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Age-old Question: How Many Suffixes is Too Many Suffixes

5 Apr

Manolito Adebayor scored the first two goals in Real Madrid’s romp over Tottenham at the Bernabéu.  The crowd went nuts and, although just days prior they called him the worst player of the weekend in their loss to Sporting, Marca bowed low before the Togo international.  Never short on hyperbole, Marca rolled out their strongest suffix-editors, tacking on two  ‘azo’ suffixes in four words of their headline.  In fact, if its more liberal use would have made any sense at all, we have no doubt that the headline would read:

“ELAZO EQUIPAZO DEAZO MANOLAZO”

[“azo” is a suffix-superlative, something akin to “-est” or just the adjective “awesome” in English, so the headline might read “The Awesome Team of Awesome Manuel”]

One thing we’d like to point out here in this portada is that, while the team that spawned a thousand AZOs was celebrating Di María’s 3-0 goal, someone was feeling a little left out.  You see, it’s become clear over a couple of seasons of watching Mr. CR7 in the Bernabéu that he’s a bit of a loner.  Not only do his teammates seem to not celebrate his goals as happily, but he also seems to take little joy in watching others do what he is perfectly capable of doing – and with more flair.  This aloofness is most apparent when Real Madrid are playing quite well without Cristiano having tallied a goal; his frustration seems much greater when those around him succeed apart from or, as is often the case, in spite of him.  This photo isn’t necessarily proof that this phenomenon is a Real Truth™, but it does make us wonder just how frustrated he was in that moment that tomorrow’s cover would not read:

“CRISTIANAZO RONALDAZO MUSCULAZOS”

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Who thinks about $$$ when you’ve got bad decisions to make!?

31 Mar

Sid Lowe’s newest article on La Liga stands as yet another surgical entry point into La Liga’s recent years.  Lowe continues to pull apart the fleshy exterior of La Liga, clamping it down and leaving the innards bear.  After his three part series on La Liga’s TV revenue sharing debate earlier this year, in which Lowe opined about the fate of La Liga in a thesis-dense explanation of his position, we are once again confronted with an occasionally disputed fact (mostly by their fans): Barcelona spends tons of money on players.  Sid’s article brings to light the reality that, gosh, Barcelona actually spend a ton of money on players they didn’t plant and water themselves.  Barcelona and fans like to conclude that, since they’ve spent less than Real Madrid has in recent years, they are not a big money-spending club.  They’re not incorrect that Real Madrid spent/spend more than them, but spending less than RM does not an angelic club make.

Check it.

Mirror, Mirror

2 Mar

“Mirror, mirror on the wall / Who in the land is fairest of all?”

“You, my queen, are the fairest of all.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Whenever José Mourinho feels down he goes home.  When the graceful flittings of his sideline ballet go unnoticed, and long after all hands raised in protest have fallen, Mourinho goes to a cozy place.  The man who loves the game more than anyone, whose heart’s crescendo-ing palpitations at the magic of Messi, Cristiano and Arjen Robben’s cuts in from the wing, faithfully returns to his niche.

“Who am I,” he demands more than asks of the ornate mirror that hangs in his salón.  “You are José Mourinho,” he says aloud to himself, but in the way a ventriloquist will with the most minimal mouth movements.  In this most deliberate and playful gesture, with his disbelief suspended as if viewing Cervantes’s Pedro de Urdemalas, the coach conspires to fool himself – yet he is quite content to be fooled.  Needing no more elaboration than the simple confirmation of his name, José Mourinho makes his way to the Bernabéu for the daily round of press.

Having to face Manuel Pellegrini this week, Real Madrid’s most recent ex-boyfriend, Mourinho prefers to not defend his honor when faced with the possibly better-off Chilean.  Instead, he is generous: “Estoy de acuerdo en que hizo un campeonato muy bueno la temporada pasada. Espero que el estadio lo reciba bien, porque hizo un buen trabajo y la puerta de mi vestuario está abierto para él si quiere venir a saludar a sus jugadores.” [“I recognize that he had a very good year last season.  I hope the public receives him well, because he did good work.  The locker room is open to him if he wants to chat with his players.”]

He can feel it as the words rise from his larynx: this brief brush with benevolence is causing fierce heartburn swells in his throat, and so José pauses momentarily.  A question from the peasants rings in his ear: “Will she dump you just like she dumped him?”  His throat returns the echo of the harmless joke with instantaneous, involuntary bile, “Lo mismo no puede pasar, ¿sabes por qué? Porque si el Madrid me echa no voy a entrenar al Málaga. Iré a un club grande en Inglaterra o en Italia, no al Málaga.” [“The same thing cannot happen to me, know why?  Because if Real Madrid dump me I will not be coaching in Málaga.  I will go to a big club in England or in Italy, not to Málaga.”]

Content that he has made his point, but sensing a heightened state of self-awareness, José eyes his reflection in the nearest camera lens coyly.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Who am I,” he hears himself say – now completely involuntarily.

