You don't have to be a lynx to conclude, correctly or not, that Real Madrid has started the season in the same way it ended the previous one: playing with the hopes of its rivals.
The oldest in the place would say that you don't touch what works and that must be why, in the first official matches of this season, the whites have been inclined to repeat that temporary lie that makes them seem fragile until they It's too late to pray
The Germans of Eintracht in Helsinki verified it, under cover of a good start and a misinterpretation of the historical Finnish neutrality.
And the fans of Almería – or any other team that finds consolation in the setbacks of Madrid – suffered after the rushed league debut.
“Until the end”, the song should warn,
It was not a very pleasant start to the summer for the fans of the Almighty: in the midst of a hangover from the celebrations, with a stadium reformulated into a new model of the mythical Enterprise and half of Europe fearing the worst in the face of the relentless advance of its authoritarianism, Madrid He left planted in front of the altar the one who should be the vault key in his new present and future project: Kylian Mbappé.
What an upset for the families, although the French family has concealed it reasonably well by covering their faces with gold and platinum.
That frustrated union after months of intense preparation —there are so many who pledged their word and professional prestige that at any moment they could become a platform for those affected—,
Whether we like it or not, football takes alternative paths as soon as the lights of the stadiums go out and the euphoria of the big nights begins to expire, which is usually the following week.
It is the undisputed law of a business that tomorrow has the perfect cure for yesterday's ills, which is why it is so often compared to religion.
As in a bad bolero warning, everything lived matters, everything good is yet to be lived.
And there is no song more difficult to replicate than the history of Real Madrid itself, where everything is discussed to the rhythm of "perhaps, perhaps, perhaps".
Carlo Ancelotti knows this well, who has lived like few others the changing affections of a club that never stops, that rarely breathes, that embraces to engulf you.
The Italian faces his own legend, the recent memory of a time that will hardly return, although you never know with Real.
His best footballers accumulate another year of scars and the youngest seem far removed from such quality standards with the exception of Vinicius, who was born at the age of forty and seems to live life discounting.
In addition, a certain change in the model is intuited that we will see where it begins and where it ends.
The signings of Casemiro, Modric or Kroos brought Madrid closer to a kind of adapted
that does not seem to have continuity in the boots of wide-ranging footballers such as Valverde, Camavinga and, especially, Tchouameni.
In any other club we would talk about an almost fatal resignation, but at this point in the film nobody knows for sure what Real Madrid is, not even NASA.
Sometimes it looks like a mythological animal and other times, a compilation of the best vignettes from
Rúe 13 del Percebe
, which, I suspect, gives it much of its strength: if it bites you, you lose;
if you laugh, you die.
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