Eulogy for Frank Rijkaard

The match against Mallorca today was just absolutely devastating to watch. Frank Rijkaard deserves better, but it reminded me of a bullfight. At the end, no matter what happens, you know the bull's going to die. The optimism (and, with it, the disappointment) of the last couple of seasons had just vanished for me and, it seems, for the club. Even when they went up 2-0, it was tense. You could just feel that they were going to lose. Fans had been whistling at Eto'o and after he scored, he angrily kicked the ball into the net twice more, then waved to the crowd with a scowl firmly planted on his face. There was no joy there, not even though they were ahead 2-0. Not from anybody, and it just seemed so obvious that they were going to collapse. Then, 1 goal, 2 goals from Mallorca in the space of 3 minutes. A third in extra time, just after Barcelona had blown two good chances and just after Edmilson had been sent off in what could only be the most fitting way that the man responsible for the "black sheep" remarks earlier this year to end his career at the Camp Nou.

A third, and the look of heartbreak on Rijkaard's face was shared with the team and the fans, but the loneliness was his own. Out came the white handkerchiefs, which took on a sort of cruelty they hadn't had before. They used to say come on, you're better than this. Just score! Just win! Now, it was clear, so long you rotton bastard, who can't even manage a win against a mid-table mediocrity in his last match at home. So long, you bastard. It's not that he didn't try. It's not that he wanted to lose.

Cruelly, Barcelona fell pray to the same disease that had crippled Real Madrid in such horribly recent memory. All the stars in the world don't make the best team, and if Thierry Henry wasn't the problem, then Ronaldinho was. If not Ronaldinho, then Eto'o. If not Eto'o, maybe Marquez or Puyol or Yaya. Somewhere, at some point, Barca lost the spirit of the side that rose to the top of Europe (my God, was it only two years ago?) and gained nothing but a whole lot of t-shirt sales. Is that Frank Rijkaard's fault? Maybe. Who cares about the last game of the season, though, with nothing to play for but 3rd place? We, Barcelona fans, can only hope that Pep Guardiola can bring the same kind of passion for the beauty and art of football at its finest that Rijkaard did, and manage somehow to convince multi-million dollar shaving cream spokesman athletes that the pride in playing for a club with UNICEF across the shirt is more important than the number of minutes they get, or the likelihood that they'll get to be on the cover of FIFA 09.