[The following first appeared as a comment from SoccerMom in a long-ago BFB post. Since then, readers have requested repostings on various occasions. Well, kids, the Clásico might come late this year, but Santa’s arrived early!
This reprint is dedicated to our visiting Madriles, who have not been treated with the courtesy and respect on which the BFB community prides itself. Although the post is dated, my estimation of Moudrid has not depreciated. RM is playing at the top of its game recently — a game that relies on stalwart goalkeeping, physical defense, long midfield passes, quick counterattacks and psychological domination. The fact that the depth of your squad as well as your pockets makes your strategies cheap, your pace of play boring, your star striker delusional and your coach sociopathic — these are all personal opinions, and do not reflect those of other editors and/or the blog in general.
Feliç Clàssic, SoMa]
A madrista once walked into a blog and asked,
”What do we need?”
Fifi said a star. Kxevin says a heart. Iker says a defender … every once in a while … would be nice. TVE says a(nother) coach.
EE is like a trust-fund day-care college-prep, where the everyone is wealthy, beautiful and above average, but the teacher’s afraid of the kids and the dean is afraid of the parents who side with the kids.
If I were a madridista I’d walk out too. Marching. That’s not Fifi money, that’s socio money. The socios, the real fans, the ones from the barrio who take their tortilla sandwiches to the matcheses and puff on cigars and shout at the TV in bars — they love them some Raúl & Co. ‘There’s no happiness,’ croaked one portly fellow to TVE, ‘like waking up on a Saturday and remembering that Madrid– your Madrid– is going to play today’. That’s heart right there, hombre. And they don’t just want to win. They want to win well.
So there’s some young punks that flip Messi the bird from the sidelines. There’s also the old guard, the proud papá and his honorable son, standing up to applaud Ronaldinho at the Beu. That’s sportsmanship. That’s class. And for a team expenditure that could bail out Greece in a country with 20% unemployment, their blood rightly boils.
What is a Fifi to do? How do you solve a problem like Crynaldo? You pays your euros and you takes your chances. You cannot trade … because the only way to trade now is down. And you cannot trade down because EE is not Fifi and it is not Pelly and it is not some greying old duke like Cruyff. EE is Raúl and it is Iker and it is Guti and Sergio and now it is absolutely Crynaldo and probably Kaká and maybe even Benzemá too. Fifi knows this. Crynaldo knows this. And this makes it Pelly’s problem.
Operation Pelly is Mission Impossible. Kaká lets his wife (su MUJER, hombre) bitch that Pelly is a coward. What happens to Kaká? A little time out. Sergio says he will support Pelly heart and soul … as long as he’s there. Pelly says he will stay … as long as he’s allowed. As long as the players run the show and Fifi backs the players, Pelly isn’t a coach. He’s an au pair. For the lords of the flies.
Pelly’s out, there’s no doubt. But who can really make a difference? It’s not tactical. It’s not monetary. It’s not talent. It’s psyche. It’s Oedipal. Now think about your dad. What’s your dad like? I wanna meet that dad! Doo doo doo doo!
Right now you have the distant, greying, venerable kind of dad. The kind of dad Fifi said he wanted in Wegner but got in Pelly (thanks, boss). He doesn’t get pissed. He doesn’t get loud. He gets disappointed. He gets disgruntled. This works in smaller teams where the players try really, really hard. Sometimes this is golden, like Bernd at Getafe. Sometimes this is psychodrama, like Pelly at Villareal. But at EE, the players get sassy and the pooch, as Kxevin says, gets screwed.
You can also get the big-brother kind of dad. The guy who’s been there, who’s done that, who gets you, man. He’s young and he’s energetic and he’s cool. He actually works out with you at practice instead of hanging around in sweats like the embarrassingly vital grandpa in the retirement community. When this is on, the team feels together, they feel lively, they feel on. This is the Pep @ Barca kind of coach. When it’s off, they feel lost, undisciplined, and out of control. This is the later-Rijkaard @ Barca or now Unai @ Valencia kind of coach. But for this to work the coach has to be the cool kid. When your unruly star is the coolest kid in the class ever, there is no way Coach will be cooler.
No, you cannot have an honorable old-man type of dad, and you cannot have a hip, cool with-it type of dad. You need a dysfunctional dad, the kind of dad who will not guide you from afar or hang with you when you’re down. You need the kind of dad who will send you into years of later therapy. You need a real asshole.
Asshole dads come in two varieties: the emotionally-deprived, mentally-absent dad and the borderline-psychotic narcissist dad. We’ve already seen Exhibit A in Capello, and we all know how that turned out. They won La Liga. But no one can get behind Capello because he is so dry and apart and there is no way to relate to him. Capello would call Crynaldo on the nonsense, but Fifi will back Crynaldo because Fifi is more CR7 than CPO.
That leaves us one option. An asshole. A narcissistic, borderline-psychotic, evil-genius asshole. We don’t need a guy who will tolerate CR7. We don’t need a guy who will gently guide him into sportsmanlike maturity. And we don’t need a guy who will pretend not to notice the tantrum because ‘bad attention is still attention’. No, we need a man who will out-asshole every asshole on his team, who can ratchet it up and scare the crap out of them, and then get to Fifi and elaborate and fabricate to the point that the Prez’s head will spin and he will start signing this and that before Raúl can knock gently on the door. We need someone who will argue with the fans, who will demand they feel grateful to him, someone who will take on the team as his own and not on loan.
And even better if that someone knows his rivals inside out, who goes to their games and studies their strategies and practically wrings his hands in the stands as he plots against them … because when EE win, and win it all, and win against them, then, THEN the fans will fill the Beu, THEN Fifi will pop the champagne, THEN TVE will slobber all over itself drooling again, and CR7 himself will bow his head and say he owes it all to him …
And that man, my friends, is our very own evil genius, our next rival in Italy and my bet for our man in Madrid …
MouMou, Dr. Mouriarty, Mourinho.