In some games there is no difference between dead and alive. Certainly, they have to face teams capable of generating hurricanes against rivals that turn inclement weather into child’s play, coming out of the storm not even too disheveled, as the Madrid in the field of City. The team of Guardiola embraced his rival, and the Ancelotti he coughed to clear his throat and continued in the tie as if nothing had happened, oblivious to the effects of the fire. “More champagne”, you could almost hear from the field of play, demanding not so much changes to introduce soda players, but fun, incentives, rich gasoline.
There are nights when it is impossible to guess what will happen, except that everything that happens will be creepy, terrible, pleasant. At City it is natural for the players to launch themselves into the attack in such a way that they look like invaders who do not know the fear of death, and at Madrid, for a long time, the natural thing is to win, dead or alive, the great battles. It’s as if their squads had that habit since they were little, so demanding that they lose is asking for miracles. Mixed up all these circumstances, the party, prosperous in ambushes, was shaking the result from one side to the other, and when one party was tempted to sigh and say “Oh, but how happy I am and how handsome” something happened that shook his head. nonsense, and again he had to unlearn the difference between being alive and being dead.
We are talking about irreducible footballers. They are sure of themselves. They are lethal all the time, also when they seem hopeless. They solve problems that, in theory, have no solution. They invent the practice. The quiet life? It is assumed that this is why death was invented. These qualifiers are not exhausted to the point that you can say “it’s all seen” or “it’s all done”. There will always be a latent danger, the possibility of a carom, the construction of one more miracle, or several concatenated, and more champagne to renew the madness before it all ends.
#champagne