King5Puyi
New member
https://grup14.com/article/iniesta-...man-in-the-war-between-barcelona-and-espanyol
So beautifully written.
So beautifully written.
El Flaco
Active member
Here's the text from he link above.
Against an embittered, emboldened Espanyol, a serene Andrés Iniesta walked up the tunnel stairs onto the Camp Nou green, on a windy Wednesday night in January. Elegantly gliding with each and every step, he was surrounded by what can only be described as a battlefield -tackles left and right, confrontation, animosity, even the return of a hatred that had been missing from the most recent of derbies.
Under new Espanyol manager Constantin Galca’s orders, the previous weekend’s La Liga match was conceived as a declaration of war, the first of three encounters acting as prelude. This match, in turn, was the next stage -the most intense of the three, the middle, where the most fighting was supposed to take place. Next week’s Spanish Cup return leg will act as the aftermath, the picking up of the pieces, the end. The narrative arch is similar to a Greek tragedy divided into three acts, the strategy and tactics themselves reminiscent of Roman war. With an intensity that toyed with the line of what regulation allows, it seemed that against Barça at least, Espanyol had purposefully forgotten, or perhaps deeply internalized and believed, that there are no rules in war. Intensity was used as a tool to combat the gulf in quality, resources, and fame, all in the hopes of winning the hearts and admiration of the land.
Receiving the ball, in space, in his usual spot in left midfield, between the midfield and defensive lines of Galca’s men, there was lightness in every step Iniesta took. There were attempts to catch him, foul him, slow him down, but he was too quick, too intelligent, refusing capture with a trademark, almost dance-like, elusiveness. Never fully grounded, without his weight ever being planted entirely, the pale Manchego was floating, ghost-like. A step ahead and on the move, he refused to get involved in the overall frenzy, remaining untouched. In each action, play, and caressed tap of the sphere there was grace, despite it being a match where such beauty clearly did not belong. Amidst tackles, fouls, cards, provocations, taunting, and fighting, Iniesta was above it all. He looked on, distant, as hotter heads drew themselves deeper into a pointless, irresolvable conflict and farther away from the original reason they had joined together in the first place: for a match of football. For Iniesta, football is usually a cause for celebration, to come close together, not pulling things apart. Yet, this encounter was based on retaliation, wounded pride, and a contested sense of belonging.
Andrés’ attitude was not rooted in condescension. The way he acted was just the latest example and reflection of who he is, of his being. Calm and relaxed, he gave his characteristic hint of surprise at not understanding where all the anger and media attention is coming from. This is football and it makes him happy, not mad. Though he obviously comprehends it all, especially the origins of this type of internalized feelings that are often made public in explosive ways, his demeanor remains quiet: a drop of the shoulders, a lament here or there. It is Messiesque in its unassuming humility.
Though he did more than enough to nobly defend the club he has been a part of since childhood, the truth is that he simply was not interested in battle. This was not a war of ideas or words, but one of territory, somewhat more primitive yet destructive all the same. Not far from their previous grounds in Montjuic, the Pericos flew to the outskirts, making a home and nest in Cornellá-El Prat, as if the city itself no longer had any room for them amidst Barcelona’s globalized tourist boom. Even more so than Real Madrid, Espanyol has been unwilling to make sense of FC Barcelona’s continued success, or come to terms with the global phenomenon they have become. The proximity exasperates them. In each and every kick, there is a broader message: we too play in Barcelona, we exist, we refuse to be forgotten. It is less about intimidation than a cry for recognition. Their bodies cocked, eyes with threatening stares, the side showed more weakness than strength, cowardice not bravery. As Sun Tzu states in his influential book The Art of War, “all warfare is based on deception. Appear strong when you are weak.”
As a result, anger and frustration is precisely the reaction Espanyol fans, players, manager, new Chinese owners and club were all hoping for. In responding to their tough opponents, Barcelona, it could be argued, gave them everything they wanted, despite the score. There is nothing but pride from Espanyol’s faithful blue and white at how they took Barça out of their element, uncomfortable for several spells these past two games.
With the overall political situation mired in more uncertainty than ever (after both Catalan and Spanish elections left the future in the hands of unlikely coalitions or new elections) the class and political undertones were brought to the forefront, intensifying the derby even further at a time of tension, irritation and desperation from all sides involved. In general, a loose connection can be made between pro-union sentiments and Espanyol fandom. Pericos, often preferring to chant in Spanish, feel like their club is being ignored as they believe the independence process is forcing Catalonia to be more Catalan, changing its true nature in what they deem a trendy process that sustains itself on hype, not well drawn-out arguments. In other words, their bird has been caged. Persecution. For them, there is no need for constant reexplaining of why they choose to support Espanyol; in their eyes, they are a club misunderstood. In the past few years, with Barça reinforcing its image as the city’s dominant club, Espanyol has shown immense pride in being the “marvelous minority”. As can be expected for any major derby, there was plenty more at stake than the game itself, the score, or bragging rights. The culé banner of “welcome to Barcelona” was a sly nod filled with meaning.
