“If you try to hide a ghost, you make it bigger”, Greenlandic proverb seen in chapter three of the series Borgen.
This past Wednesday I decided to put aside my superstitions and I stood in front of the television to see, enjoy? The Champions League day. I started with Barça, perhaps appealing to the good vibes that I have always had when I have played for Portuguese lands. This does not mean that I have always won, or even that I have played exceptional games, but I have always found a magnificent football environment that connected with the mythical names of Benfica, Sporting (then from Lisbon, now I have learned that from Portugal) or Porto.
You already know how it started and I began to rethink my decision, but I resisted the temptation to change the channel to continue analyzing the evolution of the culé game, almost always in difficulty every start of the game. The next 40 minutes seemed to me, call me optimistic, interesting enough, but too innocent for the demands of this competition. At halftime I was wondering if a part of the disappointment that Barça is mired in, and therefore its followers, will not come from all the happiness that it has previously generated us. Perhaps from the nostalgia of those times in which with half the chances that the Catalans had had in that first half they would have scored a couple of goals that would put the score in favor and the wind of confidence would once again fill the sails of the team. I was thinking about how that football wind blowing in those sails has allowed us to walk quietly through Europe, visit wonderful stadiums and be enormously generous with defeated rivals, always from our position as winners, as dominators of the game, as references.
I was thinking about how much of this enormous frustration of the current culé does not come from the fact that now we are as those rivals were five, seven, ten years ago and that this has caused our qualification, that of all those linked to the culé world who are in this football, I was the first one, it was being put under review and that the football risk assessment houses were beginning to give us a very unfavorable ratio.
And it is so hard, so uncomfortable, to return to normal after having lived so long in heaven, even if it was only football …
The second half only confirmed my worst superstitious omens and when I waited for the final reaction the second and third goals ended up falling and there I couldn’t take it anymore and I went to visit Villareal and their battle at Old Trafford. A sad withdrawal because, when I already thought that bad luck was only valid for Barça, the last play of the game confirmed that in this competition nobody gives anything away and that a flicker of indecision can end points and dreams.
And, thankfully, I no longer got to hear the final whistle of Sevilla’s game, although I got a certain smell of disappointment at the opportunity to score three points in a field that is always complicated as the Germans are.
As everything is relative, or better, as a demonstration that everything is relative, it turns out that the point that would have made Barça and Villareal happy left the Sevilla fans unsatisfied.
To change the third I threw myself into the arms of the Borgen series to see in the opening titles of its third chapter the saying with which the article begins.
And I wondered if that Greenlandic in the saying was a Barça fan because it seems to me that he hit right in the middle of the target.