Liga Pundits articles

[Beast]

Even the most evil men are capable of beauty once in a while
Sid Lowe

It's not supposed to be this way. Carlos Marchena's not supposed to score and he's certainly not supposed to score the same day David Albelda does

Something was rotten in the Kingdom of Navarre. Really rotten. Vegetable drawer rotten. A furry, greying blob wallowing in some unidentified liquid, stuck to the bottom of your fridge, laughing at you for being deluded enough to have bought it in the first place. Surely there was some mistake; it just wasn't right, it couldn't be. Even as they reported it, they half expected someone to reveal it had all been an elaborate practical joke. "Valencia's jugones – their stylists, their superstars – were Albelda and Marchena," said AS's headline. "Albelda and Marchena pull on top hat and tails," said Marca's. They might as well have found a bus on the moon. With Freddie Starr tucking into their hamster on the top deck.

9pm, Sunday night, the Reyno de Navarra. Osasuna versus Valencia, the last game of Jornada 11 – not quite a weird weekend but a slightly strange Saturday and Sunday. Jorge Valdano had admitted that he was "bored" but "crisis-ridden" Real Madrid had still gone top – properly top – for the first time since 2007-08. Unbeaten in 11 games, Barcelona were talking about "getting ourselves out of this". Málaga and Zaragoza found themselves on the front page. And Mallorca were sixth, officially Spain's best side at home. Now Valencia had won 3-1 in a game in which the linesman was hit by a sandwich, Osasuna had two sent off and José Antonio Camacho complained that the only thing referee Velasco Carballo didn't do for the visitors was "kiss them".

But that wasn't the surprise. This is the stadium where David Beckham was pelted with missiles by the ballboys; Osasuna have long defined themselves by their dirtiness; and their coach Camacho admitted that he "expected" red cards after a week in which the Valencia coach Unai Emery asked the ref to show some "personality". No, that was no surprise; that's not what saw this match round off a weekend of unusual phenomena. Nor was Walter Pandiani getting sent off, or Carlos Marchena helping it happen. Nor, in fact, was David Villa getting the opener – the Valencia striker is La Liga's top scorer on nine. What was a surprise was Villa getting it from a wonderful chipped assist from Marchena, and Marchena himself scoring a brilliant third. What was a surprise was that Valencia's second was a superb lob from David Albelda.

That's David Albelda and Carlos Marchena. Carlos Marchena and David Albelda.

The incredulous sub-heading on the back of one paper said it all: "Maarcheenaaa!" All it lacked were the multiple question marks. It's not supposed to be this way. Marchena's not supposed to score. He's certainly not supposed to score the same day Albelda does. He's only got seven in nine seasons; Albelda has only six in 12. More importantly, he's not supposed to score nice goals on the same day Albelda scores nice goals. "Albelda and Marchena scored goals worthy of a stars," declared Marca. By which they meant: not worthy of them. AS, meanwhile, gave Albelda the Dandy award, for only the fourth time in his entire career. Marchena was declared the game's Crack. For him, too, it was only the fourth time ever.

"Valencia are a mine," declared El País's headline. And when it comes to Albelda and Marchena, most would agree, Valencia are a mine: dark, dirty and dangerous. The Crack? For Marchena, that's normally just the sound of violence – the noise that accompanies his elbow as it shudders into an opponent's cheek. Marchena is the dirtiest, cheatingiest, evilest player in La Liga. A fouling, elbowing, pulling, diving, whinging, faking hardman who learnt from the master of nasty bastardry – a sneaky, clever, utterly Machiavellian master by the name of David Albelda. "Albelda and Marchena are used to bossing, kicking, clearing, protesting and running in every game, this time they added class," Marca said; "as well as fighting, they joined the symphony of quality," agreed AS. It didn't make sense; this weekend, nothing did.

Only, perhaps it did. Mallorca have the best home record but they've played Xérez, Tenerife, Valladolid, Getafe, Racing and Almería, who have managed five wins in 34 away games. Which also helps to explain Madrid's position: their home wins have come against Deportivo and Xérez, Tenerife, Valladolid, Getafe, and Racing. Zaragoza and Málaga graced the cover of Sport You but only because they'd disgraced the game, producing the "ugliest match on earth". Barcelona are unbeaten but they've not won in three away matches, they look tired, and Leo Messi and Zlatan Ibrahimovic are injured. And, as for Marchena and Albelda, well, even the most evil men are capable of beauty once in a while. After all, they say Hitler loved dogs and the Krays loved their mum.

There's something about Albelda and Marchena that doesn't fit the image, either: Albelda is an intelligent left-winger who counts the Valencia author Ferran Torrent amongst his friends, while Marchena spends his spare time cooking, painting, reading about the Renaissance and tending to his collection of bonsai trees. Playing for Valencia rather than Madrid or Barcelona makes slamming them too easy; playing the way they do makes overlooking their ability easier yet. Few seemed keen to note Marchena's impeccable displays at Euro 2008 or the fact that Albelda only missed out because Juan Soler's disastrous presidency left him in court instead of on the pitch.

This summer, Valencia turned down bids totalling over €115m. Marchena and Albelda were among the few ignored. But while Valencia fought to keep the rest they've been thankful for keeping their two veteran midfielders. Valencia have won four of the last five and should have won the fifth – against Barcelona. It's not entirely coincidence that the run coincides with Albelda's return to fitness and the departure from the side of centre-back Alexis in favour of David Navarro. Just as it is no coincidence that, when fit, Marchena plays every game. Or that, powerful, competitive, organised and lightning quick on the break, Valencia have the best away record in the league.

Valencia are fourth, four points behind Madrid, and while it is the astonishingly mobile, skilful attack of Villa, Pablo Hernández, Juan Mata and David Silva that has led them, it is at least in part the fact that they're not alone that makes you think they could mount a challenge. Valencia don't care if Marchena and Albelda are sons of bitches because they are their sons of bitches. Besides, this weekend they proved they can play a bit too. Valencia fans knew that already. The stunned reaction showed that almost everyone else clearly did not.


Talking points

• A stone thrown from the stands at the Calderón hit Manuel Pellegrini in the face during the derby. The fine: €150. What price the sandwich at Osasuna?

• Atlético Madrid just keep on being Atlético Madrid. Coach Quique Sánchez Flores – who had missed most of the week with swine flu – had to rush on to the pitch and clamp his hand around the mouth of Sergio Agüero as he tried to get at the referee for giving a 92nd-minute penalty (finally taken in the 95th and the last kick of the match). Agüero seemed to overlook the fact that it actually was a penalty. It was committed by Pablo when there was no need whatsoever to make the challenge. It's not like the world's clumsiest centre-back hadn't been warned, either – he'd committed pretty much the same mistake earlier in the game only for the linesman's flag to rescue him after the ref had given it. Atlético have made their worst start for 56 years. Depor continue to win from dead balls.

