El Clasico

I must have looked out of place. With nearly one hundred thousand people screaming and jumping around, there I was silent and relatively still. It was Xavi's goal in the 10th minute, and if you didn't know any better you would have thought I was catatonic.


The guy to my left, probably confused by my reaction, grabbed me and shook my shoulders as if to wake me up. I gave him a high-five so that he would stop bothering me and I continued to soak in the scene.

The truth is that it didn't work. I was as capable of absorbing the moment as a deer is capable of absorbing an F150.

There was so much uncertainty leading up to El Clasico that I wasn't prepared for a goal that quickly. My body was in the Camp Nou, but my brain was still on the metro, wondering if I would even get a ticket.

My journey to find a way inside the Camp Nou for El Clasico began two weeks ago. Well, technically it began within three hours of finding out I had been accepted to The University of Barcelona five months ago, but realistically it began two weeks ago. I talked with season ticket holders, friends, locals, friends of friends, and the response was always the same - a laugh, a shake of the head, and the obligatory "don't count it on it kid" speech.

In short, I blame them for my reaction. I blame the whole city in fact. The tension and anxiety for this game reached tangible levels three weeks ago. Did you know that the game was originally scheduled for Sunday? The same Sunday as the - depending on who you ask - local elections of Catalunia. Perhaps it was the surgeon general that realized you can't have 5 million people finding out the result for both El Clasico and the "Presidential" election on the same night.

I rent my apartment from a wonderful Catalan couple who would tell you that the election was "national" rather than "local". The husband is a life-long season ticket holder and a Barça aficionado, though that's an understatement. He told me once with a straight face that his All World Starting 11 would include Eric Abidal at right back. I hadn't signed the lease yet so I thought it would be impolite to storm out.

In the first week of November, I was at their house to pick up an extension cord and El Clasico came up. Ten seconds into the conversation the wife stormed into the room saying, "No no no! No more talk about football! I've had it up to here(!) with this damn football match!!" So, yes, the tension was building.

Fast forward three weeks and there I was, 100 dollars poorer with 98 thousand people singing the hymn; it's no wonder why I was so overwhelmed.



You can hear me singing in this one.



I think it's important to note that neither manager had an incentive to go out and win 2 or 3-nil. This game had zero-zero or 1-1 draw written all over it, and both managers would be delighted with one point each, considering the stakes. The managers before the game (I'm paraphrasing):

"If we win, tomorrow will be Tuesday. If we lose, tomorrow will also be Tuesday." - Jose Mourinho.

"Win or lose it will be 1 match of 38." - Pep Guardiola


So with a pleasant 1-1 draw looming over El Clasico, you can imagine my surprise when Iker Casillas blew this game wide open, fudging a routine cross from David Villa, and defrauding Madrid fans everywhere to allow a 2-nil lead within 20 minutes of the kickoff. Yikes.

I would be lying if I said Sara Carbonero didn't cross my mind:

"What happen honey? Why you ruin Mourinho's day?... Were you cold?"

Fine. Two-nil. Remember, we're still only 20 minutes into this game.

Both goals had a very real element of fortune about them, but all the same, this just got more interesting. Phrases that don't really make sense but are cool to say come up at times like these -- The next goal will be the most important one. (Yeah totally!!... ...wait what?)

After two-nil and before halftime, Madrid fans could claim there was a moment of controversy when Cristiano Ronaldo was brought down in the box by Victor Valdez. The reason it was not a penalty, not in Barcelona or in Madrid, was because the original burst by Cristi to get into position was a reaction play. Moments before the ball squirmed free, Cristiano was standing, or relatively still. Once he saw the opportunity present itself, only then did he fly in front of Valdez. The ref noticed this as well and I'm of the firm belief that if Cristiano, by chance, had been running or sprinting from the outset, as if trying to get on to a through-ball, it would have been called. But since it was a broken play, and the intent to beat Valdez to the position was fairly transparent, the referee didn't buy it. I'm not blaming Cristi at all, or the referee since I think it was the correct decision... if that makes any sense at all.

Cue halftime. Cue the sandwiches I mentioned before. I took a picture to not only prove the culture, but to also show you how in 50 degree weather these spoiled Mediterraneans dress like they're about to ski the Pyrenees.

The second half begins and throughout the intermission I'm secretly wishing this turns into a classic for the ages. I would be right, but not the way I imagined.

