMa gives up, wanders into on-site medical clinic.]
SoMa [corners MRI of Alexis Sánchez’s right thigh, hands on hips]: And what do you have to say for yourself?
MRI: How did you get in here? This is a restricted area, *&%#.
SoMa: I see. A filthy mouth and a baaaad attitude [whacks film with mike].
MRI [fading slightly]: Ouch! Okay, okay! Look, I don’t know what’s the matter with me. One minute I’m killing the tiki-taka, and the next I’m just … killing.
SoMa: Grounded for two months, mister!
MRI: Two months?!? Mooooom!
SoMa: Maybe six weeks. We’ll see.
Whatsa matter you, didja think this was gonna be a real review?
Well, geez, in that case … [haz clic aquí]