• Speaking of refs, Racing Santander had a perfectly good goal ruled out against Real Madrid that would have made it 1-1. The linesman's flag went up but it wasn't even close. Madrid will point to the penalty they might have had for a challenge on Karim Benzema. They won't point to that Villarato stuff, though. Somehow, they are top – and most are not impressed. But, still, top, going to Camp Nou and with Ronaldo now back; the psychological outlook has changed completely. Especially as Barcelona's short squad is starting to show and they have a nightmare month ahead of them. The game's best performer at the Bernabéu was the man who scored the 'goal' – an 18-year-old called Sergio Canales, who looks like he may be pretty special.

• The top of Marca's cover today: "If Barcelona force Messi to play, they could see him break down". The middle of Marca's cover today: Cristiano: "It hurts but I'm going to play the clásico no matter what".

• Sevilla continue to look very strong indeed. Nine players out, no problem. Two very nice goals defeated Tenerife. Meanwhile, Villarreal continue to improve – as they were always going to.

• Pennant watch: not playing, still injured. Missed a cracker.

Results: Tenerife 1-2 Sevilla, Deportivo 2-1 Atlético, Madrid 1-0 Racing, Athletic 1-1 Barcelona, Xérez 0-0 Sporting, Villarreal 3-1 Valladolid, Espanyol 0-2 Getafe, Mallorca 3-1 Almería, Malaga 1-1 Zaragoza, Osasuna 1-3 Valencia. Real Madrid 0-1 Real Oviedo [OK, OK, Real Madrid Castilla].

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Panic on the streets of Barcelona
Tim Stannard

Tuesday 24 November 2009 09:57

Through no fault of its own, on Monday afternoon La Liga Loca had to spend 20 minutes of its short human life listening to a Spanish sports talk radio station.

It was 20 minutes of a group of very, very, very angry men yelling “Barça are the best!" "No, Madrid are the best!” at each other without a break for breath.

As far as the blog is aware they are all still there, screaming the same exhortations in an increasingly desperate, deranged fashion, whilst pure adrenaline is injected directly into their scrotums.

The whole affair was enough for the brain-bruised blog to wish nothing but doom and disaster for both clubs in the Champions League this week. However, as such an eventuality would be very bad for business - a very important concept, indeed - that mad moment soon passed.

Tuesday’s press in Spain’s twin cities of silliness is dominated by Barcelona’s big date with Jose Mourinho’s Inter Milan. And, in one particular paper called Marca, by Raúl still being great.

And it’s Marca who have got their panties in the biggest of bunches on the front cover, as the paper is unsure of the physical state of Leo Messi.

“But they said he was injured?” yells the headline next to a picture of the Argentinian kicking a ball during Monday’s practice. The paper’s editorial then takes great exception to the notion that Pep Guardiola may not want to give full disclosure on the fitness status of his star player ahead of a fairly crucial clash

“Why do they want to sell us injuries when they’re aren’t any?” whines a truly dumb-ass column that doesn’t attempt to answer its own question.

Mourinho - who seems to be in fine form this week - doesn’t appear to give two hoots about who turns up at the Camp Nou on Tuesday night. “If Messi plays, we have Chivu. If Iniesta plays, we have Chivu. If Pedrito plays, we have Chivu,” said the Inter boss cheerfully.

AS are leading their line on the return of Mad Sammy Eto’o to the Camp Nou, Tuesday’s headline declaring that “Eto’o is playing for Madrid once again,” referring to the striker’s very early years before he was kicked out of Castle Greyskull.

AS editor Alfredo Relaño seems to have his fingers crossed for the perfect storm of a Rubin Kazan victory and a Barça defeat as “what really scares Madrid is Barcelona winning the Champions League in the Bernabeu.”

The dual concern for the Barcelona press is to get culés to turn up at the Camp Nou for the Champions League clash and raise the usual noise level in the stadium to above that of a group of gossiping mice.

Their campaign began on Monday with Joan Vehils wearing the cheerleader costume for the day, declaring that “we must have confidence in this manager and in these players that gave us our best season in our history.”

“There will be 100,000 Messis,” continues the columnist, leaving a very disturbing image indeed in La Liga Loca’s tiny mind.

On Tuesday, the miniskirt and pom-poms were hosed down and passed on to Sport's Josep María Casanovas, who issues the following maxim: “Barcelona fans, fear is for cowards!”

The columnist then hits a familiar theme by insulting the visitors from across the Med: “Mourinho’s strategy will be to bore Barça with their Italian anti-football.”

The front page of the paper has the rallying cry of “Together, we’ll win!” and demands that “every Barcelona player, at every moment, must feel supported, be cheered and feel loved by the public.”

If all that isn’t enough to make any neutrals reading the blog long for a devastatingly beautiful 10-0 victory for Inter, then nothing will.

Mundo Deportivo have taken to squealing like little girls about the Madridista press, who are “overseeing the usual ritual intimidation against the only side that has ever won a Treble in [Spain’s] history.”

The blog has a feeling that Lluís Foix, who penned the above complaint, may be referring to AS scribe Tomas Guasch dusting down and reactivating his Barcelona “sh*tting themselvesometer”, which he claimed hit “over 100 million sh*t-hertz” on Sunday night.

Barcelona will be hoping that their players show more backbone than their press.

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[Beast]

SPANISH PRIMERA LIGA
Super-sub seals it
Phil Ball

I made a note of the exact minute - the 84th to be precise, when Leo Messi went haring down the left with the ball, presumably aiming for the corner-flag area where he could keep possession and waste a bit of precious time. Suddenly, Raúl appeared, tackled him then took the ball around the Argentine, only to run into Carles Puyol, who clouted into him and put the ball out for a throw in. Before you could say 'What's Raúl doing back there?' you were then faced with the same question regarding Puyol.

It was that sort of game - basically an open clásico, with two sides determined to win. Thank heaven it's over now, and we can all go back to our daily round and common task, but something is right with the world when this ceaselessly hyped event actually turns out to be a decent game. It hasn't always been the case down the years, despite last season's spectacular in the Bernabéu. Many duels between these two sides have been characterised by the obvious desire not to lose, but here, at this stage of the season, Real Madrid particularly sensed that a win could suddenly begin to tip the scales, and played accordingly.

