Clási-conned into a waste of our lives

By Darshan Joshi, writing from Kuala Lumpur

Editor’s note: Remember that this piece is Darshan’s opinion and does not necessarily represent AFR’s.

It must be the case that, after tonight, the Clásico shouldn’t exist on the European stage. Keep it in Spain. Outside the Iberian peninsula, this is just another match. Rather than being part three of Real Madrid and Barcelona’s ‘world series’, this was the first-leg of a Champions League semi-final. The verdict? Quite possibly the most boring match your mind might muster. It wasn’t fantasy, when fantasy was what this tie was purported to exude. Flicking channels, one would have witnessed a largely meaningless Premier League match between Fulham and Bolton Wanderers. Both teams are assured of safety and have no chance of qualifying for European competition next season. Pride was at stake, another chance to entertain their fans. The pace of play at Craven Cottage was markedly quicker than at the Santiago Bernabéu. Football was actually being played in London. If there was a place for you to be…

Meanwhile, Madrid was hosting the latest in terrifyingly bad acting. First, it was Pedro Rodriguez, and inevitably so. The little man ran into Alvaro Arbeloa, and a split second later, was hovering on the ground, hands glued to his face and writhing in agony. The first shameful dive of this clash? Check. From Pedro’s perspective, it was a job well done. Arbeloa went tumbling into the referee’s book. Also present were the mandatory arguments. Dani Alves soon followed suit, getting booked for a poor challenge on Ángel di María. The second dive came along before the break. Sergio Busquets climbed atop of Marcelo, from behind, and all of a sudden, was clutching his face, rolling on the ground. Shadowing every piece of action was an argument, a fight, a rift waiting to erupt. To the neutral it was like an inside-thing. Nothing was going on in the match, and yet, both sets of players seemed to be abusing every opportunity they got to plant their faces into those of the opposition. To the neutral, it was frustrating.

Why should we care about what had happened at half-time? There was a fight. Why, I wouldn’t understand. There were no contentious refereeing decisions at that point. It was time to reflect on the exaggeration of Spanish football’s greatness, Barcelona’s greatness, in particular. So much is made of their dominance of possession, in every game of football. Their passing, tiki-taka and the rest of that malarkey seemed to be a product of horizontal, pointless passing in their own half. For some, it was fourty-five minutes down, a hundred and thirty-five to go, and thank goodness for that.

The next forty-five saw the introduction of Emmanuel Adebayor, in place of the ineffectual Mesut Özil. After a couple of minutes where the game threatened to turn into something better than we had previously seen, the Clásico was back to its innate nature – pure rubbish. Sergio Ramos was next in the book for a silly challenge on Lionel Messi. He will miss the second leg. On closer inspection, you might notice that Messi tried to elbow someone in the leg. Who it is, I don’t know, but contact wasn’t made. If Messi was getting in on the moronic nonsense…

Just before Pepe was wrongly red-carded, Marcelo delivered a gorgeous tackle on Pedro. According to the Barcelona winger, it was a foul. Only in his team’s eyes. Then it happened. Pepe, his eyes firmly on the ball, went in for a challenge. His foot was barely a foot or two in the air, and at best grazed Dani Alves’ shin, and Alves was the next Barcelona player to hit the deck, mopping the turf. Pepe was sent off, Alves stretchered off. One of those two returned to the fray, and I won’t say who. José Mourinho was also sent off for being dapper and sarcastic.

The match just got worse from there. At every opportunity, the disgusting Barcelona players were falling over, demanding that everything else in the stadium be shown the red card. Real Madrid weren’t going for the win, Barcelona were. At the same time, the Real Madrid players weren’t throwing themselves against the ground like Russell Brand might once have done girls in a nightclub, but Barcelona were.

Lionel Messi scored twice. Big bloody deal. Barcelona have their away goals. Big bloody deal. He then got booked, but only after Carlos Puyol had time to rip the corner flag out of the ground.

Real Madrid and Barcelona have covered themselves in shame, and this is the last time I will ever bother with one of these overhyped, codswallop footballing trashfests that Spain has to offer.