Los Coladeros, Episode 70: Saddle Up
We are in all kinds of funk right now, and not the Earth, Wind and Fire kind. In between mostly decent results there have been some really, really appalling defeats and some pretty worrying performances, too. It’s almost like sustaining a title chase plus an extended run in both European and domestic cup competitions takes the beans out of your squad, especially when your squad contains Hugo Pinheiro sometimes.
The upshot of right now is that we’re out of Europe, we’re almost out of the Copa del Rey to a bunch of postmen and bricklayers, and our league form is teetering at exactly the moment we could do with it being solid and dependable. And so, a visit to Celta Vigo is exactly the thing we could do without, especially since they boast our old flame and one-hit wonder Álvaro Recoba, who’s having something of a marquee season for the Sky Blues. Obviously we took him in, cradled him in our arms, whispered in his ear that we loved him, then he knifed us in the back to play for a “bigger” club first chance he had. I do miss him, but at the same time… how’s 9th in the table working out for you, Chino?
What’s working out for me is that Maxim Tsigalko’s nine-game ban for breathing too heavily on… I can’t even remember any more it was so long ago, but the important thing is, it’s over. He’s back, and he’s going straight back behind Skalidis in AMC. Petrov is banned, Tobros is injured, and by my count, all my other players that I consider to be above half-decent are in the squad. Please can we just… please.
Like so many games since December 15th, the first half of this encounter can be summed up with the following phrase: thank f — k for Anastasios Skalidis. A turgid opening 45 yields the sum total of two shots on target: both are taken by Skalidis, both rattle the inside of Pablo Cavallero’s ball bag, and at the break, the new apple of my eye has given us a very comfortable-looking 2–0 lead.
One of my youth football coaches always used to tell us that we didn’t want to be 2–0 up at half time, and that 2–0 was a dangerous scoreline because if they score next, well — then it’s 2–1, isn’t it? Now they’re only one goal behind you! You can’t get sloppy at 2–0. You’ve got to score again.
At 11 years old, that made sense to me, mostly because an adult had said it, so it must have been true. At many, many more years old, I tend to think that being two goals up at half time is a good thing, because it means you’ve scored two more goals than they have, which if I check the rules of football, means there’s a good chance we’ll go on to win. I’m certain he only told us that so we wouldn’t get bored and stuff the game up second half.
If he’d been in the stands for this game, I would have looked up to him at full-time, raised my glass, and given him a knowing wink as the players trotted past me and down the tunnel to the dressing room. Dangerous scoreline? Don’t know what you’re on about, mate.
Despite my chest-beating bravado on the touchline, the truth is I almost collapsed with relief when that one ticked over to full-time, I really did. Given the appalling loss to Gandía last time around, I thought we’d get our arses spanked all over the Balaídos by Recoba, López and Rosado — but in the end, they didn’t manage a shot or even a key pass between them. It was an excellent time for my defenders to mostly play their way to 8s across the board. Even Andrielos and his 7 doesn’t bother me — at least he got himself a nice, meaty booking for hoofing Recoba to the floor rather than letting him have even the tiniest bit of space.
Suddenly and from out of absolutely nowhere, there’s transfer activity. First, C.D. Benidorm, a team about to be relegated from the D2B3 barring some sort of miraculous last-minute escape, make an end-of-contract bid for Sergio Sestelo. Oh, how the mighty have fallen. I actually move to offer him a new contract to save him from the ignominy of dropping down into el Liga del Evostick… but it’s no use. His heart has been blackened, his mind poisoned, and with one final jilt, my flame is extinguished.
The following morning, there’s more news. Mallorca enter what I’m going to generously call “the race” for the signature of Franco Costanzo, my custos non grata, with an appalling £450k bid that almost makes me choke on my breakfast brandy. Upon revising his value to £5m, I notice that Barcelona are still maintaining their interest. I decide to go for it, and tell the islanders I want the full sum or nothing. Perhaps it will prompt the Blaugrana into making a bid of their own, and my ridiculously circuitous sabotage plan will be one-quarter complete. Bright young D2Bers C.D. Badajoz then arrive with an empty sack into which they hope to stuff Jamie Victory — a thoughtful proposal, but one I’d rather negotiate up to half a million and his bus fare.