And despite all the match’s ferocity, Iniesta wisely chose the pen, not the sword- for history has made clear which of the two is more dangerous. His croqueta on the wing, the ball swiftly changing legs as if a strategical decoy or trap in the trenches of war, was the latest line of poetry in a long storied tale. Each dribble and pass was a new word- to be added to club folklore and become blaugrana tradition, retold by young and old each coming day. Except, besides Iniesta, nobody else was talking, or playing for that matter. The ball would have been completely abandoned had it not been for Andrés.
Arda Turan, the bearded warrior, made his debut, providing several incisive Iniesta-like passes from the right, straight through enemy lines, but with added toughness. Not a mercenary, he is more a samurai -certainly hasn’t forgotten how to fight. Rather, the scrapiness brings out the best in him. His moves are always choreographed with an added sense of style and skill. While rusty, he clearly remembers why he was chosen, more at ease in the struggle than his aging midfield companion. As things inevitably evolve and change, his presence becomes more and more of a necessity. In some ways, his presence alone signals transition. The other new face, Aleix Vidal, came in as a double substitute alongside Rakitic, Luis Enrique shielding the right wing as a protective measure. It was hardly required, thought up as a way to avoid both new players sharing the same side of the pitch due to the lack of familiarity within the Barça system which could allow Espanyol back in the tie.
All in all, Galca sent out an army of 11, returned home with a weakened 9, demoralized as their aggression went too far and paid the ultimate price. Iniesta, the new captain with Xavi and Puyol now both long gone, was given the role as arbiter and maker of the peace -undeniably the most likely to be able to forge something amongst the competing factions. Pericos hold him in high regard since he has never forgotten his good friend and fallen hero. A firm belief in a pluri-national Spain, and in some ways an example of it, (as he is one who encourages, not insults, Catalan difference), his famous last gasp goals are celebrated by all. The political bent, belief system or background ceases to matter in those extraordinary cases. If there is ever to be a truce, or detente, it must be passed through the hands (or should i say feet?) of Iniesta. Not because of his captaincy, but because of his background and nature.
During Wednesday’s affair, others were more easily provoked, neither side completely free of blame. The young Neymar responded with feints which revealed that, when push comes to shove, he is out for humiliation. The dribbles were not meant solely as entertainment- evading a tackle, he demanded blood. Neymar has come to accept that not all will like him in his quest for glory. Enemies are made when attempting to capture the passed down thrown. Unlike the reserved restless Pep, this spirit can also be found in Luis Enrique, pride in his standoffishness on his way to the top. Yet Iniesta, in his controlled manner, seeks admiration, not celebrity, from all. He’s not playing that sort of game, he’s describing it, reshaping its worst qualities into something beautiful. And, paradox aside, without truly searching for the praise of others, he receives it all the same in even greater quantities.
For the reputable Andrés Iniesta is far too grand and dignified for battle. He doesn’t believe the lie “dulce et decorum est pro patria mori”, Latin for “it is sweet and right to die for your country.” He has listened to the message from the stanzas of the WWI poet Wilfred Owen, internalized it, exposed the statement as absurd as he realizes that with the admiration of all, there is no need for country, region, or team. There is no need to choose sides. He’s universal.
While the post-match discussion only focused on the fouls, the stomps, the insults, the who-did-what, the press on both sides encouraging a certain reading of events that a fit a narrative, Iniesta represents a rosier alternative. He symbolizes plays not fouls, dribbles not cards, even though his own teammates, and supporters of his club, may sometimes forget it (not to mention other teams). Football without the distractions and illusions of the all-encompassing circus. Just the ball at his feet, pen to paper, writing touching stories etched into our memories and shared history. More poet than soldier, he has nonetheless achieved what every soldier dreams of: victory, medals, reputation, accolades, respect and praise that will outlast all battles- immortality synonymous with his name.
Some of the best art- and poetry- may have been borne out of, and inspired, by acts of war. Yet, let there be no mistake: There does not need to be a war for there to exist the poetic elegance of Don Andrés Iniesta.