Nobody expected five-nil. Nobody. Not Pep, not Puyol, not even my landlord. They are lying if they did, or disingenuous at best. What happened was that David Villa had other intentions. The man feasts on big games. It's amazing that people rave about Messi, Xavi, even Iniesta, when on the front page of every newspaper should be David Villa. It was his cross that Pedro tapped in, and his cold-blooded, world class, enter-hyperbole-here finishes that put this game to bed. If Real Madrid were a beautiful 12-point buck, Xavi shot it in the leg while David Villa calmly walked over with a chainsaw and cut it to bits.

I barely heard a peep about Villa during Spain's World Cup run and nothing has changed during the aftermath of this blowout. I'll air my gripes at another time, because right now it's still 4-nil, there are 30 minutes left in El Clasico, and the match has yet to reach it's highest level of absurdity.



For a ten minute span starting at the hour mark, Barcelona FC decided to cash in on their bets of who could nutmeg the most Real Madrid players. No joke, Xavi had 2 megs, Iniesta had 2, Alves may have had 3 (the winner), Boooosie with 1, Messi with 1... you get the picture. Ticky-tack champagne soccer had begun, egged on by the crowd who were chanting:

Hey-o hey-o hey-o.
Esto es un chorreo.

Chorreo = blowout. Ouch.

That wasn't even my favorite song. To the tune of Guantanamera, the masses hilariously begged Jose Mourinho to, "come out of the dugout":

Sal del banquillo... Mourinho sal del banquillo... Saal del banquiiiiiiiiillooooo, Mourinho sal del banquiiillooo.

The banquillo (ban-key-yo) is the pyrex bubble Mourinho hid inside, with reason, for most of the game. In fact, talking about it afterward with a friend who watched at home, we agreed there was really only one time when Mourinho stood near the sideline. Anyway, they're a clever bunch, the fans, when winning 4-nil.

The greatest insult, and this was a doozey, came via Pep Guardiola when he substituted for Bojan Krkic. Make no mistake, Guardiola was insulting Los Merengues. I'll let my Read Madrid friend explain, (I'm paraphrasing):

"When Pep says, hey, you know what will be great (mock laugh), I'm gonna put in the retard - you know it's humiliating.
[And if he had scored that break-away?, I asked]
God I don't want to talk about this anymore. If Bojan had scored I would have died. That's the only thing I left with man, at least Bojan didn't score. We got spanked and it was terrible, but if that hack Bojan scores it would have been worse."

It sounds harsh but any Barcelona supporter would agree. Half my section encouraged Bojan with, "run Bojan, run!!" sarcastically as if they were mocking Forest Gump. Send the boy out on loan, please; but I digress.

The culmination, besides Jeffren's completion of la manita (pictured here, holding up your mano to indicate exactly how many goals have been scored), was when Jorge Ramos decided he had had enough.


From the moment Messi took off it looked like a bunch of piranhas chasing after a minnow. I started cringing and just about everyone knew what was coming. What happened after the mass of Merengues converged and left Messi in a heap was a blur. A flash of red, Puyol hits the deck, mayhem, Ramos storms off, hits Xavi in the face, the crowd is incensed, thousands of whistles, more mayhem. It all converged into this:

Madrid!
Cabrón!
Saludo al campeon!

Madrid!
Cabrón!
Saludo al campeon!

(repeat 10x)

The final whistle sounds and the crowd celebrates as if the result were a surprise. The hymn immediately blasts from the speakers and it isn't for another 10 minutes when the majority of fans head for the exit.

The tunnels bottleneck with fans, factions of songs break out, smiles abound. Just another Monday night in Barcelona.

What's That You Say?

We beat them by how many goals? Oh dear, that's quite a lot. Maybe we should have taken it easy on them... I hate it when Mourinho calls me late at night and breathes menacingly into the phone, and you can be sure he'll be at it again tonight. I know it's you, Jose.

Next up (I hope): a summary from our very own correspondent, present earlier this evening at the Camp Nou.

Happy Thanksgiving (Except you, Arsenal)

I hope everyone is having a great holiday, despite Arsenal's best efforts to ruin it. The panic button shouldn't be pushed yet, but I understand if you're hunched over the button with your arm raised and glancing around with crazy eyes.

This Saturday against Aston Villa, the Gooners have the opportunity to start off the weekend in amazing fashion. And I'm not referring to the three points. Those will be nice of course, but I'm most referring to timing of it all.

It's a long weekend, it's the holidays, and Arsenal is the opening ceremony. An Arsenal win means the United-Blackburn match is exceedingly more enjoyable. You get to be that guy at the bar wearing Arsenal red, oooh-ing and aah-ing obnoxiously over every Blackburn miss. You can drink your beer with a conspicuous air of entitlement, talk loudly about how, "Wayne seems to have lost a step", and still leave happy after United win 2-nil. The day has just begun.

