la liga: real madrid-deportivo la coruna

Spain’s comedy team at it again this weekend in a home mach against Deportivo la Coruña, they of the dead cool pink and black away kit. The Sky Sports commentators can’t seem to stop talking about David Beckham and his recall to the England national team. This is in reality likely to affect the same magical revival in the fortunes of the England national team that his exclusion after the World Cup did. Why is Real Madrid so full of discredited international superstars? Well, because in Madrid they’re still fed and watered and called the G-word.

Still love Raúl, though.

+ Hate that the once perpetually shiny, smiling Fabio Cannavaro now plays with a grimace on his face, as some pundit [James Lawton?] recently observed about Ronaldinho. The regrowth of his hair is a good sign, however. Dolce & Gabbana await. Someone should tell Gago the same thing in attempting to rescue him from the clutches of the Evil Dead. The barettes = much better appreciated in Italy, anyway.

+ Defend us, heav’n. Three months between this Madrid game and the last one we watched, the football is now worlds apart from the sort we saw back then, but the overwhelming feeling of precious irrecoverable minutes of our life we will never get back assails with cruel inevitability.

+ OH GOD, SERGIO RAMOS SCORES. Where else in the world is this likely to happen? Impossible. Surreal and strange and impossible. Lovely hairband, though, and the somersault is heartening, a rare and real sign of life among the Zombie Whites.

+ And Gago goes down. Sky Sports commentators insist on calling him ‘Gag-go,’ the way Kaká is ‘Cack-ka.’ No penalty given. Gago maybe counts drama on his list of social accomplishments? Man cannot live by hair product alone, after all, certainly not a red-blooded Argentine, whose hair style should very much be along the lines of opposing defender Coloccini’s, at any rate.

+ So what is it with Becks in the Andrea Pirlo role? Why is he all over the place? What happens to everyone else that he actually starts to look like a doer in spite of his rash of yellow cards and vacant smile? Why is Depor suddenly acquiring similar rash of their own?

+ Depor almost scores! And then doesn’t! Because, shock, awe, Roberto Carlos is in the right place at the right time! It draws a grin from Cannavaro, at any rate. Never let it be said the man doesn’t have an excellent sense of humour.

+ Robinho goes down. Another free kick for Bex. Cannavaro robbed of the opportunity to make it two up for Madrid by Depor choke.

+ HERMIONE GRANGER. That is who Gago looks like! Or that child actor who portrays her, at any rate.

+ Poor Iker Casillas. Always pissed off. Keeping goal for Madrid will do that to a person. Aaaand, it’s half-time.

+ Oh goodness, really considering abandoning comments entirely, match so sans gumption. Depor takes an unfortunate free kick. Obviously Lady Luck is twelfth man for Real. However, note that Robinho has abandoned the canary yellow boots for something out of The Wizard of Oz. Good for you, little man.

+ We saw the last third of the Valencia-Villareal match before this, and remain amazed by the difference in what we consider a game representative of la Liga, and an RM game. The general impression of Real’s game plan seems to be: run around making a nuisance of yourself, fall over, make for stoppage time, crunch in a set piece. Oh, look, here’s one again.

+ Becks hits the post with a free kick. Sky Sports orgasms.

+ Casillas makes a triple-save. We hear there are still some actual Real fans left – you guys want to band together and set up a ‘Send The Poor Man On Vacation’ fund sometime? It’s a wonder he has any nerves left.

+ HAHAHHAHA, CAPDEVILA scores. Well, it was coming. Real 1-1 Deportivo.

+ RAÚL! Oh, what a positively decent header! Oh, how Real’s bad comedy vibe has rubbed off upon Depor! Oh, the humanity!

+ Diarra keeps getting knocked down. Excellent to see the enterprising spirit of Guti lives on even when he is on the bench with a flu.

+ Really hope Kaká is watching this. His team put on a show almost as bad as an average Real effort on the night of the Champions’ League final, but he should know what he will be in for if he ever decides that white makes him look prettier. As for the big-mouthed Zlatan Ibrahimovic, who seems to enjoy putting his career on the line week after week with ill-chosen words, this should definitely afford the sight of how, exactly, a career can die. Painfully.

+ Another Bex free kick. Goes to waste. Think will go eat some curds and whey.

+ Depor free kick (really, we are not trying to develop a theme here. This is almost minute-by-minute). Straight to Casillas. Depor keeper way prettier, must say. And rather obviously just as angry.