The room complies as a hundred flashing bulbs erupt, capturing the face they will reflect onto the front page tomorrow: “You are José Mourinho,” rings the chorus of blinding lights.

El Clásico

30 Nov

“So m(o)uch Barça (…for so little Madrid)”

Iker wailed: “But… Offside!”

Xavi hugged a friend.

Real Madrid were all but undone after Xavi’s 9th minute goal, while Barça supporters were just getting cozy in their seats.  The only thing that could have been better than a 0-0 stalemate in this battle of La Liga’s twin evil halves was an absolute shellacking of the Real Madrid’s “chosen ones”.  Let’s face it: Real Madrid are more fun to watch in defeat than a lot of other teams are in victory.  After each of the five goals, as the cameras had finished with the hugs and highlights, the faces of the Mou Team were not unlike raindrops on roses. Shots of sad Christy Ronda are worth a thousand smiles.

Marca, in their once-a-year dog pile, reserved only two punches for anyone but their own.  One was delivered to Iturralde González who saw Cristiano challenged by Valdés for a divided ball.  He was not willing to barf straight through his whistle hole and make the call.  The second flailing left hook was for Piqué and the Barcelona fans who held up five fingers toward the end of the match.  “The Culés put on a show, but they enjoyed it too much,” is an entry-level Marca gripe.

Also present on the cover: Cristiano’s shove heard ’round the world of Guardiola, Florentino’s replacement for the injured Higuaín, and a hedgehog selling car insurance.

Move along, people.  Nothing to see here.

Smells like a 10

3 Nov

“This team smells like the tenth!”

Do they?  Really?

They certainly smell like something familiar!  Like…like certain lofty expectations?  Whose weight will eventually break their backs?  Thus determining the next year of buy high/sell low economics?  That DOES smell familiar.  Marca and Real Madrid have spilt so much blood around the altar to their 10th Champions League trophy that, at this point, any beating heart is worth the eventual double-digit glory.  The buy high/sell low transfer policy of Real only continues to stoke the furnace of recent failures, and yet…and yet…Marca just can’t help but swoon over every step that leads to the eventual cremation of its beloved.

Just 12 months ago, Pelegrini, Cristiano, Benzema and Kaká were toasting Florentino “Sad clown” Pérez in his ballroom.  Showered with kisses in Eduardo Inda’s Florentino’s Real Madrid’s “Marca”, the team managed a spot in the knockout stages of the Champions League for the Nth straight season.  It was all a blur of French je-ne-sais-quoi last year when the Merengues crashed out of the first knockout round for the 5th straight year.  Thank god the conglomerate has not been fazed.  Some things are constant in this world:

“No, srsly you guys!  *THIS* time!  *THIS* time we can win it ALL!”

Two probable conversations about the Champions League:

(2009-10)

Pellegrini: “The project needs a little more time to gel.”

All RM fans, Marca, Pérez: “WE WILL BUY YOU GEL LATER!  WIN NAO!!!!!”

(2010-11)

RM fan #1: “Let’s hope we can make it to the second round this year lol.”

All other RM fans, Marca, Pérez: “GAHHHH!  MOUGASMO!  We bough so many players (AND A COACH, DIDN’T YOU HEAR?!?!) obviously we will win!!!!!!”

And now AC Milan had to go and tie Real.  Why, AC Milan.  Why.  Why did you let this Mou-sterbation continue.

Wanna get away?

17 Sep

Delusions of Real Madrandeur

14 Jul

Mr. David Beckham has had a rough last three years – let’s be honest.  His arrival in the United States for a fairly experimental professional football experience ushered him into a phase of apparent skill-attrition.  From bangers-n-mash to mac-n-cheese, Beckham’s brand crossed the channel into Florentino’s nightmare circus before, after much hype as a “galáctico,” finally landing in the Galaxy of L.A.

It’s no secret that Beckham’s fling with the USA has irked a large number of his American followers, but we have to understand that the L.A.-Milan timeshare made sense.   There are just too many high-quality underwear commercials for him to pose for in Milan, and spending half the year there gets them all taken care of so he can go back to the MLS.

With all this pining for what was or could have been, it’s no wonder Beckham has recently stated that if Florentino Pérez had been in charge of Real Madrid in 2007 instead of deer-in-the-headlights Ramón Calderón, Beckham would have been able to finish his career at the Bernabéu.  Underwear modeling opportunities aside, it seems as if he genuinely believes he belongs in Madrid – next to the Cristianos, the Kakás, the Xabi Alonsos, the Benzemas and the Casillasesesses.  That is, next to the underwhelming divas of fat-cat football (excluding Casillas).

We here at No, Srslr wish nothing more than for David Beckham to once again find his head nestled in Schmiegel-Pérez’s reassuring embrace.  These two obviously belong together.  Of course there was not a MASSIVE paycheck waiting for him in L.A., and he only made the move to help his professional sporting career.  So it only makes sense that Florentino would have barred the door before letting his favorite underwear model skip away to the Cali coast.

Mr. Beckham, of all the delusional underwear  model sports stars, you are the most delusional underwear model sports star.