The 4-2-3-1 formation was a line-up with attacking intent, which defensively speaking was asking a lot of little Lass, particularly given Xabi Alonso's relative slowness on the back foot and the notoriety of Barça's midfield speed. In the event, Madrid worked hard at keeping possession, and with Ronaldo lurking out left there were always options for Alonso to play short or long.

Barça started well, as they are wont to do these days, but the combined pace and movement of Higuaín and Ronaldo unsettled the hosts, with Kaká floating dangerously in the holes behind. Ronaldo should really have scored, when Kaká's pass across the area left him with plenty of time to beat an exposed Valdés. The bar in which I watched the game snapped silent, like the moment before the tsunami hits, only to explode with relief as Ronaldo's shot was too predictable, bouncing off Valdés' leg to safety. Sympathy runs deeper for the Catalans up here in the Basque Country, and the packed bar was rooting for Barcelona, but in a fairly quiet and nervous way - reasonable proof that Real Madrid were playing well.

My mate Keith, an Oldham Athletic fan, had just flown in from Bulgaria and on entering the bar asked the rather naïve question 'So who are we rooting for?' to which I replied 'Barça of course, because any other action will see you lynched'. Nevertheless, two Madrid fans, a father and son, were sitting to my right and making only a half secret of their allegiance. After twitching forward silently then slumping back into their chairs when Ronaldo missed, they found it more difficult to contain themselves a few minutes later when Marcelo should really have shot more quickly, only to be eventually blocked by the excellent Puyol, Barcelona's best player on the night. 'Me cago en el mar!' (I crap in the sea!) exclaimed the non-ecological father, as if he were tired of concealing his colours. The rest of the barflies looked his way, but he'd made his declaration and spent the rest of the game crapping in various other contexts, most of which were fairly X-rated.

The Ronaldo action was repeated in fearful symmetry in the second half when Messi should also have scored, but Casillas' leg got in the way. However, had Madrid taken advantage of their tendency this season to squeeze the maximum from their chances, Barça might not have been in a position to come back, especially after the sending off of Busquets. And the solitary goal? It was a reminder of the importance of what physics refers to as opposing forces. Barça were great before the arrival of Dani Alves, but have been even greater since his transfer from Sevilla. The only way to stop him from marauding down the right-hand side and swinging over his lethal crosses is to occupy him defensively, which is precisely what the mere presence of Ronaldo achieved. It was significant that as the Portuguese player inevitably tired, after such a long lay-off, Alves set off down the right and knocked over a cross which Ibrahimovic, just on for Henry, volleyed neatly into the net. Where was Sergio Ramos? Good question, asked Pepe, who was nevertheless guilty of ball-watching, not for the first time in the match.

To conclude, the game was a testament to the rude health of the Spanish scene, as 2009 begins to draw to a close. The coming-together of so many top players under the Catalan sky was a culmination of the global game's recent history, shaped by events and decisions not always planned or foreseen, but leading inevitably to the return of La Liga to the top rung of football's ladder. No other fixture in the world today could attract so much attention from a purely footballing point of view. El clásico always attracts attention, the entire world sporting press and most of its cameras, but rarely has the fixture been able to present such a large percentage of the world's top players on one pitch - with Ibrahimovic on the bench to boot.

My son, developing nicely as a player but still unable to open the trickier curtains of football analysis, has the annoying tendency to ask me, when a match is on the TV, questions like 'Dad - is Gerrard top ten?' or 'Is Iniesta in the top three?', as if footballers could be judged on a strictly numerical basis, from one to six hundred, like the ATP rankings. It may be possible, I tell him, to argue the case for one player being better than the rest, and perhaps for two players (such as Ronaldo and Messi) to go head-to-head in a battle of public analysis, but after that it stops.

Why? Because it's not a question of one player being 'better' than another, but rather that one player can be judged the best of his type - another perspective altogether. When Wayne Rooney declared that Andres Iniesta was the best in the world, what he might have said, if he'd been given time and space to think more about that statement, was that Iniesta was the best 'floater' in the world, a player whose constant switches of position and pace make him almost impossible to counter. But the best player in the world? I don't think so.

Nevertheless, within this more flexible framework you could start to compile a frightening list of 'best of his type' players from this weekend's clásico. Xavi Hernandez is the best static pivot, Xabi Alonso is probably the best deep-lying distributor. Casillas is probably the best goalkeeper, to deal with a simpler category, and Alves the best attacking full-back. Piqué is turning into one of the best ball-playing centre-backs, and Kaká, on his day, is surely the world's supreme media punta, the guy in the 'hole'. And so it goes on.

There was life, however, in the corners of some other Spanish fields. Oddly enough, Sevilla blew the chance to garner the same points as one of the losers in the clásico, by drawing unexpectedly at home to bottom-placed Málaga - a truly quiniela-busting result. Then again, Málaga must enjoy the relatively short trip to Seville, since they've only lost once there on their last eight visits, which is extraordinary. I watched the game, live on Saturday night's La Sexta game, and even though Sevilla were 0-2 down at half-time you got the impression that they would claw their way back. They didn't play badly at all, but were simply guilty of some lapses in concentration, fully exploited by the visitors. There's little reason to see it as anything other than a blip.

In Madrid, Espanyol became the only side this season who have failed to score against Atlético Madrid's famously wimpish defence, and were sent home to Barcelona with their tails between their legs. The 4-0 win for Atlético may serve to kick-start their season, as long as the two goals from Agüero do not serve as a further temptation for Mr Abramovich to loosen his New Year purse strings, or so the rumour goes.

Deportivo continued their unexpected rise thorough the rankings, winning 1-0 at Racing Santander where, like Málaga in Seville they tend to plunder and pillage on an annual basis. Racing have now failed to win at home since last May, and appear to be in freefall, sans parachute.

In the Second Division, Real Sociedad drew 3-3 at Rayo Vallecano in a game of impressive quality, and one which spoke volumes for the competitive nature of the second tier this season. The top three sides are now all level-pegging on 26 points, but at least seven other well-equipped sides are within feasible striking distance. If you get the chance, take a look at Néstor Susaeta's opening goal
for Rayo against Sociedad. You won't see a better goal all season, and is the best strike I've seen since Valencia's Gaizka Mendieta launched a similar nuclear missile in the Camp Nou back in the mists of time.