The reason I’m so keen to get some money in rather than just jettison my players on frees is because I’ve just heard that Isaac Okoronkwo’s contract at Sporting Lisbon, and while he will cost £3.2m in compensation, it’s a relatively small price to pay for such a dominant centre-half. Why, the addition of one Okoronkwo alongside Clint Hill might spell the end of my defensive worries for the next two or three years — and what I wouldn’t give for that. Oh, Isaac. Welcome to the La Liga champions-elect. I’m sure you’ll fit in just fi- wait, what?
F — king Celta Vigo. Predictably, as you can see, both Mallorca and Badajoz withdrew their bids as well — no surprise, and no matter. Don’t need the money any more.
I have to take a break from Transfer Manager 2004/05 to get another one of these pesky football matches out of the way. Next up at La Cartuja is Espanyol, who have lost almost all their key players to injury or suspension and are odds-on to be relegated. We ought to blow them out of the water, especially since we’re playing the same side that just tanked Celta, but with one small change: Bruno impressed me when he came on for Tsigalko last week, so he starts this time, with the Iceman on the sidelines.
Of course, the one player who is still available for Espanyol is Lev Yashin’s regen Ruslan Nigmatullin, and true to previous form, he manages four first-half stops from Skalidis, Kerr, Ronaldo and Kalogeras that prevent us opening the scoring. Espanyol, shorn of almost all their quality forward players except for Savo Milosevic, do absolutely nothing to trouble us, so reaching the break still mired in zeroes isn’t what I wanted from this afternoon.
Fortunately, the renaissance of Mark Kerr continues, and just after the restart he does something that very few Scottish footballers have managed before him: nutmegging someone before rifling a left-footed shot into the top corner. You don’t see that every day, even from the Conqueror himself.
Skalidis then hits the bar twice before Kalogeras and Ronaldo slap each post with drives from the edge of the box, and while that should mean we win comfortably, we’re actually lucky that Voulgaris isn’t a feckless waster as Milosevic could very easily equalise in the last minute with a downward header that our only reliable stopper tips around the base of the post. In the end, it’s another nervy win, but at least we’ve put in two good performances in our last two games. That’s good to see. I was really starting to think we were rotten from the inside and I was going to have to spend my whole summer blaming everyone else.
We’re so close to the title I can almost taste it. Barcelona and Real Madrid just won’t go away, but the gap is still five points with just six games left now. Skalidis has also gone and gotten himself suspended for our next game against Bilbao, which is fantastic news.
I’ve decided to allow Alberto Saavedra go to Rayo Vallecano on a free in the summer. They’re in the Segunda with little hope of ever escaping, so it seems like an ideal move for the lad. His £1,300 per week wages, while low, will be far better in my pocket than his. Did I say my pocket? I mean the club’s pocket.
A short international break where literally all my players lose their fixtures later, and we’re off on the long, lonely road north. I’m scared of Athletic Bilbao. I don’t want to go there and I don’t want to play them. Joseba Exteberría is excellent; Iñigo Idiákez is brilliant, Aitor Karanka is a beast. The San Mamés is exactly the sort of stadium where title dreams go to die. And we haven’t got Skalidis. We haven’t got a few people, in fact. Clint Hill goes down the night before the game with a bruised rib from training, and with Tobros still on the picnic benches himself, that means The Rock will be wedged uncomfortably into my back four alongside Nikos Andrielos.
I’ve also made one other change, and it’s in midfield: Simon Davies, once a revelation on that right side of my central three, has been a passenger for what feels like months now. He hasn’t provided a goal or an assist in as long as I can remember, so I’ve made what I’m going to call a brave change. The one player to emerge with any credit at all from the international break was, once again, Tonton Zola Moukoko, who played in Davies’ position for Sweden U21s, scoring twice and providing an assist. Armed with this new knowledge and the certainty that he’ll do that for us in one of our vital run-in games, I switch him in for the disappointing Welshman. If he gets a 6, he won’t be doing any worse.
Bilbao play the same tactics as us, so after instructing half my team to man-mark them, I start the match and immediately retreat behind my fingers. It’s a solid idea, as Voulgaris is making a save from De Paula’s run and shot inside the first minute, and before we hit the second, Bilbao are a goal up. Bruno misplaces a pass, Larrazábal nods inside to Karanka, he fires a pass into the box that’s knocked down, Exteberría latches onto the loose ball and thumps a shot past Voulgaris for 1–0 to the hosts.