+ This game is so dire. Must abandon to save last vestiges of sanity. Twenty minutes more might damage brain irreparably. Shall we? Shan’t we?

+ Hey, where’s little Gonzalo Higuain? Come on out, baby. < / disturbing quasi-eratophilia >

+VAN SCHNITZELROOY! OH, WHAT ELSE IS NEW! Gods, what a man.

+ Robinho out. HAY GUTÍ.

+ Leave the pink shirt alone, Roberto Carlos.

+ Leave the somersaults to Sergio Ramos, Roberto Carlos.

+ When will this end? When? Are we stuck in some devious parallel universe where Real Madrid is always playing football? What have we done to deserve to be locked into same?

+ Roberto Carlos in handbags, #46794376. At least he did not forget to leave the pitch. Hello, Cicinho.

+ Higuain, little Higuain! W00t!

+ Four minutes of injury time. All we can gather up is a feeble moan of protest.

+ Higuain so enthusiastic. Pity about the team, really.

+ Game over. OH THANK HEAVEN. * pop eyeballs back in and crawl off*

Never again, we promise.

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Alright, we’re also watching Barca-Getafe. Not doing reactions [other than Y DECO Y U SHAVE UR HEAD], but the Messi-Eto’o-Ronaldinho action to set up the first goal has already begun to repair our ravaged brain.

a champions league final report in deadly earnest

We don’t have much to say. This was a really bad match. Well, to be fair, we don’t have what you might call a balanced perspective: one of us spent the majority of the match pacing the balcony with a team shirt over her head, and the other was supporting the team that lost, and consequently gave up and retreated into ‘Bridget Jones’ Diary’ once Filippo Inzaghi scored his magnificent second goal (and then celebrated like he’d recovered the ring Kaká Frodo threw into the cracks of Mount Doom). Neither side gave us the character-filled ‘masterclass’ (thank you, Associated Press, for emblazoning that word into our collective consciousness forevermore by overusing it in the wake of the Milan-United game) in totally opposing football styles that the semi-finals had led us to hope for. The mistakes and overcautiousness that populated the field on the night overshadowed most of what might have been salvaged as a happy or comforting memory from the game.

Liverpool played the one striker who was unable to score (much). Milan just didn’t show up, and came through on what seemed like the benevolence of Liverpool, and the surprise shows from a couple of unlikely players, including one Nelson Jesus da Silva, whom you may know as “that utter twit, Dida.” All the goals were unnecessary and could have been avoided, everyone looked tired and drugged up to their eyeballs with fear and loathing, and – that was the match in its entirety.

Aisha’s vote for Man of the Match: no one, really. It’s sad that Liverpool produced not a single notable performance. Even Xabi broke our hearts. And when that happens, words become superfluous. All we can do is shake our heads in dismay. Shake, shake.

Ros’ vote for Man of the Match: Nesta, actually. Inzaghi was excellent and deservedly lauded as the matchwinner for Milan, but his two goals might have been consolation had it not been for the near-flawless performance from the man who suffered the injustice of watching his place in the World Cup being taken over – and then put to good use! – by Mad Matrix Materazzi. Another four years without injury and Nesta should end his career as he began, rightly hailed as one of the world’s best.

Aisha’s Moment of the Match: The Alonso foul. Decisive for the game, and, in spite of its terrible consequence for Liverpool, affording us the opportunity to look at Alonso up close. Devastating(ly gorgeous).

Ros’ Moment Of The Match: The Alonso foul. Decisive for the game and, in spite of producing a goal credited to Inzaghi, proof that Andrea Pirlo is the ruler of everything in the universe. When he can be bothered to keep his eyes open.

Aisha’s Pick For Most Hilarious Moment: The complete disappearance of own club’s defence during Inzaghi’s second goal. It must be noted here that the laughter was semi-hysterical.

Ros’ Pick For Most Hilarious Moment: Inzaghi wasting time, almost bookably, after being elbowed by empty air. Harry Kewell’s Elizabethan ‘Ye gods, that such a man existeth!’ hand gestures only served to heighten the hilarity.

Let the readers note that not a tear of sorrow or joy was shed during the game. We were impressively stoic, as befits young ladies of our intellect and temper, and conducted ourselves impeccably throughout. (Except for the bit with the jerseys and chick lit.)

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And that’s that for the season. Keep coming back for updates on DLG’s favourite things about football: rumours, gossip, persiflage and generally good-for-nothing football trivia. Don’t forget the Euro 2008 qualifiers, either. Until August, then, lovers of the mad, beautiful (and also? mad) game.

monday trivia

No, this post is not about Alessandro Nesta. We just think he's awesome.