Next week, Barça face a tricky trip to in-form Deportivo, whilst Real Madrid and Sevilla have potentially more winnable games. Should be interesting. You never know, it might even be the sort of weekend which enables Eduardo to improve on that first score of four over ten in his first quiniela, followed by a 50 percent decline this weekend to two over ten. The bottle's a fifth full and the only way is arriba. Animo Eduardo!
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Barça Become New Kings Of Leon
Tim Stannard



More often than not, watching football in a bar involves sharing the experience with - if you pardon the french - a bunch of w**kers.

During any given game, custom dictates that one must always endure the noisy knucklehead looking to abuse and barrack any perceived opponents and tolerate the shouty, tactical tosspot sharing their particular insights on the evening's encounter.

So this is why experiencing the latest edition of el Clásico, the biggest, bestest brashest match in the world in almost total silence was a genuine joy. The location was a nicotine-stained establishment in the village of Toro - a 1000 year old hamlet clinging desperately to the side of a horrendously steep hill in a bleak, barren corner of Castilla and Leon.

It was not as if the locals gathered in front of a flickering flat screen were not interested in the twice yearly clash of la Liga's titans. It's pretty much impossible not to be in Spain.

Every paper, every TV station, every day ran previews, interviews, and oh-so exciting images of Cristiano Ronaldo's newly non-knacked ankle.

Indeed, one digital channel is set to break a world record by having a 23-hour long 'tertulia' or chat-show with Barcelona's 1-0 win in the Camp Nou clash being the only topic in a long day of increasingly desperate debating.

It's just that the punters in this particular pub were very old indeed. But these wine-drinking wise men were all with the Gandalf in the way they silently studied the intensely tactical clash as if it was a grand master game of chess.

Either that, or some had popped their clogs during a fairly forgettable first half that was only enlivened by a saved shot from Real Madrid's Ronaldo.

Neither team wanted to gamble too much, too early, in a game that would never be able to deliver on the ever preposterous pre-match hype. And that produced forty-five minutes of football that - to use a euphemism - was for the 'purists'.

The bar where your correspondent caught the encounter was the last in a line of five on the creaky, cobbled street. The first was packed to the rafters with Madrid shirt-wearing children - even worse companions than the aforementioned fans when wanting to enjoy a bit of footie.

But curiously the clientele in the bars running from right to left became increasingly older until the last bodega on the corner which was populated purely with pensioners.

With the less than glamourous Valladolid being the nearest top-flight side to the village of Toro, Real Madrid was the club of choice for most of Sunday night's spectators. And there were noises of pleasure from the patrons at the start of the match as their players threw off their tediously indifferent form and tried to take the game to a back-peddling Barcelona.

The previously wingless whites had finally restored a bit of width to their football stylings with the return of Ronaldo to the starting line-up after nearly two months swanning about on the sidelines.

And crucial interventions from Victor Valdés and the truly immense Carles Puyol kept Barcelona in the encounter and allowed them to pile on the pressure in the early stages of the second half thanks to a thunderous volley from Zlatan Ibrahimovic in what must have been one of his first touches since coming on as a substitute.

With Toro being one of the finest wine-producing centres in Spain, the coffin-dodging supporters slurped on their reds as a ten-man Barcelona engaged in some last ditch defending against the counterattacking Madridistas but always managed to make that vital interception to save the Catalan club's skins.

The 1-0 victory for the home side didn't teach more than was already known about both teams, this season. Barcelona are still the superior outfit due to the familiarity of their footballers. However, when Real Madrid finally settle on a settled starting line-up, they will undoubtedly push Barcelona all the way at the top of the table.

Unfortunately, no-one else will, as both Valencia and Sevilla both missed out on the chance to make up some miles on Madrid by dropping the simplest of points at home on Saturday night.

But perhaps the most telling moment of the match from the Madrid perspective was the introduction of Raúl for the final fifteen minutes of the encounter.

With the visitors chasing what would arguably have been a deserved equaliser, the sight of the Real Madrid captain entering the fray brought jeers rather than cheers from many watching fans, a sign that the most successful striker in the club's history is finally entering his twilight years at the Bernabeu club.
Barcelona's victory gave everyone watching a reason to be a cheerful. The Camp Nou club has now returned to the top of the table - something that their superior football this season definitely deserves - whilst Madrid can take heart in a performance that had promise, if not delivery.

"Madrid left the field encouraged by the good image, they portrayed," said Marca on Monday's front page.

The locals of Toro, for their part, shuffled out into the cold having seen an occasionally entertaining affair. And one or two of them will simply be hoping they are still around to catch another Clásico encounter, come May.

[Beast]

Cristiano Ronaldo fluffs lines as Zlatan Ibrahimovic scripts perfect ending
Sid Lowe

The first clásico to be shown on the silver screen lived up to its billing, but Madrid were made to pay for some poor finishing

This time, Iker Casillas wasn't wearing his Iker Casillas face, the one that says "you call that a defence?!" This time, his defence was a defence. He was, though, wearing the face of an idiot. Up the tunnel and through the plywood door, chapel to the left, dressing room to the right, Dani Alves was wearing the face of a grinning simpleton, all glazed expression and cheeky smiles. Xabi Alonso was wearing the face of the disappointed, doe-eyed and sad, Pepe was wearing the face of Stanley Ipkiss, and Cristiano Ronaldo was wearing the shiny but not particularly happy face of someone who applies too much lotion. It was hard to see what kind of face Carles Puyol was wearing but he was probably smiling behind all that hair.


Manuel Pellegrini, meanwhile, was wearing what the Spanish describe as a face of circumstances, skin dragged down as if an invisible weight hung from his chin. His side had just produced their best league performance in the biggest match – an intense, high-tempo display in the clásico. One in which he insisted "we were better than them in just about everything", in which Kaká showed flashes of his class, Alonso and Lass Diarra smothered Barça's midfield, and Ronaldo looked dangerous; in which almost everyone played well, in fact. But still they had lost 1-0, despite playing almost half an hour with an extra man. Still they'd lost top spot; still Barcelona had secured their best ever start. Only two coaches had reached week 12 unbeaten before – Bobby Robson and Terry Venables.


Because while Madrid had been "better at just about everything" – and that's highly debatable – one thing they weren't better at was finishing. Because when Cristiano Ronaldo stepped into the spotlight, he fluffed his lines, AS's cover showing his easy first-half chance alongside the headline: "There went the win." Because Barça-baiting Tomás Guasch insisted: "if he had scored, Madrid would have won", but if Barça-baiting Tomás Guasch's tía had cojones she'd be his tío. And because while Marca's cover declared that it "tasted like victory", I Can't Believe It's Not Butter isn't actually butter. Not even when you throw in complaints about the ref - Marca accusing him of missing a penalty on Ronaldo and AS's mad Madridista Tomás Roncero attacking him for allowing Barcelona's goal despite it being "nearly offside".


