Los Coladeros, Episode 67: Madrid, Betis, Milan
I’m not sure my bum has ever squeaked this much in my life. Three games are coming up, and they could well be season-defining. Real Madrid at La Cartuja. Real Betis at La Cartuja. AC Milan at the San Siro. Win all three, and we’ll be at least nine points clear at the top of La Liga and through to the knockout phase of the Champions League. Lose all three and, well…. I’ll be spending an awful lot of time with my drinks globe, let’s just leave it at that.
Our top-of-the-table clash against the Meringues is up first. We haven’t been at our sparkling best recently, and in fact we’ve drawn our last two against Real Sociedad and bastard Brøndby. It’s not a great way to come into such an important tie. Real, on the other hand, spent their last game dry-humping Valencia 5–0 in the Champions League. Santiago Solari and Rui Costa won’t be available for them, but wipe those tears away — they’ve still got Casillas, Ayala, Materazzi, Vieira, Pires, Raúl, and Ronaldo. That’s some seven-a-side team. They could probably knock us around if they just played that lot and left everyone else at home.
We’re missing the steadying presence of Clint Hill through injury and Tsigalko’s still got five games left of his heinous ban, but we’ve got depth. Andrielos comes in alongside Tobros for the biggest game of their careers together so far. I wish they’d just hurry up and realise they’re going to be two of the best centre-backs in the world. Bruno starts at AMC ahead of Ronaldo because while I’m in a state of perpetual homoerotic tension with young Cristiano, the facts are that he has four goals and four assists in 23 appearances. Bruno has three goals and three assists… in thirteen. However you slice it, he’s more productive per game. He’s also twice as fast and a far better finisher — and when you’re going to need goals, those are the numbers I’m interested in. Let’s ride.
9th minute. First action of the game. Petrov goes wide to Duff, who crosses towards Bruno in the penalty area. Marco Materazzi, one of Madrid’s many bastards at the back, slides through Bruno “fairly” according to our partially-sighted referee… but Skalidis gets to the loose ball first! Skalidis smashes it back across the box! MARK KERR IS THERE! KERR!!
HNNNNNGGGOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOL COLADEROS!! GOAL MARK KERR!
WHAT DO YOU MEAN SKALIDIS WAS OFFSIDE?! AGGHH! WHERE’S MY PENALTY? WHERE’S MY GOAL? I HATE YOU, SPANISH FA!
Fearing another stitch up, I keep a close eye on the performances of my defenders, and you know what? They’re not totally hopeless. With Ronaldo up front alone and Raúl marauding in off the left flank, there’s a lot to worry about, but I give Tobros a run instruction back into the sweeper position and tell Andrielos to man-mark the Brazilian superman… and it seems to work. Ronaldo wins a header from a Salgado corner but his attempt at a knock down is hoofed clear by Tobros, and other than that, he’s quiet for the rest of the half. At the other end, we’re frustrated by Madrid’s dickbag defenders, who tug and scratch and kick us towards half time — but even they can’t stop Skalidis getting a shot and a header on target, but Casillas prevents us from taking the lead the Ultras inside La Cartuja so desperately want to see. Eventually, a frustrating first half comes to a close.
To be honest, the second half is a dull affair. We do amazingly well to contain Real, who genuinely do nothing — Tobros, Andrielos and Kibebe all finish on 8s and their superstar forwards are reduced to also-rans. Skalidis is like a leopard up front but his one-on-one battle with Casillas sees the Spaniard come out on top, and after 90 fairly humdrum minutes and one excellent goalkeeping performance, we register our third draw in a row — but this one, I’ll take.
Barcelona win their game to rise above their great rivals into second, and then win the following Saturday to bring them so close to our butts they’d feel our farts.
We should take Betis apart. By agreeing a deal to take Albert Luque from them in the summer, he’s started wearing flip-flops to every game — and while Paulo Wanchope is doing his best to single-leggedly gangle the green bastards into the Champions League places, he can’t do it all by himself. They’re missing DLC David Rivas, we’re missing DLC Clint Hill. I’m happy with how we played against Real Madrid, so you know what? We go again. We bloody well go again. Get out there and smash these nobodies.
