Letter 589: Catalan Pride

There is a reason why I watch Spanish football-- Catalan, in particular-- sleek, suave, smooth, and stylish. As last night's Champion's League final unfolded with much spectacle and fanfare in Wembley, there was not an inch of doubt that Barcelona is, indisputably, the finest team in the world right now.

Curled up on the couch at 4am this morning, I followed the beautiful game with my heart almost bursting through my ribcage with trepedition and hope, especially during the first 15 or 20 minutes into the game, where Manchester United seemed to dominate after a brilliant start, fiercely challenging the advances of Barcelona with their trademark Draconian style of attacking. I was worried for a split second-- there were too many gaps in Barcelona. Too many missed passes. Too much jitters. This wasn't Barcelona at its best.

They say when expectations are high, performance may take a slump. Was this true of Barcelona? Fans in maroon-and-blue striped jerseys were nervously chewing on their fingers and sucking their teeth in, hoping for a miracle against the roaring fans in red. Los Dios didn't disappoint. He restored our faith in a miracle at the 27th minute when Pedro-- kicking an amazing opportunity away from the goal at the 14th minute-- swooped in and delivered a punch that made up for his earlier loss. The crowd went wild-- and so did I. It was a morale boost for all of us, including the team members lauding that significant success of the young 23 year old on the pitch.

The euphoria was short-lived, though, as, 7 minutes later, One-Man United's Wayne Rooney fired a near-perfect shot into the goal that Victor Valdes' acrobatics would fail to concede. A deafening cheer arose from supporters of Los Diablos Rojos. It was now 1-1. Barcelona would need to work harder to close those gaps. The only consolation at this stage was Barcelona now possessed 66% of the ball-- testimony to their excellence in keeping hold of the ball even with the opponent team pouncing upon them like hungry cheetahs.

The 2nd half of the game was a vast improvement on Barcelona's side. You would've thought United would've upped their ante by now, but no. If anything, their attacking appeared to have subsided, with only Valencia infringing subdued tackles here and there that eventually warranted a yellow card that should've been awarded to him long ago rather than at the 81st minute. The Red Devils seemed to have been relegated to reluctant spectators on the pitch as they struggled to take possession of the ball, now being beautifully-- and I mean absolutely, amazingly, breathtakingly beautifully-- passed between Iniesta, Xavi, Messi, Villa, Pedro, and the rest of the team, with Messi-- now undeniably one of the world's greatest players-- sliding in a flawless finish to the 54th minute that put Barcelona an extra point ahead of United.

The crowd went hysterical again. This was the Barcelona that we all came to knew and love. This was how football should be played. With Lionel Messi on the pitch, all you could see was a mop of brown curls and a snippet of fluorescent yellow in between defenders in white, all appearing to be mesmerised by the way Messi handled the ball and unsure of how to react to his deadly loops. This might have cost United their chance to reclaim the trophy, for let it be known that they cannot solely rely on Rooney-- who barely even got to touch the ball with his Nikes in the 2nd half-- to score goals for them.

By now, United's spirit had been dampened by the tactful success of their opponent. Fergie was caught chewing gum with a look of agitation and desperation on camera, before the lens panned to his tremoring hands, clenched and drenched with beads of cold sweat. There was no way United would win the silver trophy, not the way they were playing, and certainly not, when, at the 70th minute, El Guaje curled a dazzling finish into the top-right corner, taking Barcelona to 3-1 with Van der Sar watching helplessly as the ball bounced along the net, ruining his last game for United.

When the final whistle blew, there was no question that this was a game Barcelona deserved to win-- just like how Spain deserved to be the champions at the World Cup last year. Watching Barcelona play against United was like a replay of Spain versus Netherlands-- perseverance is the key to winning, not aggression. Barcelona played with grace and humility. They weren't deterred by their opponent's belligerence. They played with a subdued composure that humbled United's incursion. As Richard Williams observed, they displayed artistry, patience, and imagination. Theirs was a truly magnificent display of football, an unsurpassable excellence. If there was one thing that we can all learn by watching Barcelona, is that perseverance and humility will pay off.

Barcelona, you are truly amazing.


**Pictures from Barcelona vs Mallorca @ Camp Nou, October 2010.