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.

--------------

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.

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.

are we straight? as reeds.

Hands up everyone who loves it when van Schnitzelrooy misses a penalty.

"Why dost thou taunt me, vain ball? Likest not thou mine empurpling kit?"

telegram time

Dear Fabio Capello
Ruud
Ronal

DEAR FABIO CANNAVARO

WTF IS GOING ON STOP IN WHICH UNBELIEVABLE UNIVERSE DID GOING FROM THE BEATEN BUT UNBROKEN JUVENTUS TO A BLOATED STABLE OF GALACTIC WASTE THAT CAN'T SO MUCH AS MAKE A PASS FROM ONE PLAYER TO ANOTHER FOR FEAR OF A BROKEN EGO SEEM LIKE A GOOD IDEA STOP RETURN IMMEDIATELY STOP REMEMBER BECKHAM STOP

"I said give me TIME! I can't deal with this whole proven-football-superstars policy you have going on here!"

Postscript to the Madrid back line that did play in Saturday night's game against Getafe: You suck. So much. The only good thing that can be said about you all? Is that you do not suck HALF as much as the forwards. When next Saturday rolls around and you are all handed much-kicked arse by Barca, you will deserve it richly, but not half as much as the storied-but-unproven fantastitude of the Ruud-Ronaldo partnership.

PPS Canna: No, seriously. Even being the Kaká-surrogate of la Liga ("look, there he is resting his injured knee, let's watch him watching the game because, you know, we aren't paid to focus on the football which is honest-to-Maldini crap, anyway!") has NOT got to be enough compensation for this. Are you trying to cover yourself in shame? You're making Zambrotta and Thuram cry, dude.

PPPS Becks: It's a long way to come, to have us at De Ludo Globi feel sorry for you.

--

Dear Arsenal (on the other hand),

It feels kind of bad saying this after it was an unfancied team that got beat by the classiness of you. But they did try, and you know, apparently in Spain beating a bunch of minnows is too much work. But.

For the win, boys. For. The. Win.

"I don't play for Real Madrid. SCORE."

all's well with the globi?

What a weekend of delight for football fans everywhere, with so much status quo maintained. No major upsets, no dazzling discovery of form, and apart from Valencia’s show on Sunday night’s game against ‘Nastic, no spectacular and crushing display of might or talent. No matches, in short, that a fan might attend and come away from, thinking, ‘ah me, if I never go to another game I will still have the memory of this to carry with me,’ unless perhaps said fan’s Serie B side was playing Juventus this week.

Coming closest to that would be the highlight of the long weekend, Sunday evening’s Madrid derby (Atletico 1-1 Real). Atletico fans should be more dissatisfied than Real’s, since their domination of the match for the greater part resulted in no more than the addition of a dry and dour point to their total, and enough yellow cards to paper a Joni Mitchell taxi. They paved paradise and put up a goal in the seventh minute with some help from Madrid’s truly pathetic defence (it’s a way off from “Hi, I’m Fabio, and I’m a galactico who used to captain my national side,” but my goodness, man, look at those who go before you), but spent the rest of the game satisfied with bursts of stray individual brilliance, unable even to capitalise on the dubious send-off of Sergio Ramos. Real fans still await the regeneration of their megastar team, not alleviated by their captain’s just and poetic comeback. Raúl’s drop from the Spanish international side occurred in a week during which he scored two Champions’ League goals (in Real’s match against Dynamo Kiev) as well as, on Sunday, his first goal in eleven months in a La Liga game. One’s fondness for this forward of no mean gifts makes one hopeful and curious to see how things progress for him. The desire to see him re-assert himself amidst the most expensive goalscoring lineup in football history is pure contrariness: as much as confidence and awe is inspired in us by the van Schnitzelrooys of this world, humans and bloggers were born to root for those down on their luck.




Luck apparently played some part in Cristiano Ronaldo’s inability to put a ball in the back of the net in his team’s annoyingly lopsided game against Newcastle. Ickle Cwistiano played with class and flair, but his numerous shots on goal uniformly met the woodwork, only to be rescued on one occasion by the perspicacious Solskjaer. Cwistiano won Man of the Match for his pains, leaving us at De Ludo Globi happy for the whippersnapper, but puzzled at the festivities attending his lack of precision. Perhaps some training with the right people will make a difference, but we are none of us putting Cwis on our wishlist for Serie A just yet. He’s only just put a stop to his habit of bawling his eyes out after unsatisfactory games, and we’re afraid a season in Italy will just impede his progress in that direction, as it has for older and stronger men before him.

Incidentally we once heard absolutely improbable, baseless, false, wrong rumours of Man U luring the Instrument of Precision into its lair, so if a move is in order (which it isn’t because, absolutely improbable baseless false wrong rumour) ickle Cwistiano might just get the attention he needs – from the right quarters, for once.

[Graphic courtesy Nike’s latest series of ads.]