Double trouble
Sid Lowe on why there are not one but two crises at Real Madrid
Monday September 27, 2004
Real Madrid president Florentino Perez: a very, very nice man. Honest.
Inflated by his own self-importance, his rule is autocratic, his power immense, his authority to give and take jobs unlimited. He hates the middle classes. And he has an army of yes-men, henchmen and sycophantic cheerleaders.
He claims to be following the heritage of those who went before, but he is not. He loves nothing more than grand, unrealisable plans inevitably doomed to failure (and making others carry the can when those plans finally, inevitably, fail). And he is an expert in double speak, economic with the truth, presenting disaster as glorious triumph, a success in which all can share.
He thinks he is the party. He is a calculating leader, demanding the impossible, undermining his underlings and shedding those he mistrusts or who no longer serve his needs, impervious to questions as to why, prepared only to face his own, pre-selected, cowed inquisitors. He even has his own propaganda machine. Not state news agency Tass this time, but official party organ AS, which neatly even manages to rhyme.
And yet for all that, and try as he might, Real Madrid president Florentino Pérez just isn't Joseph Stalin.
You see, communism really isn't his thing (rampant marketing being the name of his game; well, it's certainly not called football). He would look rather silly in a moustache, although they're fine for his powerless stooges. And you wouldn't catch him dead in a party uniform: Pérez always wears a dark suit and a blue shirt. He is, after all, the leader of a "gentleman of a club" (not a gentleman's club: he's not Peter Stringfellow).
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But most of all Pérez is not Stalin because when it comes to re-writing history, he's actually a bit of an amateur. He shed toiling, sweating Stakhanovite coach José Antonio Camacho last week, refused to answer questions, and tried to pretend the whole nasty business had never happened. But while Stalin used an airbrush and ice-pick and, hey presto, all was sorted, Pérez went through the less effective, long-winded process of having the 2004-2005 official team photo re-done. All. Over. Again. Just 14 days after the first one.
It was a decent enough attempt, but when it comes to true despotism, it just wasn't in the same league - not least because, like the Never, Never, Never and the website denial - the old, politically suspect photo still exists; incontrovertible truth of the latest lie.
Virtually all the players are in the same place as before, Pérez too - surrounded by the galácticos, well away from the plebs - and honorary president Alfredo Di Stéfano is glaring again. "Curiously, Don Alfredo wore exactly the same (i.e. grumbling) expression as he had in the first photo," said Marca when it wasn't that curious really. After all, Di Stefano has been wearing the same expression since 1973.
There was but one change: Camacho was removed from history, new manager Mariano García Remón appearing at Pérez's side instead, like he'd been there from the start; as if nothing had changed.
Which it hasn't, really. Camacho has gone to the States "for a month" (he's expected to leave there next week) but García Remón has carried on where his predecessor left off. Inevitable, really, as Pérez - who, despite talk of player power, was the real nail in Camacho's coffin - has created a beast not so easily tamed, a club not so easily changed.
If it wasn't for the two photos, and the lack of insane shouting and armpit humidity on the bench, you'd hardly be able to tell the difference. So far García Remón has picked up a rubbish 1-0 home victory, secured by a sensational David Beckham-free kick, and a single goal away defeat - 2-1 at Athletic Bilbao on Saturday night. Which is pretty much what Camacho picked up: two rubbish 1-0 victories (the home one secured by a sensational Beckham free-kick) and a single goal away defeat that could, and should, have been more.
And like Camacho's final day against Espanyol in Barcelona, this weekend in Bilbao wasn't just a defeat. It was a slaughtering at the hands of a side whose philosophy could hardly be more different, the second most politically charged game in Spain, in a ground where Madrid were welcomed with whistles and jeers - which at least made their players feel at home. Ismael Urzaiz and Santi Ezquerro took advantage of Raúl Bravo's comedy defending to put Athletic two up by half time. They were their only goals, but it really should have been more.
García Remón bizarrely insisted that Athletic - who, committing a cardinal sin, he called Atlético - were "not superior to Madrid". Actually, they were. Very, very superior. Raúl may have scored for the first time in 189 games, and it may even have been a blinder, but Madrid were never in it: they put the ball into the box just six times, compared to Athletic's 41 and didn't force a single corner. And in Bravo they boasted the least appropriately named footballer ever. Unless, like galáctico, "Bravo!" has taken on some kind of post-modern irony. "Embarrassing," sighed both Marca and AS.
No, it wasn't just a defeat, it wasn't just a goal, and it's not just a crisis. It is, in fact, two crises. Because while Pérez's five-year plan unravels, bitter rivals Barça are four points ahead, level with Valencia, and beginning to look like genuine candidates. And this weekend, big-hearted loveable nutter Samuel Eto'o - the defector who snubbed Madrid - returned to Mallorca, scored twice, didn't celebrate and was welcomed with banners, a cuddly lion slightly less indomitable than him, and an emotional standing ovation.
It was richly deserved, too: Eto'o is now Spain's top scorer, on five. More than all of Madrid's players put together. It may be time for that ice pick.
http://football.guardian.co.uk/continental/story/0,8018,1313721,00.html