Madrid plays with Valencia and returns to the Copa del Rey final

For some time now, this Madrid has made victory a routine, a team that plays basketball and in step with the rival, who is already impatiently plucking the leaves of the daisy to find out how many titles it will win at the end of the course, incontestable in the League and in the Euroleague, also now in the Copa del Rey.

That was what he explained in the semi-final against a Valencia team that barely lasted two acts, an opponent who never quite believed it and whom he lost his step - and got tangled up in an astonishing way with a failed dunk by López-Arostegui that would have served him well. to get ahead at the halfway point of the duel – he gave up.

A challenge (or rather a joke) that, in any case, does not erode or wear down Madrid for the final match, the one that should confirm what its game and numbers say: that there is no one better.

A strong smell of gunpowder welcomed Martín Carpena two hours before the semi-final began, firecrackers of joy and encouragement from the Valencia fans, who were already shouting to the rhythm of the drumsticks.

One more sign that the Cup is a party, where the fans fraternize and share tablecloths and nights in the city on duty, a full-fledged third half of rugby.

But what is celebrated in the stands is competed on the hardwood.

And there Madrid has no echo or shadow.

Among other things, because it attacks by land, sea and air, because then there is no one to attack it.

REAL MADRID, 97 – VALENCIA, 76

Real Madrid:

Campazzo (10), Musa (18), Deck (9), Yabusele (14) and Tavares (7) –starting quintet–;

Rudy (5), Hezonja (3), Llull (11), S. Rodríguez (8) and Poirier (10).

Valencia:

Jones (9), Jovic (2), Puerto (0), Inglis (5) and Davies (18) –starting quintet–;

Harper (7), Claver (0), Anderson (12), Pradilla (2), López-Arostegui (12), Ojeleye (9) and Pangos (0).

Partials:

23-17;

25-22;

32-16;

and 15-21.

Referees:

Carlos Peruga, Carlos Cortés and Luis Miguel Castillo.

Eliminated due to fouls, Davies.

The white team began the duel with the idea of ​​using Tavares as the lever that moves the world, balls into the paint so that the copper could be beaten with a Davies who at the first change was loaded with two personnel.

Tremendous loss for Valencia because in seven minutes they only had the pivot's wrist, two triples and nothing else.

The rest, water.

More than anything because he was in a hurry to shoot, almost always bad choices, shots that didn't touch the rim, blocks everywhere and finally a face of circumstances because basketball was one-way.

Eden for Madrid, which posted a 16-0 run, an appetizer blow.

Because Deck always manages to see the basket;

because there are no cracks that can resist Musa;

because Campazzo adds or multiplies;

because Madrid is a lot of Madrid.

Although Chris Jones, mousy as he is, tried to get his team into the match, at least to close the quarter with hope (23-17).

The slap would come later and it would do so in the most unlikely way...

It turns out that in the second act more of the same happened, every time Madrid hit the accelerator and left, the game of rope.

Although now he did it with his wardrobe, with two old gold

rockers

like Sergio Rodríguez and Sergi Llull, who scored triples and layups like hotcakes.

Tralla that once again put the two-digit difference and that seemed to leave Valencia groggy, once again overexcited and flawed, especially in the choice of shot.

But Davies once again took Tavares out of his zone of influence and, as in the beginning, he defined himself with triples that were pure gasoline for his team.

And so, from the periphery, Valencia finally put the white team, snipers Harper, Ojeleye and López-Arostegui, in trouble.

A coup because they managed to get 42-41;

a blow with a rebound and a bruise because that was when López-Arostegui faced the hoop alone to put Valencia ahead.

It was a mate for the gallery, to enjoy... And tragedy happened because he suffered a trigger blow and his arm got jammed, an incomprehensible mistake and a new sprint for Madrid to reach the intermission with a lead of nine.

What was fought and won, lost in a flash.

More information

Gabriel Deck, cold head and hot wrist: “When I lose, I get angry”

Rest, taking a break to calm down, was of no use to Valencia.

A madness that Davies showed by committing the fourth personal right at the beginning of the third half.

The best

taronja

with the ball in his hands chose in the worst possible way and left the team handicapped.

And giving Madrid a small advantage is giving it too much.

Thus, at the speed of Campazzo's legs and head, Chus Mateo's team pressed the hyperspace button and blew up the duel (66-44).

Time of joy for the Madrid players, who at the same time that their rival lowered their heads, they raised it gallantly with challenging glances at the public [into the void, in truth] that are not to provoke but to feed the ego, to clarify what good they are.

And the Campazzo, Musa, Yabusele and company are.

So much so that in the Cup semi-final they did what they wanted and when they wanted.

A basketball of a zillion carats and far above the rest that puts them back in their place because they have reached 10 finals of the last 11 played.

It is the white law;

the king

of

cups

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