The Football Italia quotes this time are comedy gold, or something greater. Observe:


“I think it’s a pretty name. You’ll see lots of children will be called Chanel soon.”
Ilary Blasi, otherwise known as Mrs Francesco Totti, challenges the Beckhams for the daftest baby name competition

More's the pity, Ilary, more's the pity. We know Italy will be bursting at the seams with little girls called Chanel soon. But really. Still, baby should probably be thankful Mama didn't go for first name 'Coco' instead, or we'd have all been left wondering just why Totti's kid was named after a Torino striker of suspect integrity.

And this one: “I was very young when I planned out my career. I was going to play for a big club in Brazil, then Europe, Italy, take part in a World Cup and Olympics. At the end of the map was the Champions League Final.”
Kaka saw his career path as a Lord of the Rings saga with Rafa Benitez as Sauron

Those looks SO work against Kaka. But Pirlo and Gattuso were meant to be Legolas and Gimli.

'I feel it grow heavier as it lies upon my neck...'

in which we bestir ourselves to care

About something other than the fluctuating percentages of the likelihood of Maldini making an appearance in his eighth Champions' League final in Athens on May 23rd. The Gazzetta dello Sport reports today that Real Madrid

[obligatory pause for laughter from the galleries, since their coming as close to winning la Primera in five-odd years than they ever have is no reason to stop making fun of them]

is planning a bid for one of our favourite players, Zlatan Ibrahimovic. Yesterday, news of their desire to capture that much-beloved emperor of the masses and FC Inter's least favourite party animal, Big Man Adriano, had leaked out, and all seemed well in the world of la Real, with everyone involved not knowing their arses from their elbows as per usual. Adrian (wot Google Translate calls the fun-loving Brazilian giant) could hardly have any serious rivals for that coveted position, the Antonio Cassano Spot On The Madrid Bench, anywhere in Europe, could he?

Today we hear that Zlatan is also included in their plans. Which is also not very puzzling, since he fulfils Madrid's basic criteria as top candidate for next year's flavour: he's had a good season, and he doesn't photograph badly. Well, apart from the nose. We wonder what Madrid's problem with their current formation and the on-fire van Nistelrooy - not our favourite player, but you have to respect a man who plays in an utterly crap team with an utterly crap formation but is already challenging for Pichichi in his first season. And he speaks better Spanish than Beckham's managed in five years! - is. Too horsy? Too good a finisher? Too much discipline?

If they want to hire Zlatan to go back to his support/creative striker role, then I think we can enjoy the prospect of yet another touch-and-go season for everyone's favourite men in white. Kaka in central defence would probably create as many opportunities.

Position aside, we can't imagine how Real, whose player purchases are the club's substitute for the kerchief down your pants, is going to deal with a personality as insecure and volatile as Zlatan's. He'll be among friends if he heads out - Cannavaro and Emerson - but what puzzles us is the idea that Fabio Capello has a role to play in all this. Or is Capello, contrary to all our expectations, actually staying on next year?

What we've seen of Zlatan leads us to conclude two things about the type of environment that suits him best: one is a Maradona-in-Napoli style set-up, a smaller club that will build itself around him and depend on him to perform under pressure and be a figure of inspiration. Or a club with a smooth, efficient management that knows how to deal with fragile egos and motivate them sufficiently to gel well with a team packed with other superstars. Any opinions on la Real fitting into either of those categories?



And in more gossip about glass egos, we have been reliably informed by The Sun that Andriy Shevchenko felt impelled to explain his injury problems and lack of committment to one Chelsea FC to a personage no less than John Terry. It appears that 'I'm just here for the money, dude,' doesn't quite cut it with the Iron Man of English Football. What a load of bull, we say.

We don't hold much for the authoriteh of celebriteh and the like, but we do wonder what would have happened if Sheva had turned around, looked his at least partly overrated teammate in the eye, and asked him to come talk to him when he had a couple of Ballons d'Or and a record as one of Europe's most successful players ever.

there is a time for gloating

But that time is not now. There is a time to revisit old ghosts, a time to look ahead, a time to take stock and a time to celebrate.




For now: the San Siro. Cold, ferocious rain, howling walls of humanity, a cauldron built to order from the Inferno. What a fitting result for such a stadium.

And Milan and Liverpool are going to Athens.