Because, in short, while Madrid took home plenty of positives, the bottom line, grumbled Casillas, is that Real Madrid lost. "I don't care about playing well," the keeper said, pulling on his George W Bush mask. "I leave here wearing an idiot's face." As for Barcelona's president Joan Laporta, he was wearing the face of a very smug man indeed. "That," he declared, "is why we signed Zlatan Ibrahimovic." That being what one paper described as a "homicidal zambombazo" – the wonderful side-footed volley that won the game.


It was a telling remark, revealing of the pressure on Laporta. When Barcelona swapped Ibrahimovic for Samuel Eto'o, most people thought they were completely off their heads. They'd sold the man who had scored more La Liga goals over the last five years than anyone else. They'd given Inter the man who always does it when it matters, the man who twice hit the opening goal in the European Cup final, and taken the man that never does – the striker Arrigo Sacchi described as "strong against the weak and weak against the strong".


Ibrahimovic didn't suit Barcelona's style – something that seemed confirmed when they pursued David Villa first. And although Eto'o is a difficult character even Guardiola's infamous remark that there was a lack of "feeling" between him and the Cameroonian didn't convince. "He doesn't need to have feeling with me," Eto'o responded, "I'm not Penelope Cruz." Last season, they won the treble together, after all, and Ibrahimovic is hardly the most accommodating character either. As if all that wasn't ridiculous enough, Barcelona had driven a huge truckload of used €500 notes round to Inter's house too. It didn't make sense.


Only it did. Sort of. There was a financial and contractual imperative too; the board pushed for Eto'o to go as well. More, even, than Guardiola did. Forget the truck of cash, Barcelona considered the deal a straight swap. Eto'o's contract was due for renewal. He wanted €10m net, a four-year deal, and no longer qualified for the 23% tax band. From Barcelona's point of view, his salary would suddenly leap to €14.5m a year; more than €20m extra over the duration. Then there was the signing on fee, at around €10m. Barcelona didn't see Eto'o's departure in terms of a loss so much as an act of good housekeeping, enabling them to secure Ibrahimovic below €50m, the limit they'd set and the price at which they balked over Villa. They'd offloaded a problem too.


Besides, height and presence has long been an obsession for Barcelona and, having lost out on Villa, Guardiola wanted a tactical plan B – something Marca's Roberto Palomar accused Pellegrini of lacking when Madrid had to chase the game last night A big fan of Patrick Kluivert as a player, someone who privately speaks highly of Peter Crouch, Guardiola wanted an inverted pivot – someone to offer a more direct option, bring over people into play and score goals. Ibrahimovic did so; fabulous footwork provided assists against Zaragoza and Getafe, five goals in the opening five games was the best start in Barça's history.


But there were doubts. Barcelona appeared slower, more ponderous with him; there was less of that asphyxiating pressure, less of the pathological will to win with which Eto'o drove his team-mates on. He had missed a great chance against Inter, hit the post against Rubin Kazan and last week Barcelona produced their best display this season in destroying Inter without him. Last night, the doubts were blown away; last night, Ibrahimovic became a hero. The winning goal in the biggest game on earth, the bitterest rivalry, the most expensive match ever played. A gloriously precise volley. Five minutes after coming on. When injured. "Who says he doesn't do it in the big games?" cheered Sport. "Viva Ibrahimovic!" shouted El Mundo Deportivo. Zlatan, said Guardiola, "was marvellous".


Modest, too. For now, at least. Maybe he's finally found a team he considers worthy of his talents; maybe he's just the new boy still on best behaviour. Speaking in Italian with the occasional English word thrown in, Ibrahimovic insisted that "the credit for the goal goes to Alves". He had a point. His first two crosses travelled a combined distance of 769 miles, but it was Alves who delivered the inch-perfect ball for Ibrahimovic's volley, just as he'd provided the second against Inter, he slipped an impossible pass into Leo Messi only for the Argentinian to blow it, and in the 89th minute, one up against their biggest rivals, when everyone else was bricking it, football's Sonic the Hedgehog was still steaming up the wing like a hyperactive kid.


Not that Alves was alone. While Ibrahimovic is splashed across the cover of every single paper, it was Barcelona's back four that really shone. Ibrahimovic's goal came from Gerard Piqué tackling Ronaldo yet again, striding up the pitch, laying it off and continuing into the area, leaving the Swede free. And Eric Abidal, Barcelona's usually ignored left-back, almost finished their best move. Above all, though, last night Barcelona's defenders did something most people thought Barcelona's defenders couldn't do. Defend. And none more so than Carles Puyol.


The 31-year-old feared that, like Eto'o, his days at Camp Nou were numbered but signed a new deal on the cheap and produced the display of his life, launching into lunatic, last-gasp tackles to deny certain goals. Not once. Not twice. But three times. He was simply immense. Last night's clásico was the first ever match to be shown on the silver screen and boasted the greatest cast in history, a collection of superheroes to rival the best cinemas with the stickiest floors. Six candidates for the Ballón d'Or, the last three Fifa World Players, over €350m worth of signings. And yet the star was the man who plays with his hair in his eyes and his heart on his sleeve. Superman's fine but sometimes what you really need is Captain Caveman.



Talking points


• Just in case you doubted just how much the clásico overshadows absolutely everything else, total number of words dedicated to Valencia versus Mallorca and Sporting versus Villarreal (games involving the 4th, 6th and 7th teams in La Liga) in El País: 0. Nought. Zero. Nowt. Nothing. Zilch. Not a sausage. The paper had team line-ups, the goals and headlines but not a single word of report.


Luckily, this column was sad enough to watch both games in full and can tell you all about them. Well, sort of. Sporting-Villarreal wasn't a great game, but Manolo Preciado's team, incredibly, are in seventh place. Two missed penalties, one followed up, one not, gave Sporting the win. Villarreal were horribly flat.


Valencia's right-back Bruno wants shooting. And so does Valencia's coach, Unai Emery. (Or maybe it's actually this column's fault. Again). Against Sporting earlier in the season, Valencia blew a 2-1 lead late in the game; a week later they blew a 2-1 lead even later against Atlético Madrid.


