There are no anti-racists or racists in the Metropolitano, said Enrique Cerezo, the president of Atlético de Madrid, the day before, but there is an orderly fan base, so a minority (the same sordid minority as in all fans, but it is more well-off and more justified, if not pampered, by the leaders of her club with luminous adversaries and phrases like those of Cerezo) she began to organize the garbage on the grass: lighters, bottles, even a bag with remains that looked like fodder. And it was a shame because the atmosphere of the match was extraordinary, the shouting was deafening, the initial fever was quite a spectacle, with record attendance and a vibrant, competitive, beautiful, knife-between-the-teeth hostility against Real Madrid. The ingredients of a derby in its modern splendor, the very high tension of a historical rivalry that he even respected, taught by his coach and his teammates, Vinicius.
That the captains went to tame the hooded men and at the end of the game the players went to that stand to applaud their brilliant support says a lot about the state of moral decomposition in which Atlético’s relationship with its well-organized ultras finds itself. At the end of the match Simeone said that it was a provocation from Courtois to celebrate Madrid’s goal by addressing the stands; What wouldn’t have happened to Messi, according to Simeone, if it occurred to him at the Metropolitano to take off his shirt and show it like he did at the Bernabéu (and good for Messi, an iconic gesture).
A prestigious athletic fan, and living legend of Spanish cinema, said at the time when half of Spain was laughing at Vinicius and predicted his loan to Pontevedra: “He is going to be a star because he has something that cannot be trained: he is very fast.” They were the words of José Luis Garci. And the Brazilian showed up at the Metropolitano looking like he was fed up with the stress he generates in others, an existential crisis, low on revolutions. Neither a fuss nor a protest: good boy, mother-in-law meat. With the ball in the first half, little, but lightning: he is such a decisive footballer that it is enough for him to appear rarely to unevent games. Through him (and Valverde) came Madrid’s poor best chances in the first half; Madrid’s goal came from him in the second: he has turned his band into a power line and his defenses into unnoticed birds that land on him at the worst moment.
The gigantic preview of a life or death match, built on a tension unprecedented at this point in the season and with the three favorites in a handkerchief in the classification, froze the legs especially of Atlético, anodyne. Such atmospheric excitement, always welcome, only seemed to be noticeable in the game when at the beginning of the second half Madrid did not take a ball out of its field due to its own mistakes, mistake, in a hurry, as if someone had left a message in the locker room that They had their cars double parked. There was a flame in the Metropolitano, but no fire in Atleti’s offensive. Nothing, not even in chaos, when teams so well accompanied by their stadium, unpredictable, crazy, reign. Only towards the end, Atlético wanted to lock Madrid in and at least they showed their desire: it was then, with that desire embodied in Correa, that a luxurious break came that tied the game with four minutes remaining. That was enough for Atleti to steal two points from Madrid.
Before, Endrick had embarked on another race to glory in a counter that could kill the game. Of course, the funny thing that his match against Stuttgart did for Real Madrid when they were already winning 2-1 and ended a counterattack of three targets against one with a shot from home that was a goal, ended up backfiring, this time in a more delicate situation. The slightest recidivism will break the spell, Brassens said. And Endrick had Bellingham running behind him, which greatly increased the chances of scoring: the Englishman can face the goalkeeper or he can return it to you, anything is more effective a priori than another hit from thirty meters. But Endrick is one of those who gets on the elevator and marks the roof, there are no floors in between. It’s cool, of course, but four screams on time will save some unpleasantness.