After an early lunch of leftover turkey, stuffing and mashed potatoes, the Serie A is there for dessert. AC Milan and their enigmatic all-stars face a tricky Sampdoria side to increase their lead atop the table. Then comes Juventus, or rather, the Milo Krasic show, on FSC. If you haven't tuned in to see Milo Krasic run circles around slow Serie A defenders, this is your chance. The Old Lady has a swagger about them lately, so lets hope they keep it up.

Before you drift off to sleep in the wonderful food comatose that can only occur this time of year, let Diego Forlan tuck you in. The World Cup's best player leads Atletico Madrid against Barcelona's younger brother, Espanyol. With rumors of a scoring drought, Doug E Fresh set the record straight against Osasuna, and ever since, he and Kun Aguero have been running trains on La Liga defenders.

On Sunday, Liverpool will beat Tottenham after Chelsea loses to Newcastle and the Rams, who are shockingly relevant this year, will pull out a nice road victory a mile in the air. You'll say goodbye to family, eat one more turkey sandwich for the road and wonder why you don't make 15 pound turkeys more often because the leftovers are so damn good. Unfortunately, it can't be replicated; it won't be same if it's not Nov 25th, but you knew that already.

None of these things will happen if Arsenal comes out and loses. So yeah, no pressure.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Enter the Spin Zone

Here, drink this champagne, eat this hors d’oeuvre, and take a seat. I’m here to make things better.

Pay attention.

Let’s suppose that Chelsea, Manchester United, and Arsenal are the three favorites to win the title this year. Each team has played 14 matches so far, 7 at home, and 7 away. Chelsea and Utd lead the Prem with 28 points, and Arsenal are not far behind with 26.

Of the fourteen games played so far, all three teams have 6 opponents in common. They are: Liverpool, Manchester Citeh, Sunderland, West Brom, West Ham, and Wolves.

Whether home or away, Chelsea, United, and Arsenal have all faced the aforementioned teams. Here are the points earned for their shared opponents:

Chelsea - 9 points
Man Utd – 12 pts
Arsenal – 11 pts

This is important because not all wins and losses are the same at this stage of the season. When Arsenal go to the Eastlands and smash on Manchester Citeh, those three points have more inherent value than Chelsea’s home beat down of West Brom. At this point of the campaign, all three points are not created equal.

It’s less fun to analyze the season this way, but it’s the truth. Would any Gooner feel confident at Old Trafford for the final game of the season, top of the table by one point? Oh by the way, 2^nd place Chelsea have West Ham at home… didn’t think so.

The key, as always, is expectations. Every manager knows this. Ian Holloway rested ten of his starters because Blackpool cannot be expected to get points away at Aston Villa, not when four days later West Ham comes to visit. Mick McCarthy did the same thing against United last year. Five days later his rested team beat Burnley. Ian earned a draw for his next game.

Granted, these are managers trying to avoid relegation, not win the Premier League, but what is a “good results” and what is a “bad result” still holds. Take a look at last year. Recall that Chelsea won the league with 86 points, Man United finished with 85 points, and Arsenal third, with 75.

Of the 38 fixtures every team plays, 14 of them are exceedingly tricky: home or away games against Arsenal, Chelsea, Man Utd, Liverpool, Man Citeh, Tottenham (12) and also away games at Aston Villa, and Everton (2). Twelve plus two makes for 14 critical fixtures in any team’s title chase*. Wondering how critical? – Just ask Arsenal.

Last year Arsenal earned just 14 points from the “tricky” fixtures while Chelsea and Man-U earned 24 and 22 respectively. Ouch.

Put this in a different way. For the 24 matches that a team such as Arsenal, Chelsea and Man-U are expected to win, they earned 61, 62, and 63 points respectively. No big difference. Not nearly the 14, 24 and 22 spread from the crucial fixtures. You earn your paycheck for the twenty-four regular matches; you get paid for the other fourteen.

So how is this season shaping up? Obviously I wouldn’t have gone through all this trouble if it didn’t mean good news for Arsenal… right? Right?

Each team has conveniently played 4 of their 12 tricky games so far this season:

Arsenal – 7 points
Chelsea – 4 pts
Man Utd – 6 pts

With such a limited sample size it’s tough to jump to any major conclusions. We’ll know more about Arsenal very soon; 3 of our next 5 games are Villa away, United away and Chelsea at home.