Both times, they had tried – and failed - to protect the lead and David Villa publicly blamed their conservatism. Now, having finally ditched Alexis at centre-back, Valencia are on a run of four wins and a draw with Barcelona in five. They're 1-0 up (Villa, of course, although he did screw up a David Silva goal by nudging it over the line when it was going in anyway and he was offside) and dominating. So what does Emery do? He takes off Pablo Hernández, a creative winger, and puts on Alexis. Hey presto, Mallorca equalise. That said, Emery can never have expected Bruno - otherwise excellent, unlike the other full-back Jeremy Mathieu - to give away a staggeringly dumb and utterly unnecessary penalty.


• Goal of the season: Joaquín. Or at least it would have been, but his volley came back off the post. Brilliant pass. Brilliant lay-off. Brilliant volley. Completely brilliant.


• Oh Sevilla, how could you? The chance to go top of the table and they blew it with a 2-2 draw against Málaga. It could have been worse too - they were two down until Luis Fabiano rescued them with two goals himself.


• Meanwhile, in Madrid Getafe clobbered Xerez 5-1 and Atlético thumped Espanyol 4-0. Xerez are doomed. Carry on like this and Espanyol might be too. It was Atlético's first win under Quique Sánchez Flores and it carried them out of the relegation zone.


Results: Sporting 1-0 Villarreal, Valencia 1-1 Mallorca, Sevilla 2-2 Malaga, Valladolid 3-3 Tenerife, Getafe 5-1 Xerez, Racing 0-1 Deportivo, Almería 1-4 Athletic, Zaragoza 0-1 Osasuna, Barcelona 1-0 Real Madrid, Atlético 4-0 Espanyol

[Metaphysical]

phil and sid bring the pain.

[por supuesto]

Well put by Sid, but the football weekly extra coverage on El classico was a disgrace IMO.

[Beast]

Real Madrid bask in victory over Barcelona
Tim Stannard

Tuesday 01 December 2009 09:30
WEEKEND RESULTS Sat Nov 28: Sevilla 2-2 Málaga, Valencia 1-1 Mallorca, Sporting Gijón 1-0 Villarreal Sun Nov 29: Atlético Madrid 4-0 Espanyol, FC Barcelona 1-0 Real Madrid, Racing Santander 0-1 Deportivo La Coruña, Real Zaragoza 0-1 Osasuna, Getafe 5-1 Xerez, Real Valladolid 3-3 CD Tenerife, Almería 1-4 Athletic Bilbao

It’s entirely possible that La Liga Loca was hallucinating - fresh air and too many pork-based products can do that to the blog’s delicate constitution - but it's convinced that it watched Real Madrid lose to Barcelona on Sunday night.

Indeed, it had the same sensation about a year ago after a 2-0 Camp Nou defeat for the Castle Greyskull club.

However, after returning to Capital City and strumming through Monday’s and Tuesday’s local press it would appear that, like last year, Real Madrid pulled off a glorious victory over Pep’s weeping Dream Boys.

For that reason, the blog has decided to contract either Marca or AS as its official publicist.

Within days La Liga Loca will have been elevated to Pulitzer Prize-winning status, with a bevy of local beauties having being bedded in the process.

“A taste of victory!” claims Monday’s Marca, whose editorial gives Ronaldo eight points in a Eurovision-style weekend rating system topped by both Pepe and Carles Puyol.

There is no space at all for Zlatan Ibrahimovic, whom Barcelona fans are laughably claiming as having scored the winning goal in the weekend's encounter.

The entire Barcelona support have been given ‘nul points’ as punishment for one Camp Nou miscreant who shined a laser pen at two Real Madrid players - a story followed up on in Tuesday’s press.

Still, there’s time to applaud the 700 “brave Madridistas” who crossed swollen rivers, climbed ravines and fought trolls to sit on their arses for 90 minutes watching a game of football in a perfectly nice stadium.

Inside the same edition, Eduardo Inda appears to be fairly upset at the pressure having been taken off Manuel Pellegrini, with a rather unpleasant cartoon depicting the Third-Choice Chilean crawling out of his grave.

The paper’s editor had begun his one-man campaign against the Castle Greyskull Terrahawk with 10 good reasons why Pellegrini should be sacked. A smattering of victories saw this hit list reduced to just seven reasons.

Sunday’s glorious victory now sees Inda doing the journalistic equivalent of a sullen shrug and a sulky sniff.

To show that Spain really is one great country united by a love of sangria and shouting at each other, the papers in Catalunya seem to have been drinking from the funny fountain too, by being vaguely nice about Real Madrid for once.

“Madrid played their best game but couldn’t impose themselves on a group of heroes who know how to entertain and suffer,” said Santi Nolla sympathetically in Mundo Deportivo, despite his side’s defeat.

“We saw a great Madrid, playing a serious game,” soothed an apron-wearing, cupcake-cooking Josep María Casanovas in Sport.

But life got better on Tuesday for both Barça-barmy papers with the announcement that little Leo Messi is the winner of France Football’s Ballon d’Or - a prize that the Spanish really do care about, which is in sharp contrast to the normal mixture of indifference and total disdain for anything that comes from that particular country loafing about somewhere north of the Pyrenees.

The Barcelona player trounced Cristiano Ronaldo in the voting to become the trophy's first Argentine winner - a fact that seemed so odd, La Liga Loca actually checked it and found out that the award was only given to European players before 1995.

AS feature the minute magician on their front cover, but only in a teenie, tiny photo in the top corner opposite an advert for potions that can help gentlemen with (cough) downstairs issues.

Inside, editor Alredo Relaño argues that the announcement of the prize came too late for the paper - not too late to pen and publish an editorial it seems - and muses with some justification that perhaps Xavi was equally deserving of the trinket.

Marca’s focus on Tuesday is on the evil-doer from the Camp Nou who shone a laser light into the faces of both Pepe and Cristiano Ronaldo - something that an alert television editor did extremely well to spot on Sunday night.

“This laser causes injuries!” shouts the front cover with a picture of the offending item that appears to be the size and shape of a lightsabre.

Nevertheless, it would seem that a number of Real Madrid players were fortunate indeed to come away from Sunday’s Clásico encounter with both their eyesight and all three points.

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

[Beast]

La Liga’s sack race: Who's for the chop?
Tim Stannard

Wednesday 02 December 2009 11:04
Atlético Madrid are not wholly unlike dogs in that they run to a completely different time scale as the rest of the known universe. Whereas one human year supposedly represents seven for our canine buddies, just one week at the Vicente Calderón is roughly two months in the real, non-Rojiblanco world.

This does beg the question of whether a transfixed Guti gormlessly gazing at shiny bits of paper for an hour feels just like a single minute for the mind-muddled midfielder.