Six minutes in, madness. For god only knows why, the otherwise mild-mannered Stilian Petrov headbutts Assunção and is sent off. He trudges off the pitch and past me, glaring straight into my stupid face as I pour a pint of Old Fashioned from my dugout optic. It’s going to be a long old afternoon, isn’t it.
When Kourtoglou smashes a snapshot at goal a few minutes later that Voulgaris does brilliantly to turn around the post, I’m chugging my first pint and readying myself to go back for seconds. However, the corner is thumped away by Kibebe and Mike Duff turns on the afterburners to catch up with it down the right-hand side. He screams to the edge of the box and whips a cross into the area, where Skalidis is lurking — he heads past Leo Franco! GOAL! It’s 1–0! We’re winning, totally against the run of play! GET IN THERE ANAS!!
I’ve got to say… the rest of the half is all us. That stuff they say about it being harder to play against ten men is true for Betis, but not for us — it’s an absolute breeze to play against all of them. Franco turns another Skalidis volley around the post before Kerr, part of my now two-man midfield with Davies, flicks the ball on for Bruno, he feeds Davies, and the Welshman lifts the ball into the box where the Conqueror rises to pump a header past Leo Franco for 2–0, after just 21 minutes! We don’t even need all our players to beat you, you rotters! Ten Wet Bandits two, eleven green bastards zero!!
As the players line back up for the second half, I tip away my Old Fashioned of shame and pour myself a brand new Old Fashioned of triumph — and the players make it 45 minutes of dancing and talking about where we’re going to do karaoke tonight after the game. Skalidis, in particular, is a total menace to the beleaguered Betis back four, notching our third of the game with a stunning 20-yard drive before skinning Boumsong and Filipescu to drill home his hat-trick after 71 minutes. An incredible solo performance from our new striking sensation, who I replace with Samba for the last 15 minutes or so, but honestly, this game is over, and it’s a spectacular win. We’ve put a marker down today, that’s for sure. There’s only one team in Seville, and it’s the Wet Bandits.
Susan belts out a fantastic rendition of Don’t Let The Sun Go Down On Me at Karaoke Mikro later that night, while I have to be carried home by Spencer Field at 4am after almost being glassed by Betis fans in the street — but we deserved a night out after that. It was fantastic. My mood, which was so sour just a couple of weeks ago, is soaring once again. We’re brilliant. I love my players, I love my staff, I love this season. There’s not a team in the league that can haul us back now — nobody can bring us down. Nobody.
The following morning, I receive another email from the Spanish FA.
I just can’t with these motherfuckers. Honestly. First red card of Petrov’s career. Okay, it was a headbutt. Eight more matches though? Are you joking? I suppose the bright side of this moonful of shit is that, considering Tsigalko got eight games just for kicking someone a bit, Petrov could have gotten a lifetime ban for actually going after another player. Still, though — there are other names in the league who’ve been given straight red cards this season, you know. A few you might have heard of, in fact; Kluivert, Saviola, Thuram, Vieira, Salgado, Raúl Bravo. You know who they play for, of course. Guess how long their bans were? You guessed it: one game. One game! Vieira has been sent off three times this season. Total ban length? Three games. I’m stewing in my own juices here, and it’s not just because I’m still pissed from last night. Okay, it’s partly that. Yes. Alright — I’m going to have a bit of a siesta, then I’m going to write them a reply that’s going to blow their stupid moustaches off.
What an awful way to prepare for a trip to Milan, of all places. We don’t need to win at the San Siro as such, but if we don’t, we will definitely need one against PSV in our final group game. On the other hand, an unlikely win against Italy’s best team by some distance on their patch will mean we’re definitely through to the next phase — even a draw might be enough if the Brøndby/PSV game sees the same result. However, to get any of that, we’re going to need to find a way to shackle one of the world’s most prolific strikers: Andriy Shevchenko.
A pretty standard season for Sheva by all accounts, and when you look at the players he’s got around him… man. This is some team. They’ve already given us a bloody good pasting this season, 4–1 at La Cartuja, and as a result of that, I sort of see this game as a free hit. I certainly can’t expect a win — I’m just going to play my best names and hope for some sort of miracle.
