On El Clasico, Mixed Feelings and An Era of Cautious Optimism

Barcelona are three-minutes from kick-off in their last group game in the Champions League this year, a technically meaningless match against Nery Castillo's employers. All you need to know about them is that they've never had any use for Nery Castillo, the bastards, and they think the win Barcelona grabbed from them in Ukraine was unfair. It's nonsense, of course, but they seem serious about it. 

Of course, the blaugrana have been the best club in Europe this year and that's something that only the most starry-eyed optimists could have imagined before it all started. Even those comparatively dark days of losing at Numancia and drawing Racing in the first two weeks of the season are distant. I, like Pep, have never come to expect victory, though, because that's what assholes like Real Madrid do and it is beneath everybody. Juande Ramos is going to lead his boys into action at the Nou Camp with the clinical ferocity that makes him such a perfect match for, and he'll have a point to make in this Saturday's dreaded/anxiously awaited El Clasico. They may be racked with injuries, and languishing in fifth place in La Liga and unable to make a dent in Juventus either home or away but they're still Real Madrid, and it's still El Clasico. Get your game faces on, my friends, because there is sure to be a good deal of bloodshed.

One thing that's been a little bit unsettling for me is just how thoroughly Barca have been demolishing their opposition. 4-0, 5-0, 6-1. 0-3 at Sevilla and 4-0 at home against Valencia. Those aren't bad teams, man, and there's nothing to do but step aside and admire the refusal for Pep and the boys to give them any extra leverage simply because they're Top 4. The thing is, well, it's entertaining soccer I suppose, but I've long thought that people who don't like soccer because there aren't enough goals are the same sorts of people who must think the best part of sex is the orgasm, and that's a dreary way to go about life and a sure sign that someone has values that I will never relate to. So, I love the technical brilliance of a well-fought 1-0 draw where the goal comes from a late Xavi freekick (speaking of Xavi, as I am, I said some nasty things about him in this space last year and, while pride dictates I not take any of them back, I will say he's done what I always doubted he would and I would be sadly remiss not to salute him for it) or even a match where the team is down 2-0 at the half and comes back for a 2-2 draw. There's something greatly satisfying about precision and winning a fair fight. So, I relish the uncharacteristic lack of tension from watching matches this season, but at the same time hold out hope that I'll spend some amount of El Clasico thinking Barca are doomed to lose.

Well, it seems a little too good to be true that Barcelona are putting together this magic on the heels of Barack Obama's election. Yes, sure, the governor or Illinois is being strung up on corruption charges and the Rapids and Rockies continue to prove that the worst teams to support are the ones you're tied to geographically because they can count on you and so they don't have anything to prove. Sure, nothing is overwhelmingly rosy and there's, as ever, plenty of evil and corruption to contend with (Madrid, Juve and Chelsea are all through to the knockout stages, though even here we have the constantly thrilling reminder that AC Milan didn't even qualify this year) but it just seems like the good guys are winning more often than usual. I highly suggest tempering your enthusiasm, though, friends, because when things get ugly, they do it quick and without any kind of warning, and we must be on our toes. Remember El Pipila? Well, don't forget him. He's got a lot to say about times like these.

Iowa

I have to say, my cynicism is a little less at this exact moment than it usually is, but on the other hand, my non-cynicism is being completely overwhelmed by, like, meta-cynicism so there's that. I'm not talking about the Republican side, obviously, but watching Barack Obama give his victory speech, there are two overwhelming immediate reactions that I can't do anything to change. I tried to soften one or both with some Rogue Chocolate Stout, but it doesn't taste as it did when I opened it 4 days ago. But a sort of aged, rotting taste is kind of appropriate for my feelings so I'll keep knocking it back.

First, this is really genuinely moving stuff. It feels a little bit like watching an old history tape, and that is because I don't think I've ever seen anyone I really believed in before. What I mean is, I used to wonder when our icon was going to come along and this is really exciting, and fun, like Robert F. Kennedy or something. I'm confused because my temperment is usually so much more muted in terms of enthusiasm. I mean, yeah, these are obvious political platitudes but jesucristo, he just really seems like he means them. I mean, this could be a simple gift of his ability to speak and convince me that he's genuine, but I'm totally buying it. All my thoughts about Richardson being more qualified or Edwards being more angry don't really matter. This is, like, a movement. Hop on the train and roll on.