One detail, however, does stand out; Chelsea is in worse shape than the table shows. They’re trailing their peers on points against the same opponent as well as crucial fixtures. And even though they’re still top, a smart Chelsea fan would be worried that they haven’t met the expectations of a championship caliber team.

You know, a team that blows a 2 goal-lead, at home, to their biggest rival - that kind of championship team. Ugh, I think I’m gonna be sick again.

*It’s really 12 for a top team since they don't play themselves.

There Is Vomit Everywhere

Last week, I used Ice Cube's line "drunk, but no throwing up" to characterize how Arsenal dealt with taking a two goal lead against Everton. Applying that to today's match against Spurs, I can only conclude that the Emirates Stadium is drenched with metaphorical vomit. Dripping with vile, alcohol-laden vomit. Swimming in a hastily-chewed half pound bean and cheese burrito from Del Taco and reeking of bile and acid. How on earth did this happen?

Arsenal got a little tipsy when Nasri broke the deadlock. Even the boss was fist-pumping and smiling in a manner that he usually saves for goal number seven. Who could blame him, though? Arsenal were good value for their lead, dominating proceedings in the midfield, and pressing Spurs high up the pitch. Chamakh made it two, and suddenly, we were on top of the world (let alone the league table). Beating Spurs at home, business as usual. After all, they hadn't taken three points on Arsenal's home field since 1993. We had the three points draped over us, she kept touching our arm and laughing at all our jokes. Fantastic.

But we couldn't let things plateau. We just kept drinking. And drinking. And suddenly, Denilson was staggering around the field, forgetting to track back and help out his defense during a Spurs break. 2-1. And then during a free kick, Fabregas and Chamakh raised their arms like frat boys clamoring for another round of shots, desperately trying to get the bartender's attention. And they succeeded, as Cesc's blatant resulting handball gave Phil Dowd absolutely no choice but to throw us out of the bar. 2-2. And then, utterly demoralized and disoriented, Arsenal watched, powerless and thick-tongued, as Younes Kaboul spit game at the three points and convinced her to come home to White Hart Lane. 2-3. As Kaboul sealed the deal, Arsenal vomited copiously onto the pavement and collapsed in a stricken, moaning, weeping heap of misery.

William Gallas is laughing at us. Harry Redknapp is laughing at us. Jermaine Jenas is laughing at us. I can only hope that we were blackout when this went down because it might be the only way that we'll be able to rebound from it. Would that Arsene's Sleeping Bag Coat were a Time Sleeping Bag Coat. We could go back in time and salvage this. As it is, we need to get out a mop, some Pine Sol, a healthy helping of humility, and promise ourselves (at least until next week) to never drink again.

In the Words of Ice Cube...

"It was a good day." In fact, it was a great football weekend. Let's recap...

I got my grub on, but didn't pig out; finally got a call from a girl I wanna dig out...

Aston Villa 2 - 2 Manchester United. In a way, a United loss would have been pigging out - I don't think I'm alone in having the feeling that if they lost this one, they would bounce back with a five spot against Wigan next weekend. Instead, they get to maintain a false sense of security in their unbeaten run, and can ignore that they've been leapfrogged in the table, drawn two in a row, are relying on the likes of Park and Vidic to get them out of jail, and should have never even beaten Wolves last week. Ring ring. Hello, who's there? Oh, hey Aston Villa... are you telling me you're going to start playing like the side that routinely competes for fifth or sixth and gives the top teams trouble? So good to hear from you...

Looking in my mirror, not a jacker in sight - and everything is alright...

Manchester City 0 - 0 Birmingham City. As an Arsenal fan, please allow me to redirect something towards Citeh, something that every Arsenal hater has been telling me ad infinitum (and not without good reason) for the past few years: "these are the games you have to win to be a contender." Chelsea, Arsenal, and United are looking in their rear view mirrors, and they're increasingly unafraid of what they see.

Saw the police, and they rolled right past me...

Juventus 1 - Roma 1. This is not so much a positive as it is an aversion of disaster (for both teams). All in all, a very entertaining match, and either side could have won (and either side could have had players booked or even sent off, especially near the end when it got chippy). But as it is, two good teams made sure they didn't lose big while going for the win, and two fine strikers added to their tally. Nobody got arrested, and the title remains a viable goal.

Woke her up around one, she didn't hesitate to call Ice Cube the top gun...

Barcelona 3 - 1 Villareal. I don't hesitate to call Leo Messi the top gun, and neither should you. Two goals from him (he's so good, that I expect him to score his first the way he does now... he's officially patented the double give and go, and we're all spoiled for it), and the Blaugrana got to sit top for about 24 hours.

