El Larguero had the good point of summoning Camacho and Hierro on Wednesday, two large pieces of Madrid’s history. ORn bridge between two eras, the seventh that could have been and was not, and the Seventh, which was. The first one left the mark of thanks to a team that had risen above their means to get there. It was the Madrid of the Garcias, whose two foreigners, Stielike and Cunningham, reached the final crippled. The other was the Madrid of the Ferrariswho abandoned the softness on the extremely dramatic day of the final against that Juventus, who appeared as the clear favorite.
Camacho did not play that day as a left back, but in the middle, to annul Souness; thing he did and even gave him the chance to play, a race to the clear that he resolved with a shot that went high. He suffers, but from his party, above all, the way in which he fulfilled the essential remains. No one asked him for the winning goal, he doesn’t have to be haunted by that bad memory. For his part, Hierro made an imperial match against Juve. He saw a card in minute 15, but he stood firm against the Inzaghi, Del Piero, Zidane, Davids… Even today I regret not having dedicated four spades to him that day in AS, a decision always reserved for the director.
Two finals, one lost and one won. I liked the contrast. As I liked the way Camacho explained the ‘disappointed Mbappé’, that fabulous striker whom we all took for granted. His fright has created confusion, it undoubtedly means an institutional failure for Madrid, an unexpected setback that reminds us of the stormy ending of the film The hit. A bad roll for Madrid. But Characters like Camacho and Fernando Hierro allow us to think that Madrid has a background on which to settle, beyond an unfortunate episode, such as that of this unexpected Mbappé fright.
#Camacho #Hierro #Larguero