I’m concerned, but a spot of superb tactical shouting by Trevor Steven whips the players right back into the game — and in fact, after a quiet 20 minutes or so where Bilbao try to sit on their lead, we eventually win a free-kick high up the pitch. Kalogeras whips it into the box, Marcel Desailly howls through the air, and plants a header past Daniel Aranzubía to bring us back to ones. It’s the Rock’s first goal for the Wet Bandits, and just for a moment, it allows me to emerge from behind my facepalm and consider that we could, in fact, escape from the Basque country with a point.
There are two more efforts on goal in the first half — Ronaldo for us, De Paula for them — but that’s just about all. Bilbao dominate the commentary, but thanks to some snide tactical shirt-yanking from Desailly, Kibebe and Andrielos, their progress is mostly blunted before they reach our box. The whistle finally sounds for half time, and we’re level.
My entire midfield are stuck on 6s at the break, except for Benjamin Kibebe, who’s registered an 8/10 in the first half and has been wooing me with ruthless efficiency ever since he arrived. I’m tempted to hook the rest of them, but instead decide to stay mellow, take a deep breath, and let Trev take care of the team talk. I’d only get in the way.
Whatever he says works. I guess he probably just told them to score another goal just like the one we’ve already scored, because that’s exactly what happens. Ten minutes into the second half, Kalogeras corner, this time Andrielos jumps highest, and he glances a header into the far corner to give us the lead.
Now, it’s Bilbao who are struggling to get a foothold in the game. We’re not doing a lot, but they’re doing worse — and getting booked for good measure. Idiákez and Vales both see yellow as the clock ticks over the hour mark, and finally, I decide it’s time to make my change. Bruno has been awful, so he comes off, Tonton goes into AMC, and Davies is restored to the right of my midfield three in the hope he can do… something, you know, anything. In fact, what he does achieve is to lose the first two headers he challenges for, both of which result in close-range efforts on target from Exteberría and Nagore, but fortunately for him, Voulgaris is at hand to deny both the chance to bring the game back to level terms.
De Paula has been a thorn in our side all afternoon, dancing through my defence a number of times on his way to hitting scorching efforts on goal — and eventually, I guess Giannis Kalogeras has had enough. He decides it’s time to leave one on De Paula and hacks through him during his latest pirouette towards our goal — but unfortunately for us and my hairline, which is receding in real-time, he waits just a little too long, and wipes out Athletic’s athletic AMC just as he has danced his way into the box. The referee points to the spot, Kalogeras is booked, and after a short delay while my players protest that De Paula is a tosser and shouldn’t be given anything, a message I wholly endorse from the sideline, Aitor Larrazábal puts the ball down and slots it past Voulgaris to bring the game back to 2–2 with 20 minutes to go.
Simon Davies responds by battering a volley into France three minutes later, and I feel sunk. A point is okay, but Barcelona are winning at Valladolid, and with superior goal difference and results against us, that leaves us precariously close to stuffing everything up in the final few games since we’d be just one more defeat away from dropping down to second. I hate this, I hate this, wait, what’s this? Kalogeras is away down the right! He crosses to Tsigalko! Tsigalko… can’t find space to shoot, but he has support, he turns, lays off… TONTON ZOLA MOUKOKO RACES ONTO IT! MOUKOKO SHOOTS!!
HNNNNGGGGGOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOLLLLLLL COLADEEEEEEROOOOOOOOS!! MOUKOOOOOKOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!! I can hardly believe my eyes! Something I did worked! IT BLOODY WELL WORKED! IT’S 3–2!
Right, that’s quite enough of that. I make some changes and arrange my team into an impenetrable pyramid at the first opportunity, which totally flummoxes Bilbao for all of 15 minutes, and with that, we’ve won. We’ve won at San Mamés. This is an absolutely enormous result, and I am delighted — even though we ended the game… pretty conservatively.
It has cost us Ronaldo, who’s out for the rest of the season with an ankle injury, but it was probably, possibly worth it. We’ve recovered from our cup disappointment to win three on the bounce in La Liga and maintain our five-point lead at the top of the table. Real Madrid are now ten points back in third after drawing the derby with local thorns Atlético, so from now on, it looks like a straight fight between us and Barcelona.
I feel alive. My fire burns again. The double is still possible — we just need to overturn that 2–0 loss to Gandía. They’re up next. Bring. Them. On.
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