Under new Espanyol manager Constantin Galca’s orders, the previous weekend’s La Liga match was conceived as a declaration of war, the first of three encounters acting as prelude. This match, in turn, was the next stage -the most intense of the three, the middle, where the most fighting was supposed to take place. Next week’s Spanish Cup return leg will act as the aftermath, the picking up of the pieces, the end. The narrative arch is similar to a Greek tragedy divided into three acts, the strategy and tactics themselves reminiscent of Roman war. With an intensity that toyed with the line of what regulation allows, it seemed that against Barça at least, Espanyol had purposefully forgotten, or perhaps deeply internalized and believed, that there are no rules in war. Intensity was used as a tool to combat the gulf in quality, resources, and fame, all in the hopes of winning the hearts and admiration of the land.
Receiving the ball, in space, in his usual spot in left midfield, between the midfield and defensive lines of Galca’s men, there was lightness in every step Iniesta took. There were attempts to catch him, foul him, slow him down, but he was too quick, too intelligent, refusing capture with a trademark, almost dance-like, elusiveness. Never fully grounded, without his weight ever being planted entirely, the pale Manchego was floating, ghost-like. A step ahead and on the move, he refused to get involved in the overall frenzy, remaining untouched. In each action, play, and caressed tap of the sphere there was grace, despite it being a match where such beauty clearly did not belong. Amidst tackles, fouls, cards, provocations, taunting, and fighting, Iniesta was above it all. He looked on, distant, as hotter heads drew themselves deeper into a pointless, irresolvable conflict and farther away from the original reason they had joined together in the first place: for a match of football. For Iniesta, football is usually a cause for celebration, to come close together, not pulling things apart. Yet, this encounter was based on retaliation, wounded pride, and a contested sense of belonging.
Andrés’ attitude was not rooted in condescension. The way he acted was just the latest example and reflection of who he is, of his being. Calm and relaxed, he gave his characteristic hint of surprise at not understanding where all the anger and media attention is coming from. This is football and it makes him happy, not mad. Though he obviously comprehends it all, especially the origins of this type of internalized feelings that are often made public in explosive ways, his demeanor remains quiet: a drop of the shoulders, a lament here or there. It is Messiesque in its unassuming humility.
Though he did more than enough to nobly defend the club he has been a part of since childhood, the truth is that he simply was not interested in battle. This was not a war of ideas or words, but one of territory, somewhat more primitive yet destructive all the same. Not far from their previous grounds in Montjuic, the Pericos flew to the outskirts, making a home and nest in Cornellá-El Prat, as if the city itself no longer had any room for them amidst Barcelona’s globalized tourist boom. Even more so than Real Madrid, Espanyol has been unwilling to make sense of FC Barcelona’s continued success, or come to terms with the global phenomenon they have become. The proximity exasperates them. In each and every kick, there is a broader message: we too play in Barcelona, we exist, we refuse to be forgotten. It is less about intimidation than a cry for recognition. Their bodies cocked, eyes with threatening stares, the side showed more weakness than strength, cowardice not bravery. As Sun Tzu states in his influential book The Art of War, “all warfare is based on deception. Appear strong when you are weak.”
As a result, anger and frustration is precisely the reaction Espanyol fans, players, manager, new Chinese owners and club were all hoping for. In responding to their tough opponents, Barcelona, it could be argued, gave them everything they wanted, despite the score. There is nothing but pride from Espanyol’s faithful blue and white at how they took Barça out of their element, uncomfortable for several spells these past two games.
With the overall political situation mired in more uncertainty than ever (after both Catalan and Spanish elections left the future in the hands of unlikely coalitions or new elections) the class and political undertones were brought to the forefront, intensifying the derby even further at a time of tension, irritation and desperation from all sides involved. In general, a loose connection can be made between pro-union sentiments and Espanyol fandom. Pericos, often preferring to chant in Spanish, feel like their club is being ignored as they believe the independence process is forcing Catalonia to be more Catalan, changing its true nature in what they deem a trendy process that sustains itself on hype, not well drawn-out arguments. In other words, their bird has been caged. Persecution. For them, there is no need for constant reexplaining of why they choose to support Espanyol; in their eyes, they are a club misunderstood. In the past few years, with Barça reinforcing its image as the city’s dominant club, Espanyol has shown immense pride in being the “marvelous minority”. As can be expected for any major derby, there was plenty more at stake than the game itself, the score, or bragging rights. The culé banner of “welcome to Barcelona” was a sly nod filled with meaning.