Second, I am overcome with dread. This not only looks like a historical video, it looks like the part right before the candidate gets shot. I cannot seem to shake this instinct that Obama is going to get killed somewhere on the campaign trail. So, I am pretty much writing this whole thing now to try and talk myself out of this shocking sense of impending doom, but it isn't working.

Oh well. Good luck, man, but the revolutionairies never make it.

Politics and Baseball will have to Wait

Because, at the risk of sending the whole thing spinning into a spiral of hellish, hubris-biting hexation, Barcelona are currently sending Rangers a strong message about who is who in Europe. I don't necessarily agree with Leo Messi that Rangers played anti-football in their first match in the Champions League, because if I was Rangers and I was welcoming the Catalan attack machine into my home, I would probably forget all about offense and hunker down in pursuit of a 0-0 tie myself. Because the strike force of Messi, Thierry Henry and Ronaldinho is as dangerous a weapon as has ever been unleashed in the world of club football (I would even say it is better than the Argentinian trio of Messi, Carlos Tevez and Hernan Crespo but maybe not quite on par with the Brazilian threesome of Ronaldinho, Robinho and Kaka) and the only reasonable thing for a B-list, sectarian, blood-thirsty, drunken Scottish clusterfuck club like Rangers to do is dig into the trenches, put everybody but Cousin in the box and hack away at the knees of the glorious invading forces. Sure, they did what they had to do.

But, when they come to the Nou Camp, they can forget all about defending themselves because it is impossible. Also-rans like Rangers have no choice but to stand gawking at the majesty of the Barcelona kingdom and just enjoy the sights and sounds of the thing and hope that Stuttgart beats Lyon. (They probably won't. They're down 3-1 right now.) So, Henry sent a clear message in the 6th minute and that message is, "Fool me once, blah blah blah, fuck you Rangers." That Messi, the lightning fast 20-year-old, with his anti-anti-football would slot one in right before the half is just about perfect, in terms of demonstrating that while Rangers may have won the battle at Ibrox, they never had any chance of winning the war and they never will.

I would say Barca fans are kind of spoiled, since Henry and Ronaldinho have both been the target of some extremely unjust speculation and hearsay this year, but we deserve to be because rooting for Barcelona is rooting for everything good in the world. Someone has to stand up to the fascist influence of Real Madrid, and counteract the juggernauts of the world with some beautiful 40 yard passes and a shirt that is sponsored by UNICEF instead of a phone company or somebody. Not that Barca don't have $$$, but you have to, and they spend it on players who mean something revolutionary, instead of players who make the cover of Four Four Two. The truly depressing thing is when Barca-style players sign with Madrid, because even good and radical freedom fighters sometimes sell out for the safety and comfort of Big Business. Just look at Jerry Rubin. Or Didier Drogba. This summer, when all the talk was of the golden-boy Kaka moving to Madrid, it couldn't have happened for the same reason the Penguin can't beat Batman, except for dramatic effect. Kaka may be playing for the Mafia at AC Milan, but that's a long way from playing for Franco and his Fascists in Madrid in terms of amorality.

Anyway, loving Barcelona is the same as loving beauty and truth (all ye need to know) and so when some crossbow-firing, vitriolic hate machine like Rangers engages in savagery to keep the good things of the world from victory, we know that's Not Right. And, sometimes the cynics among us believe that things that are Not Right happen all the time and that's just the way of things, but other times, Barcelona gets their revenge by popping in 2 against the supposedly impenetrable Rangers defense before the half, and then maybe there's reason for hope.

I don't necessarily mean that Barcelona winning today means we're entering a golden age of an Obama/Paul ticket winning the white house, or an eradication of sectarianism worldwide, but it's a start. Of course, the game's not over, and the Champions League is a long and grueling fight that still has oligarchs and fascists and mafiosos and gangsters and thieves alive and well, so, like El Pipila says, Aún hay otras Alhóndigas por incendiar. Look it up.