Today was like one of those fly dreams...

Chelsea 0 - 3 Sunderland. The kind of fly dream where Sunderland drop three goals. On Chelsea. At Stamford Bridge. Three well-deserved goals, might I add. It was the kind of fly dream in which Ashley Cole passes it directly to the other team to set up an icing-on-the-cake goal. Well played, Steve Bruce. Well played Danny Welbeck and Asamoah Gyan. And extremely well played Nedum Onuoha, doing his best Messi imitation for the opener. Mmm, positively dreamy.

Even saw the lights of the Goodyear Blimp, and it read: "Ice Cube's a pimp."

Hercules 2 - 1 Real Sociedad and Atletico Madrid 3 - 0 Osasuna. The Goodyear Blimp being La Liga (make of that what you will), and the shining lights being two TLOCA favorites, David Trezeguet (captured in the act of reasoning with the ball and convincing it that the goal is its proper home) and Diego Forlan, who got back on target for their respective sides. That's just a nice bonus, and a reminder that class is permanent. When Trez and Forlan go to sleep at night, they see their names on that blimp.

Drunk as hell, but no throwing up...

Everton 1 - 2 Arsenal. Arsenal continue to grind out tough wins on the road while surrendering easy ones at home. We scored two classy goals (Bacary!?!), and got a little too comfortable. But despite getting drunk and reeling a bit at the end, Lukasz Fabianski provided the voice of reason and prevented us from pulling the trigger and losing two points. We may have a bit of a hangover tomorrow, but thank goodness we didn't boot all over Goodison Park. Although we wouldn't have been the first to do it.

I got to say, it was a good day.

Amen. (And Jose Mourinho and AC Milan agree.)

Fresh Juicy Mangoes

Dan Quayle would be proud of this fellow. For the neutral observer, it was a fantastic weekend of football. As an Arsenal supporter, it wasn't so great; I'll just quickly say a few words about that stinker against Newcastle and it's this: no excuses. We put out almost as strong a squad as we could; no Vermaelen or fit RVP, but whatever, this is almost as good as it gets. Cesc, Nasri, Wilshere, Walcott, Chamakh, Song. We should be scoring. And at home, we must be winning with that lineup. MUST. OK, rant over. Now, a few thoughts:

(1) Fernando Torres took two enormous bites of the mango this weekend. And with cool, slightly sticky mango juice spilling down his handsome chin, he lit a fire under Liverpool. For the first half, they looked like the squad their teamsheet has always threatened to be - killing themselves for every ball in midfield, working hard, defending as a unit, smothering Chelsea, and letting El Nino do his thing up front. That was so much fun to watch. It certainly made the poop sandwich (with a side of Andy Carroll and Joey Barton) I had just swallowed a half hour before that much easier to digest. In the second half, Chelsea had an Arsenal kind of day, lots of possession, lots of dallying, and then, when they finally got the ball into dangerous positions, they wasted their chances or were thwarted by excellent goalkeeping. I felt their pain.

(2) Roma won what might be the most intense, ill-tempered derby in football right now against league-leaders Lazio. (Frankly, I'd be too terrified to attend one of these matches.) You know Francesco Totti is nearing the end when I'm slightly relieved to see him not on the teamsheet. Also, I'm sorry to say it, but Muslera really should do better with Boriello's miserable excuse for a penalty. Good thing they had Vucinic take the second one. Who, by the way, has the angriest, most bizarre, goal celebrations around right now. He's the best.

(3) This brings me to my next point: the Serie A is bonkers. With all the focus on the EPL and La Liga, it's easy to forget that an Italian club won the CL last year. If I'm a club in the Champions League, I want no part of Inter, Roma, or Milan this year. All three clubs, while flawed, are completely unpredictable, and I could easily see one of them going to the final this year. Don't look now, but they're all on track to make the knockouts...

(4) La Liga wants no part of the (relative) parity taking hold of the EPL, Serie A, or Bundesliga (actual parity, there). But that's OK, because Mourinho vs. Barca is good fun. Juan predicted that the title returns to Madrid this year, and frankly, it's hard to argue with him. In fact, I think I'll go one better: Mourinho wins the treble with Madrid, and then leaves within the next two years to replace Fergie at Man United. It's happening.

(5) Speaking of which... Ji-Sung Park? Surely United cannot keep this up. If they somehow stay competitive for the title, then Fergie has definitely refinanced the third mortgage on his soul.

Until next time, gents.