| — | N. K. Jemisin, The Hundred Thousand Kingdoms (via quantumwobbles) |
By Ulysse Pasquier, writing from Montreal
It’s been a week and still even Rémi Gaillard can’t quite believe it. Who would have thought at the start of the season that Montpellier, the 13th budget in Ligue 1, would end up lifting the trophy for the first time in its history. The southern city is a cultural and university center in France and has celebrated sporting triumphs in handball and rugby, but never football. Promoted to Ligue 1 just two seasons ago, René Girard’s side defied the odds by finishing above big-spending Paris Saint Germain. With Manchester City leading an analogous enterprise as PSG and winning the Premier League, no one outside the French capital could complain about the success of a club focused on the development of young players and a sustainable budget.
Turn the clock back to 2007; Montpellier was in an abysmal state and fighting against relegation to the National league – the third division in France. That’s how far they have come, out of nowhere, very much in the image of their emblematic striker Olivier Giroud who was playing for Tours in Ligue 2 just a year ago and is now looking to book his place for the Euro with France. Montpellier’s victory was nothing short of miraculous and set the stage for a thrilling season. If you enjoy such underdog stories however, you may have to wait a while before it happens again in France.
By Jordan Brown
Didier Drogba emerged from the confines of his tent to the thrum of a busy camp. All around him the army of Chelsea were preparing for war. Infantrymen were rushing to formation, their tall pikes bobbing rhythmically as they ran. Plated warhorses stomped and bit at paiges checking the readiness of mounts, bowmen were fitting their strings and chatting nervously in small circles while the sounds of grinding steel poured from the row of armorers keening the edges of hundreds. Smoke and fire, sweat and leather, wood and steel, Drogba closed his eyes and breathed in deep - savoring the air of battle. It would be his last.
The thought of his waiting men broke him from his reverie and he set off, joining the rushing humanity of the camp. The blue livery of his army made like a river flowing down muddy paths, wearing the telling lines of man’s device into the rich green valleys of Bavaria.
It was a miracle they were even moving at all. Not so long before the army had been in Catalonia, and the experience had nearly ended them. The whole of the known world had expected them to falter in the Spanish leg of their campaign. Wave after wave of Barcelona’s attacks had broken upon their ranks. Halfway through their battle, the venerable Iniesta led his troops into a thrust which had seemingly put the Londoners paid. But tired and outnumbered, the strength of The Blues remained steadfast, and they found that their resolution outlasted the Blaugranas, and the late charge of the nigh forgotten General Torres shocked living world of their expectations. Chelsea would march from victory to Munchen.
By Max Grieve
Pep Guardiola’s first league match, away at Numancia, was confusing in its lessons. Barcelona boasted 70 per cent of the possession, and had 26 shots – two of which smacked against the woodwork – but lost; Mario Martínez Rubio, simply Mario, scoring in Eric Abidal’s absence at the far post.
“We played badly,” admitted Guardiola. “We were undisciplined and people were not doing their jobs. You have to open the pitch when the opposition plays with 10 behind the ball and we did not do that. We did not attack well. It was our own fault, but we can correct the errors.”
A reaction to an unfortunate performance, not to take anything from Numanica, the Catalan media were up in arms – they usually are, such is their fanaticism. Johan Cruyff, in his column for El Periódico, was more patient. “I don’t know which game you saw, but I saw one of the best Barça performances in years. Football-wise, Barça were of the best. Positionally excellent, moving the ball with speed and precision, and pressing well. You draw your conclusions but, to me, this season looks very, and I mean very, good.”
Superlatives fail. Barcelona won the league, the Copa del Rey, and the Champions League. The latter was breath-taking: deprived of Dani Alves due to the UEFA rules that threaten this year’s final, Puyol was indomitable at right-back, Xavi masterful in the midfield, and Messi supreme in attack. Alex Ferguson’s face was drained of its characteristic purple hue, and Pep Guardiola lifted the European Cup. At the beginning of the next season, Barcelona collected the UEFA Super Cup, the Club World Cup, and the Supercopa de España. In little over a year, Guardiola had won everything there was to be had in Spanish and European football. That he stayed for a further three seasons is testament to his will to succeed, and should serve as a lesson to those who feel wronged by his leaving.
runofplay ‘The world is ugly, And the people are sad.’ :
With apologies to Wallace Stevens and Roberto Di Matteo.
That strange power, football,
Is just what you say.
Have it your way.
The world is ugly,
And the people are sad.
That murmuration of starlings,
That wind in the grass,
Is just what you say.
That geometry of flux,
That vine,
Have it your way.
The world is ugly,
And the people are sad.— John Muller
FIFA.com chats with Napoli’s Walter Mazzarri who is amongst the vanguard of new coaches in Italy, having helped the Neapolitans to their most productive era since the heady days of Diego Maradona two decades ago.
| — | Khalil Gibran (via musicofmysoul) |