That means minimal changes from the battle of Sevilla, but there are two: one enforced, Tsigalko for Skalidis, and one optional, Ronaldo for Bruno. After I said all those nice things about our Brazilian youth international, he repaid me with two anonymous performances in games where he had a huge chance to step up. Sorry, son. You’re benched.
Whoever had ‘two minutes’ in the Shevchenko To Score sweepstake, you’re today’s big winner. Clarence Seedorf pops a free kick into Sheva’s feet, he turns Tobros like the small child he is, and batters a shot that almost kills Voulgaris on its way into the net for 1–0 to the home side. Voulgaris survives to save a Shevchenko header five minutes later, and when Rivaldo curls a free-kick into the top corner after 19 minutes, I’m rocking back and forth in my chair and wondering why I ever took this stupid job in the first place.
We’re looking set for a mauling here. Someone called Vitale heads wide from six yards for Milan before we at least have a couple of chances — Davies and then Kerr smashing off target from range, sure, but it’s at least something. Then, as the half time whistle approaches, a huge surprise: Davies, Petrov and Kerr, my three belly-button jewels, combine in midfield to get the ball into the box for Tsigalko, and with his first real chance of the night, the Iceman coolly slots under Abbiati to bring the score back to 2–1. We actually have further chances before the whistle goes — Laursen and Nesta are enormous at the back for Milan, and when Davies does get a shot on goal, Abbiati parries behind wonderfully, then saves again from a poink-blank Tobros header. 2–1 is the score at the break.
Now that changes everything. We looked dead and buried after 20 minutes, but on 45, we’re alive again. Now we just need someone to come up with a brilliant plan to outfox one of the best teams in Europe over the course of the second half. I turn to Susan — she shrugs. Damn. That was our best shot. Well, in any case, we finished the half pretty well there lads — keep it going.
Milan’s back four is now Simic, Laursen and Nesta, surely one of the best back threes you could find — and they’re everywhere in the opening stages of the second period, sliding and elbowing and heading away as my attackers bear down on the Italian nets. Rivaldo briefly abates the danger with a mazy run that ends with a wild shot into the stands, but otherwise, this game has flipped completely on its head — and now, we’re the ones leaving Micro Machines at the foot of Milan’s stairs. I go for the neck: Bruno on for Ronaldo, Samba on for Davies. Two in midfield, two up top, Ronaldo in AMC. We need a goal back, and we need it soon.
We remain in the ascendency. Tsigalko feeds Bruno and he slaps a shot at goal that Abbiati tips over the bar. Tobros heads the corner against the post before Kerr takes the ball and drives forward at the Milan defence. He exchanges passes with Stilian “The Wild Man” Petrov and jinks away from Seedorf like he isn’t even there — and with a single swing of his left foot, he lifts the ball over Nesta, into the path of Tsigalko… and the Iceman catches it on the volley!!
HNNNNGGGGOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOL COLADEROOOOOOOOOS!! GOL GOL GOL GOL GOL GOL GOOOOOOLLLLLLL! Tsigalko chalks up his brace, and we’re hammering Milan here! It’s 2–2, but we’re all over them! This game is ours! It’s ours!!
83 minutes on the clock. Tsigalko charges into the box, gets tackled by Laursen, but Kerr smashes the loose ball at goal! Abbiati saves! Pirlo clears the danger, but only as far as Petrov, and he skips goalwards before hitting a low drive that Abbiati again parries to safety. It’s surely only a matter of time now: Kalogeras whips in the corner, TOBROS IS THERE! ABBIATI SAVES AGAIN! My GOD man, will you f — k off and let us score!! Abbiati pumps the ball away as the game enters stoppage time, and bloody hell, we should be winning here. A draw doesn’t feel right any more. We came, we got punched twice in the face, but we came back and pounded them onto the ropes for about an hour, and we’re only going to get a point out of it. Where’s the justice in that.
I hadn’t realised that we’re still playing, and Milan have the ball. Kakha Kaladze gets down the left and crosses into the box. Andrea Pirlo is going up for a header? Don’t make me-
Nope. No. You go. I’ll walk home.
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