Or whether 45 minutes of a Deportivo game is akin to a millennium of torment in a particularly nasty dimension of hell. That was certainly the case for the poor saps from the sporting press that sat through the opening half of the Galician side’s game at Racing, on Sunday. “Deplorable” muttered a dumbstruck Marca in their match report of the thrilling 1-0 away win.

It is this cunning concept that all time is relative that sees Quique Sánchez Flores at the top of La Liga Loca’s latest Sack Race chart despite having only been manager at Atlético Madrid for what feels like a matter of minutes.

But in that snapshot of history, the former Valencia man has delivered just the one league win - Sunday’s 4-0 victory over Espanyol - and a passable display against Marbella in the Copa del Rey.

Anything less than three points for the latest Atlético chump against the mighty Xerez on Sunday and it could be curtains for poor Quique after just six weeks (12 months in Atleti-time) on the job.

Like having 10,000 spoons when all you want is a knife, it’s ironic that it's Xerez boss Cuco Ziganda second on the blog’s roll-call of ridicule. His club have sunk to the faecally-festered bottom of la Primera having picked up just seven points from 12 games and managed a measly four league goals all season.

To be fair, there was nothing that the boggle-eyed boss could have done to stop the rot at one of the most poorly-prepared sides in the top flight - the aforementioned Atleti excluded, of course - and Xerez are also on the brink of going into administration.

However, as Real Madrid continue to demonstrate, rationality and reason have little influence in la Liga when it comes to managerial matters.

Although newly-promoted Real Zaragoza are sitting in 14th and will probably be comfortable at the end of the current campaign, there are rumblings in AS that Marcelino’s coaching alarm clock may already be about to ring.

The former Racing man took a voluntary drop in division by leaving Racing to take over at La Romareda in the summer of 2008 and managed to lead Zaragoza back to the top flight at the first attempt.

But AS is a-nudgin' and a-winkin' that just one win in the last nine league and cup games and the failure to beat the likes of Valladolid, Racing and Osasuna at home has prompted furious fans to hop on the back of their suffering subject.

There is a huddle of the hopeless sheltering for warmth just behind these three front-runners - a huddle made up of the tremendously uninteresting José Luis Orta at Tenerife and Juan Ramón López Muñiz at a slowly recovering Málaga.

La Liga Loca is praying for the latter to be given the chop, some time soon, simply because his name is unbelievably tough to type.

Sack Race Odds
Quique Sánchez Flores (Atlético)...........5-1
Cuco Ziganda (Xerez).............................6-1
Marcelino (Zaragoza)................................12-1
José Luis Orta (Tenerife).......................14-1
Juan Ramón López Muñiz (Racing)......14-1
Manuel Pellegrini (Real Madrid)............20-1
Michael Laudrup (Real Madrid future)...40-1

[Beast]

Barça's late show, Titi's wheels & Karim's plan
Tim stannard

Thursday 03 December 2009 12:45
If there’s a reason why La Liga Loca is feeling especially cranky and crazed, today, it’s because it was up until the ungodly hour of MIDNIGHT watching Xerez and Barcelona hoof the ball about an athletics track for an hour-and-a-half before all going home.

As part of the game in Spain’s ongoing campaign to make the car-driving commuters of the land even blearier and beepier than normal of a morning, Wednesday’s squeezed-in encounter between the two sides bookending la Primera began at 10 frackin’ pm.

And if anyone out there feels that this is just the blog having yet another moan and groan and refusing to do in Rome what the Romans do, then they’d be quite right to.

But bear in mind that Pep is with La Liga Loca all the way. And Pep is The Truth.

“There are problems with recovering the next day and maintaining the right eating habits,” complained the Don of the Dream Boys, who would have got back to the Catalan capital around 4am on Thursday before having to prepare his players for their doom-laden date with Deportivo on Saturday night.

The trip to Xerez was Barcelona’s Round 15 encounter, moved forward a couple of weeks to accommodate the club’s match-up with New Zealand’s finest in the World Club Championship at the end of the month.

And the combination of a god-awful pitch and an opposition side who offered as much threat to Barça’s goal as Maniche does to a salad meant that the Wednesday wash-out was a scrappy affair and not sealed until the final moments with Zlatan Ibrahimovic grabbing the Catalan club’s second of the night.

However, the under-par performance from the league leaders has done nothing to dampen the giddy spirits of the local press, with Sport boasting that “this Barcelona has the solution for everything.”

“They played a practical game,” sighed Catalan columnist Josep María Casanovas.

Mundo Deportivo refer to Thierry Henry’s opener – celebrated in such a petulant, sulky style that it made you want to repeatedly run the Frenchman over in a 2CV – by praising the “hand of a saint.”

“Against the evident limitations of Ziganda’s team, there was no football, no good play,” shrugged Josep Artells, whose overall vibe is relief rather than rapture.

While the Barcelona papers have had beating Real Madrid, Xerez and Leo Messi’s magic week to pore over, the Madridista press has had nothing. Zip. Nada. Rien.

And this is precisely why Thursday’s AS leads with the completely ludicrous, probably bulls**t, but tremendously homoerotic story that Cristiano Ronaldo does 3000 abdominal scrunches a day.

“Superman Cristiano!” screams the headline on the front page with the article panting that how to have the body of Cristiano Ronaldo is “one of the most asked questions on the internet” (although a La Liga Loca colleague adds “where can I see Rachel Stevens naked?”).

Still, better than Wednesday’s effort from AS, which boasted that Real Madrid have “activated an adaption plan” for Karim Benzema to help him out of his current French funk – which peaked in the early hours of Monday morning when the misfiring forward displayed the same accuracy with his shots as his driving.

The eggheads at Castle Greyskull have decided it might help to get Benzema out of the hotel he has been living in since his arrival from Lyon, and arrange for some Spanish language classes.

Benzema has been with the club for five months.

The benefits of the language lessons, explain the paper, are that he can speak to his colleagues, join in with the jokes being made at the expense of his expanding girth and – best of all – “understand tactical instructions” from Manuel Pellegrini.

The blog wonders how hard it can be to understand the words “price,” “35 million,” “hopeless,” “donkey,” “Negredo,” and “better.”
====================

[Raed]

This is one of the funniest I have read in a while.

[House of Flies]

lol, amazing article.

[Moe]

The blog wonders how hard it can be to understand the words “price,” “35 million,” “hopeless,” “donkey,” “Negredo,” and “better.”

[ChuckaOwns]

The Maniche joke was awsome lol

[Gnegneri]

It's useless to rate Maniche jokes. Maniche jokes are always awesome and super funny. Always.

[ChuckaOwns]

Good point, well made.

