Of the many roles that Jude Bellingham can adopt throughout the season, the one I like the most is the classic one. It has cost me several discussions and I am probably not right, but tastes have a peculiarity: they are not debatable. If I like a fruit that you hate, you are not going to convince me not to like it; Maybe yours is more exotic and cooler, maybe more people like it, maybe it is better for circulation and gives you more life expectancy: boy, that’s how I am, and that’s how I will continue, I will never change.
Therefore, between the Jude who dominates games, the Jude assistant, the Jude finisher, the Jude of the slaloms or the brilliant Jude of the midfielder who plugs the current of his team’s possession, I am left with the Jude covered by Gavi the entire game, disappeared and unhinged, gray like the sky, which needs a ball to score the tie and a space in the area to break it. Of all the ecstatic, happy, fantastic friends you have, never lose sight of the guy you never want to be alone with, the shy “non-contributor” (I hate this expression), the one who doesn’t have any great youth battles that tell: it is possible that when push comes to shove, the first hand you receive to keep from falling will be his. Perhaps precisely for that reason: we all have a superhero that we bring out at the slightest opportunity, while there are those who reserve it only for when he is worth it. Jude Bellingham are all my friends: the ones who show up at the party, the ones who show up at the funerals, and the one who prevents the funeral from being yours.
And this last one, the one from Barcelona, is my favorite. Because he is telling the world that if he does not have a good day, his quality allows him to bring his fin to the surface twice and give a classic to his team. He has a star, yes, but has anyone ever thought about what it means to have a star? Why is he and not someone else the one who appears alone in the area to collect dead balls? Bellingham’s relationship with the ball is extraordinary, but we must begin to thoroughly study his relationship with spaces: why he needed a few centimeters free to arm his leg like a unfortunate man who has nothing to lose in life, and why In stoppage time the most dangerous guy in the game, with a personal marking and three looking askance at him, appeared alone like a little bird in front of the goalkeeper to finish off a loose ball. More than attacking the opponent’s space, he defends what is his before reaching it, he makes it invisible, he ignores it, he barely looks at it, and when you realize he is receiving in the place where you least expected him to do what he did. that everyone suspects.
I read with joy among his opponents that many others played a better game, but he only appeared twice, a phrase that always moves me since I heard years ago something like “we were much better, but they came twelve times and scored.” As if a sprinter were complaining that he dominated the entire race, but in the last twenty meters Usain Bolt appeared like a bullet and beat him: “He passed me only once and took the gold, athletics is very unfair, I won almost the whole race.” The first thing Bellingham has learned at Madrid is the most important thing this club has: sometimes you can’t win in 90 minutes and you have to take the last sip before the glass breaks. The discount is the minutes of those chosen. Like those children who don’t get to know their parents until they open the will. Bellingham is also our parents. And he loves us Madridistas a lot.
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