Los Coladeros, Episode 51: Last Stand

11 min readJan 24, 2020

Trev? Get the lads together, would you. We need to talk about Real Madrid.

At the crescendo of this season to end all seasons, the balance of power between first and second will probably come down to our final visit to the capital. Barcelona’s run-in looks pretty straightforward. The highest-placed team they’ve got to face are Mallorca, in 11th, but otherwise, they’ve got Alavés (17th), Villarreal (15th), Leganés (20th) and finally Zaragoza (13th) on the last day of the season. They should win all those games comfortably; if any of them can even snatch a draw, it would be surprising. Our title chances are hanging by the finest of threads.

I’m in a reflective mood as I gather the squad aboard Chugger and we set off on the long, backfiring journey north. My switch over to the Slip ‘n Slide has yielded a seven-game unbeaten run at the toughest time of the year, with six wins and one draw — it’s a great record, for sure, but I can’t help but look back at that period of five draws in six games against Deportivo, Celta, Betis, Atlético and Valladolid, and wonder… if we could have just snatched the odd goal in two of those games, we’d be top of the league right now. However, we shouldn’t live in our past regrets. It’s easy to look back and be consumed by what you’ve done, but it takes bravery to step out and forward into the unknown. Our past won’t define our future; instead, we will face what we have created. Unfortunately, what we’ve created is the need for three points at the Bernabeu against one of the most famous and potent football teams in the world.

The good news for anyone wearing silver and blue is that Raúl has pulled a hamstring and will surely not play, despite being only orange injured. 21% fitness is not what you want when David Batty is on the prowl. Rui Costa is also out, but despite being an ever-present for Los Merengues this season, I’m more worried about his prospective replacement. They play with three defensive midfielders, usually Costa (despite him being an AMC) with bleeding Claude Makélélé and Patrick Vieira either side of him, but in his absence, I expect Victor Fernandez will either change formation to accommodate a second striker, perhaps Morientes and original Ronaldo up front — heaven help us — or push Iván Helguera into DMC in between his French breeze blocks. How we can hope to get through that sort of blockade, I genuinely don’t know.

My options feel limited at the moment despite my reasonably large squad, since there are only so many players I can rely on to put in decent performances. Costanzo is definitely one of them, as are Duff and Victory; David Batty is a tackling machine whose contract I’d extend if he didn’t want me to double his wages; Ronaldo has had a breakthrough season in midfield, while there’s no doubt that Tsigalko and Samba have been a fantastic forward partnership ever since I put them together regularly. The rest of the positions in my starting eleven are basically up for grabs, so I arrange my players into the best I can think of to try to counteract Real today. All of my defenders were superb last time against Sevilla, so against my better judgment, I leave them in and pray they can do it again. I still like Recoba, so he remains in the team, while Arteta has been my best choice for a CM this season even though his form is patchier than Chugger’s bodywork. My kingdom for Mark Kerr.

The noise is deafening in the Bernabeu as we stride out in front of 65,000 crazed Madridistas. This is it, lads. Do, or do not — there is no try.

Real Madrid do change their tactics, going to a flat 4–5–1 with a lone striker. Unfortunately for us, that lone striker is Ronaldo.

I can’t describe the opening to this game any better than the match report… so here it is.

They don’t call him Il Fenomeno for nothing. All I can do for the opening nine minutes is watch Ronaldo burn down everything I hold dear, piercing my heart with two devastating strikes that make an already daunting mountain feel insurmountable. To say this is the worst possible start, barring my goalkeeper being sent off along the way, is an understatement — and despite the best efforts of, bizarrely, Mikel Arteta, Iker Casillas keeps us at arm’s length for the remainder of the half, which zips past in the blink of an eye.

I eventually decide to make a few changes after we’ve failed to make any sort of impression on the game just after the hour mark. Campo, Helguera and Vieira are less ‘The Titanic’ and more just actually titanic in Madrid’s defensive third, so I let Samba off the hook and bring Alan Shearer’s elbows into the mix for the last half-hour in the hope he can do a Ronaldo and batter his way to a late brace.

It’s not to be. About ten minutes later, after heroics from Costanzo to deny Campo and Vieira, who are pulling shifts at both ends, Rodrigo follows in a second point-blank save to finally tuck away Madrid’s third, and that’s all we’ve got. The rest of the game is Ronaldo laughing and taking pot-shots at Costanzo from all over the pitch, which fail to increase the score, but there’s no doubt about it — we’ve been well beaten here, in highly disappointing fashion. We’re just not ready to mix it with Real and Barcelona on their turf… yet.

The defeat is compounded by Barcelona only drawing away at bleeding Alavés, which I suppose should be welcome news since they only increase their lead over us by a point, but really the only way I can think about it is that if by some miracle we’d won that game, we’d be just a single point behind them. Decades-old football management simulations can be so cruel.

Aiden McVeigh and Mike Duff both play for Northern Ireland midweek, which is nice, but they lose at home to Wales, which is less nice — and especially ignominious for McVeigh, who starts the game but is substituted after just nine minutes when Ian Nolan is sent off. That’s twice I’ve destroyed that poor kid’s career now. I ought to be banned from signing him. I wonder if he’s actually any good?

The 35th set of La Liga fixtures rolls around, and now we’ve got Alavés at La Cartuja, while Barcelona take on Villarreal — who we’ve got next Sunday. How come we’re left to pump their sloppy seconds every weekend? It’s like university all over again. In an attempt to rouse my fallen and forlorn troops, I make a few changes to the lineup: Cherno’s morale is down to Low, so I allow Wor Al to take over from the youngster for this game at least; Batty still has a knock from the Bernabeu so Stefan Bergtoft comes back into DMC; and since a Ronaldo-shaped blur is still haunting my waking nightmares, I use my melancholy to shrug and give Sergio Sestelo and Simen Brenne starts in midfield ahead of Álvaro Recoba and Mikel Arteta. It all feels a little hopeless at this point, and still — they can’t be worse than the guys they’re replacing were against Madrid.

