THOUGHTS ON EL CLASICO

     As I sat down on my rotten, dilapidated couch to watch La Liga's season defining El Clasico, I did not expect much. To be quite honest, I thought it would transpire as many of the most recent few have; I thought it would be a game riddled by fouls, ruined by diving, and that the game would end in Barcelona's favor 3-1, or 2-1. I sat down expecting to be let down. Instead, I was treated to an absolutely riveting, attention demanding match between perhaps the world's best two sides. When the final whistle blew, I was not simply happy to have devoted two hours of my day to watching the match, but rather I was thoroughly appreciative that I had the pleasure to view such an affair.

     What transpired in today's match was tactical warfare at its very finest. Pep Guardiola sent out a side that would settle for nothing less than a sculpted shot into the corner of the net to tally a goal; Jose Mourinho put out a side capable of both 'parking the bus', and then sending that same bus forward at such a blistering pace that mere humans could not contain it. It was a beautiful match, as Barcelona's gradual, overwhelming thrust was met by Real's calculated, devastating counter. In the end, Mourinho and company emerged victorious, via a whimsical piece of play provided by Mesut Özil and Cristiano Ronaldo. But it wasn't simply the result that caught my attention.

     Barcelona looked tired. Certainly, every top-level European side suffers from fixture build-up late in the season, yet there was something especially odd with the Blaugrana's performance. Messi completed several of his devastating, trademark runs, and yet he had no one to dish the ball off too at the critical moment when penetration was begging. When Telló or Alves sent balls into the box, there were no blue and red shirts to put the ball into the back of the net. Whereas the classic performances by this generally otherworldly Barcelona side were often punctuated by crisp, 'too-simple' looking goals, today's match saw the Catalan side score a lone, scrappy, awkward tally. This was not the side that took apart Manchester United in Rome. This was not the side that made a mockery of Arsenal at the Emirates. 

     This was a tired, over-worked team.

     On the other side of the pitch stood a hungry, anxious Madrid side desperate to undue the recently incurred wrongs in Munich. They defended for most of the match, yet did so with a tenacity and verve that Mourinho's side had not until this day demonstrated. The Whites played desparately, diving into tackles and over-committing to dribblers (as when Messi slipped through Xavi for what should have been  the tying goal) whenever possible, and such relentlessness payed dividends. Ronaldo's goal was not simply a well orchestrated counter, but rather the product of 11 incredibly talented players waiting until the exact moment when Barcelona would put too many players forward in an attempt to with the match. After scoring their equalizer, Barcelona thought they would immediately follow that up with another goal to steal that match. Such arrogance resulted in the Catalans sending one too many men forward, allowing Özil to glide wide open on the right flank before slotting a perfectly weighted through ball which Ronaldo guided around a bewildered Valdez. 

     I don't know who the best club side in the world is. I do not know if Chelsea will stave off Barcelona at the Nou Camp, or if Madrid will overturn their deficit from Munich. What I do know, though, is that Mourinho and company have well and truly learned from their mistakes against the Cúles from the last two seasons. Madrid now know that they have the capacity to overcome their ancient rivals. 

     What is to come next? A Madrid ascendancy? The dethroning of an immaculate Barca side? 

     Only time will tell.