And despite all the match’s ferocity, Iniesta wisely chose the pen, not the sword- for history has made clear which of the two is more dangerous. His croqueta on the wing, the ball swiftly changing legs as if a strategical decoy or trap in the trenches of war, was the latest line of poetry in a long storied tale. Each dribble and pass was a new word- to be added to club folklore and become blaugrana tradition, retold by young and old each coming day. Except, besides Iniesta, nobody else was talking, or playing for that matter. The ball would have been completely abandoned had it not been for Andrés.
Arda Turan, the bearded warrior, made his debut, providing several incisive Iniesta-like passes from the right, straight through enemy lines, but with added toughness. Not a mercenary, he is more a samurai -certainly hasn’t forgotten how to fight. Rather, the scrapiness brings out the best in him. His moves are always choreographed with an added sense of style and skill. While rusty, he clearly remembers why he was chosen, more at ease in the struggle than his aging midfield companion. As things inevitably evolve and change, his presence becomes more and more of a necessity. In some ways, his presence alone signals transition. The other new face, Aleix Vidal, came in as a double substitute alongside Rakitic, Luis Enrique shielding the right wing as a protective measure. It was hardly required, thought up as a way to avoid both new players sharing the same side of the pitch due to the lack of familiarity within the Barça system which could allow Espanyol back in the tie.
All in all, Galca sent out an army of 11, returned home with a weakened 9, demoralized as their aggression went too far and paid the ultimate price. Iniesta, the new captain with Xavi and Puyol now both long gone, was given the role as arbiter and maker of the peace -undeniably the most likely to be able to forge something amongst the competing factions. Pericos hold him in high regard since he has never forgotten his good friend and fallen hero. A firm belief in a pluri-national Spain, and in some ways an example of it, (as he is one who encourages, not insults, Catalan difference), his famous last gasp goals are celebrated by all. The political bent, belief system or background ceases to matter in those extraordinary cases. If there is ever to be a truce, or detente, it must be passed through the hands (or should i say feet?) of Iniesta. Not because of his captaincy, but because of his background and nature.
During Wednesday’s affair, others were more easily provoked, neither side completely free of blame. The young Neymar responded with feints which revealed that, when push comes to shove, he is out for humiliation. The dribbles were not meant solely as entertainment- evading a tackle, he demanded blood. Neymar has come to accept that not all will like him in his quest for glory. Enemies are made when attempting to capture the passed down thrown. Unlike the reserved restless Pep, this spirit can also be found in Luis Enrique, pride in his standoffishness on his way to the top. Yet Iniesta, in his controlled manner, seeks admiration, not celebrity, from all. He’s not playing that sort of game, he’s describing it, reshaping its worst qualities into something beautiful. And, paradox aside, without truly searching for the praise of others, he receives it all the same in even greater quantities.
For the reputable Andrés Iniesta is far too grand and dignified for battle. He doesn’t believe the lie “dulce et decorum est pro patria mori”, Latin for “it is sweet and right to die for your country.” He has listened to the message from the stanzas of the WWI poet Wilfred Owen, internalized it, exposed the statement as absurd as he realizes that with the admiration of all, there is no need for country, region, or team. There is no need to choose sides. He’s universal.
While the post-match discussion only focused on the fouls, the stomps, the insults, the who-did-what, the press on both sides encouraging a certain reading of events that a fit a narrative, Iniesta represents a rosier alternative. He symbolizes plays not fouls, dribbles not cards, even though his own teammates, and supporters of his club, may sometimes forget it (not to mention other teams). Football without the distractions and illusions of the all-encompassing circus. Just the ball at his feet, pen to paper, writing touching stories etched into our memories and shared history. More poet than soldier, he has nonetheless achieved what every soldier dreams of: victory, medals, reputation, accolades, respect and praise that will outlast all battles- immortality synonymous with his name.
Some of the best art- and poetry- may have been borne out of, and inspired, by acts of war. Yet, let there be no mistake: There does not need to be a war for there to exist the poetic elegance of Don Andrés Iniesta.
F
Flavia
Guest
[tw]695010019083997184[/tw]
Blaugrana Bull
HiiiPoWeR
He is the puppeteer out there. Lets his boys run riot.
dakt
New member
Exactly. Only he can consistently linkup balls towards MSN...but dear Lord it's a joy to watch him when he's bossing the midfield. No one like him.
Blaugrana Bull
HiiiPoWeR
How is a 7:0 a "blessing in disguise"? It is a blessing, there is nothing to disguise.
Cule4life
The Culest
Fixed
Kuchi
Active member
F
Flavia
Guest
[tw]696317468038533120[/tw]
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