[Beast]

Madrid See The Dark Side Of Cristiano

It was an evening that drove an even bigger wedge between the warring camps who either loathe Cristiano Ronaldo or love him.

It was an evening when the player described on the front cover of Sunday's AS as an "angel and a demon" showed, once again, how the most expensive player on the planet is a hubris-making hybrid that's part outstanding artiste and part brain-addled bell-end

It was an evening where CR9 celebrated his first league start at the Bernabeu for nine weeks by scoring one goal, setting up another, winning a dubious penalty, missing it, failing to celebrate the rebound strike and then getting sent off in the most ludicrous of circumstances for good measure.

At 1-0 up after a sprightly first half against Almería, few spectators sitting in the Santiago Bernabeu had the slightest inclination that bedlam was about to break loose.

Most suspected a repeat of the previous six wins against lesser opposition at home this season - solid but unspectacular victories that had the locals yawning, rather than fawning over their team's displays.

However, from time from time, footballing form in the Spanish capital hits the Special Brew of a night and throws up outstanding encounters that leaves watchers dazed and dribbling.

It happened during Fabio Capello's second spell in Madrid when the home side came from 3-1 down in a cracking clash against Espanyol to win 4-3 and keep their title train on track with a last minute winner from Gonzalo Higuaín.

There was even more match madness last season, with a 3-2 win over Getafe that saw Pepe going postal, the worst penalty ever taken and the traditional last minute winner from Higuaín.

And it all went wobbly again on Saturday night, with the enthralling action focussed on a footballer who continues to fascinate a love-struck Spanish press which enjoyed a long, lingering look at his rippling torso, during the week - a torso that was revealed to be the result of '3,000 sit-ups a day' according to one particular panting paper.

The returning from ankle-injury Ronaldo was starting his first encounter in the Bernabeu since the end of September and stamped his own particular mark on the occasion, after thirty minutes, with the daintiest of crosses that plonked itself on the head of Sergio Ramos who could not fail to score his first goal of the season.

It was the only strike of the opening 45 minutes for Madrid thanks to the truly outstanding work of Almería's Brazilian keeper Diego Alves, who had almost single-handedly kept his side in 13th place going into the encounter.

However, early on in the second half, Almería took advantage of Madrid's newly acquired love of a mid-match siesta to take a rapid 2-1 lead after goals from Fernando Soriano and Kalu Uche. With just over fifteen minutes left, Manuel Pellegrini's men woke with a start, realised the seriousness of their situation and equalised with a strike from the ever-reliable Argentinean, Higuaín.

Minutes later, the goalscorer put an accelerating Cristiano Ronaldo through on goal and he did not waste the chance to take a dramatic tumble over an onrushing Alves to win a penalty. It was a spot-kick that had you thinking "never", "maybe" and "I've seen 'em given" all at the same time.

Ronaldo took the penalty himself but stuttered on his run-up and saw it saved by Alves before Karim Benzema smashed home the deflected ball seconds later.

And this is where a controversial night kicked off for Cristiano, when he chose to stand in the box holding his head in his hands rather than congratulate his French team-mate.

Three minutes later, Ronaldo had better luck than before when the winger converted Gonzalo Higuaín's cross to seal a 4-2 win for Madrid to keep up with the back to being brilliant Barcelona at the top of the table.

Unfortunately, in celebrating his sixth league effort of the season, Ronaldo whipped off his top to give an airing to his impressive pecs before receiving his first yellow card of the night.

With the seconds ticking away, a cranky Cristiano was caught up in a tangle with Almería full-back Juanma Ortiz, that ended with the former Manchester United man going loco by booting the opposition defender from behind to produce a second yellow and his marching orders - marching orders that sees Ronaldo missing next week's crucial match against Valencia in the Mestalla.

Whilst one Real Madrid veteran that your correspondent spoke to on the morning after the night before called for an internal fine that would squish the Portuguese player to pieces, it is possible to have some sympathy for Ronaldo whilst acknowledging that the winger was also the Don of dunderheads in that frenetic ten-minute spell.

The Madrid player was quick to do the walk of shame in the mixed zone after the game, and admitted before the cameras that he knew he had made the biggest of mistakes.

"I'm only human," he said apologetically. He then went on to sign every autograph, answer every question and pose for every photo requested - something he has been a little reluctant to do on previous occasions this season.

Ronaldo explained his failure to congratulate the butt-saving Benzema as being due to the fact that "I missed the penalty, I was upset and I wasn't happy, as I'm a professional."

From the seat of judgement on a snug, comfy sofa it would be easy to pour scorn on such a statement and accuse of him of thinking only of himself and not the team, as many have done. But the atmosphere was electric in the Santiago Bernabeu, with emotions changing from horror to elation for both the fans and players in a matter of seconds. Ronaldo genuinely appeared devastated by his spot-kick failure.

However, it is harder to excuse the second incident of his eventful night when Ronaldo flashed his six-pack to the watching world. "A great photo and a yellow card," sniffed Juan Carlos Rivero in AS.

The over-celebrating law is one of the most ludicrous ever concocted, but it is one that is widely known to all. This meant that there was only one possible result when the Madrid man donkey-kicked his assailant, soon after.

However, Ronaldo being Ronaldo means that he is being accused of vanity rather than exuberance in his shirt-stripping action - perhaps quite rightly.

But some two-and-half-years previously, Higuaín removed his shirt with Ruud Van Nistelrooy gathering it up and waving it to the crowd in one of the most iconic moments in recent Madrid history.

Indeed, Joan Capdevila took his Villarreal shirt off on Sunday night, after scoring the late winner for his side against Getafe to pick up a card the same colour as the offending item. However, there have been few howls of derision or protests in response.

It's just that there are many things about Cristiano Ronaldo that will always rub people up the wrong way. All that la Liga had seen so far this season is a well-behaved, brilliant footballer who got off to a flying start for his side before sitting on the sidelines for six weeks at the end of September.

Spain has now seen the petulant and provocative aspects to Ronaldo's character for the first time, and Madrid supporters, for one, will simply have to get used to the idea that the footballer's make-up is a complex one and that the demon in Cristiano is just as important as the angel.

Round 13 results

Sevilla 1-1 Valladolid
Xerez 0-2 Atlético Madrid
Real Madrid 4-2 Almería
Deportivo 1-3 Barcelona
Mallorca 4-1 Zaragoza
Tenerife 2-1 Sporting
Espanyol 0-4 Racing Santander
Málaga 1-1 Osasuna
Villarreal 3-2 Getafe
Athletic 1-2 Valencia

Tim Stannard