My reserve charges, unscarred by our previous beating, are superb. It has to be said that Alavés are far pluckier opponents than their lowly league position would suggest, but when the third minute arrives and we’ve already had four shots on target, including a tap-in from Wor Al that gives us the lead, it already feels like this one is going to go our way.

And it does. Shearer is phenomenal up front and I’m delighted to see Simen Brenne in the commentary more often than I’d expect — and eventually, it’s he who doubles our lead after nipping in and stealing a loose ball just inside the box, tearing past a defender and slamming a shot high past Richard Dutruel into the top corner for his first Wet Bandits goal. The game looks pretty safe despite Costanzo having to make two excellent saves from Juan Sanchez and Adrian Ilie, but before long, Super Al is wheeling away with a single arm aloft once more as he completes the rout in the 73rd minute, stooping to head home from Mike Duff’s cross. 3–0, nice and simple, just what the doctor ordered.

Everyone else plays tomorrow so, for a brief moment, we’re within a point of Barcelona. Then Sunday comes, and their game against the Yellow Submarine. We need something here, anything. Come on, Villarreal! Give them a bloody good torpedoing!

Jesus tapdancing Christ.

Got to stay positive, got to stay positive… well, the good news is that we’ve got three games left to play and we’re nine points clear of now-third placed Valencia, so only a Hindenburg-scale last-minute collapse would see us fail to finish second. Second place in our maiden La Liga season is some achievement, by all accounts. So why doesn’t it feel like one?

It’s because Barcelona are so dominant and all-conquering that even when they’re third or fourth in the table, it still feels like they’re ahead of you. You’re always figuratively looking up at them, even when they’re in your mirrors. That sort of intimidation is the way you win championships; Man United are exactly the same under Sir Alex, although they’re about to dick away the Premier League to Tottenham or Liverpool by the looks of it. They’re four points back with three games to play, but I bet Spurs and the Reds are feeling jittery at the prospect of holding United off, even with such a huge advantage and so little time left. It’s a daunting task, whoever you are. Barcelona in La Liga are exactly the same.

And so, off to Villarreal we go. Trevor Steven tells me that Jonas Lundén has been impressing him in training and deserves a run in the first team, and that’s good enough for me — he’s in to replace Sestelo. Alonso starts ahead of Brenne, and Andrielos can have another go alongside Teddy Lucic at the expense of Nikolaos Tobros. I can’t wait to have Marcel Desailly in my back four next season, let me tell you.

Villarreal are exactly the sort of team you don’t want to have to beat, especially at El Madrigal. I’m not looking forward to this one, but at the same time, I’m at peace with finishing second now. It feels inevitable. Barcelona are away at already-relegated Leganés, after all. Let’s just pull our socks up and do our best, shall we?

It’s… an eventful first half.

Ronaldo gives us a nice early lead with an imperious header from Tsigalko’s cross that smashes in off the underside of the bar, as all good headers do, then Elpys Espinal takes the ball for the hosts and dances past Victory and Lundén on the way to getting elbowed in the face by Teddy Lucic inside the box. Nice work Ted, but that’s going to be a penalty, which Bruno Marioni takes, but Costanzo guesses correctly and pushes away to safety! Oh yeah, justice is done. Not actual justice, but what I wanted to happen, which is basically the same thing.

Marioni’s ineptitude from the penalty spot is compounded a few minutes later when we sink the Yellow Submarine with a stinging one-two punch. First Tsigalko rises to head home a Jamie Victory cross, then Wor Al catches an Andrielos long ball on the volley from fully 30 yards that zings past Pepe Reina and collects a 9/10 on the Yeboah index for good measure. 3–0 up, the game looking over, Villarreal decide to make it interesting: unpronounceable striker Guayre gets a lucky goal back for the hosts, and then, just to cram as much absurdity into this 45 minutes as possible, DMC Josico — on as a sub for the injured Gaica — understandably punches Cristiano Ronaldo to the ground and is shown a red card for his trouble. What a ridiculous afternoon this is turning into, and we’re only halfway through!

The second half is only slightly less stupid in the sense that there are no more red cards or missed penalties, and all the remaining goals happen in the space of six hectic minutes — but there are three of them. Two for us, through Tsigalko’s second of the day and a rare Jonas Lundén appearance inside the penalty area to tap home a Reina block from Jamie Victory’s shot from range, but not wanting to be left out, my defenders kindly help Bruno Marioni to stop crying by allowing him the freedom of our penalty area to smash home a pretty unnecessary volley from three yards after good work on the wing by Quique Martín. I’m already well tipsy in my technical area as the seventh goal goes in so I don’t recall what happens from there on, but since the game finishes 5–2, I guess I didn’t miss much. Susan! Another round for the drive home!

Barcelona are given a scare at Leganés but the heartless scoundrels still manage to escape with a 3–2 win to put them just one victory away from the league title. Meanwhile, Deportivo’s season is going from bad to worse; not only have they tumbled to 9th in the table, but now they’re being hauled over the coals by the suits in Madrid for picking up too many cards. I wouldn’t be surprised if David Batty has a letter in the post as well.

Deportivo celebrate the loss of £55,000 from their bank account by immediately bidding £10m for Pablo Aimar in one of the most flagrant middle fingers to the Spanish FA I’ve ever seen. I would say good for them if I wasn’t so poisonously jealous.

Then, when Saturday comes, Barcelona greet Mallorca at the Camp Nou in a game that, if they win, will secure them the title. Come on Mallorca. Do something incredible for us.