With just over a day to go before the Champions League final, my biggest question lies in knowing which Liverpool is the one that we Madrid fans will find on the pitch at Saint Denis.
Will we find a weak and diminished Liverpool like the one in the kyiv final in 2018? According to one of the great soccer gurus, Santiago Segurola, that Liverpool that faced ours was:
That Liverpool had defeated the almighty Manchester City in the quarterfinals by an aggregate of 5-1, and in the semifinals to the Rome of Manolas after endorsing seven goals. A Roma that had eliminated the Spanish League champion SuperBarça, which that year was a more important trophy (remember) because the Champions were “only seven games” and “Madrid had thrown away the League to focus on the Champions”.
Barely a year later, that same weak Liverpool reached the Champions League final again, this time against Tottenham, and for one of the illustrious AIC (Bald International Analysts), Mister Chip, that was:
Liverpool v Tottenham. With all due respect, in the 2018 final in kyiv, two teams with a total of 17 European Cups came together on the pitch. In 2019, the final was held between a team like Tottenham, without a European title since 1984 and without the Premier since 1961, and Liverpool, who had not won the Premier since 1990. It made me think that perhaps the fact that after three consecutive seasons Real Madrid were not in the final, had revalued the title. These are the things of this club: the titles win or lose importance depending on how the whites dispute (or win) them.
In 2021, a Liverpool champion of the Champions League in 2019 and the Premier in 2020, faced Real Madrid again in the quarterfinals. What was that season about? Well logically:
My God, “a team less fearsome.” For this 2022 final some journalists are already preparing the way, alluding to injuries or the moral downturn for having lost the Premier on the last day:
In the 2018 final they were talking about the “carnage” of Ramos for his grab on Salah, a carnage consisting of returning a grab with such bad luck that in the struggle over the right arm the Egyptian injured his left. They also cut for hours and many pages written about the concussions of Karius, a goalkeeper with songs throughout his career, but that day he was dizzy, groggy, shocked or drunk, who knows. Forgive me the expression, but the collection of blowjobs that we have to read sometimes is enormous. My favorite is still Francesc Aguilar’s justification (Mundo Deportivo) to explain how Juventus Turin, who had only conceded three goals in eight months of competition, had seen their door drilled up to four times in the Cardiff final. A great, hilarious paragraph: the Black Eyed Peas, performing under the covered roof of the National Welsh Stadium before kick-off, had been to blame for the white victory:
Chiellini (32 years old at the time) and Bonucci (30) suddenly became slow and insecure old men, although just four years later, when they won the European Championship with Italy at 34 and 36 years old, they magically became “ seasoned veterans. Pjanic must have been another of those veterans affected by “the intensity” of the preparation and the smoke from the pyrotechnics. A 27-year-old veteran who, just a year later, was for the same journalist a “complete, versatile” and “full” player:
Madrid’s ability to devalue players and teams is incredible. Another of the illustrious AIC that populates national journalism, Maldini, stands out for always putting the bandage before the wound, for example, when we faced that Ajax that passed us over in 2019:
Lucky that our Fred Gwynne had compiled a series of juicy headlines from Mr. Maldonado with the adjectives that he usually lavishes on Madrid’s rivals, all of them with a curious coincidence:
This historic season was not going to be less. Qatar Saint Germain was a great team until the 60th minute of the second leg, in which it magically became a sum of figures that does not work as a team, “without a soul”:
Chelsea, current European champions, were a run-down team, no longer the solid block that Tuchel led to the top continental title a few months ago:
As for City… it was never Madrid’s merit, but a matter of magic, witchcraft, witchcraft or who knows what. Ah, yes, the failures of City, never again the merits or the good work of Real Madrid:
So this Saturday we don’t know what will happen, but it seems difficult for Real Madrid to beat Liverpool, no matter how weak and demoralized the team is at this precise moment. Real Madrid will come out with a goalkeeper who “doesn’t even stop a taxi”, with a “Limitao” player in the center of defence, a slow and very old midfield, and a Vinicius who is “a bluff”, “Ficticius ”, a player with no level for the white squad. Only Benzema remains as a point of reference, the “cat”, a striker without a goal. Salah rightly said that “I prefer to face Real Madrid in the final”. All these things have been said about us and many more, such as Ancelotti being “a retiree who came to sunbathe in Madrid” or Zidane, “an aligner”. It’s much better to trust the journalists, because I’m sure that now, with Kepa in goal and Morata up front, things would be much better for us.
I have a dream. Not a prognosis, which I don’t like to do and the headline should be taken as a Contragafe manual. In my dream, Madrid loses 3-0 at halftime. “Calm down”, I will say in all my guasap groups imitating Florentino. The journalists destroy Ancelotti and all the players mercilessly, wondering how it is possible that the team has reached the final without the right level, that miracles cannot be repeated every day, that there is no sports management or coach, etc. In the second half, in just a quarter of an hour, Madrid came from behind and tied the game. With two goals from Rodrygo and one from Bale from a pass from Hazard. In a way, it would be Ancelotti’s revenge on Liverpool, who did the same thing to him in the Istanbul final in 2005.
In my dream Courtois is injured just before the penalties and the Ukrainian Lunin has to come out, who becomes the hero of the final, in the 2005 Dudek, after saving the last penalty against Salah. Madrid asks for one last change: Florentino Pérez comes out onto the pitch and puts on the captain’s armband to pick up the Orejona from Ceferin. In Paris, under the watchful eye of Al Khelaifi. It is perfectly understandable for Florentino to say: “Tolilis, you are all tolilis”. The footballers leave the Cup in the center of the field and begin the return of honor to the stadium.
But I think we all know that none of that will happen, because the necessary premise, the triumph, is impossible. As much as we face the worst Liverpool in all history.
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