Kids, this is not normal, by Joan Josep Pallàs

Let me start with what we have been taking for granted as if it were normal and it is not. In Barça’s starting lineup, led by Lamine Yamal, a 17-year-old teenager who is behind the wheel without a driving license because he is not old, there were Cubarsí, another guy (17 years old), Balde (21), Casadó (21), Pedri (21, mind you, not 31 even though it seems that way to us) and Fermín (21). Review and count six players, just one more than half of the team, facing Bayern Munich, a European giant that until a few days ago scared the creatures like the bogeyman. Except for those mentioned, of course. Half a dozen cheeky kids with the same language engraved on their boots: Masia and pelota. Having one or two beardless players in an elite eleven can happen, but this is extraordinary, and as such must be described and underlined.

Well, the Barça of the pacifier threw a memorable match against the German ogre, not so much because of the dominance and superiority, which were not the shots until the second half, but because of his overwhelming personality. They were 90 high-end, wonderful minutes that reconnected the club and its people with a glorious past, not so distant even though it may seem like it. Two scenes illustrated what can be read as a paradigm shift: 1) Montjuïc chanting with olés a couple of dances by its footballers around the 70th minute, as if the actors on the pitch wanted to return to the stands a portion of the suffering accumulated with a few minutes exhibition (all with a 4-1 score, to pinch yourself). And 2) The players joining their fans at the end of the game, an image more typical of someone celebrating a title. But wasn’t it like finally pulling out a thorn the size of a mast? Lisbon hurts, but it hurts less. How Barcelona fans longed to savor a victory in capital letters.

Let’s go back to the beginning. It is not normal for Cubarsí (impeccable Iñigo Martínez accompanying him) to face Harry Kane and give a lesson in positioning, anticipation, forcefulness and subtlety with the ball when my two children are barely older than him; It is not normal for Casadó to eat Kimmich; It is not normal for Fermín to have more vigor than half of Bavaria; It is not normal for Balde to suddenly look like Alphonso Davies, nor of course for Lamine Yamal to dribble past elite defenders as if they were dolls. And finally, it is not normal but paranormal that Raphinha has silenced us with an astonishing and less expected transformation than half a gram of sanity in Donald Trump’s system.

Europe must have raised its eyebrows when reviewing the scores. FC Barcelona-Bayern, 4-1? What has Hansi Flick done in there? Don’t let them explain it to us. Let’s keep the mystery as if it were the formula for Coca-Cola. As if the guy were an envoy from a faraway place.

Brief history of a rivalry

The fuel of football is largely rivalry, but if a team accumulates enemies it is a bad sign. Barça has Madrid as a global nemesis and Espanyol as a proximity antagonist, hostilities comparable to those of any club, so the most recent antipathy aroused by both PSG and Bayern responds more to an indicator of fresh traumas over time than to the typical ancestral territory. Barça has just lost too many things, and Bayern has been one of the executioners, and that, added to the hateful Müller and the fact that Germany has made Lloret its own, hurts. This Wednesday night, Barça felt more love for its team than hate for the opposite, the best sign that the recovery is real. As much as the desire to get home and watch the game again.

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