A very quick one for you this morning because:
a) It’s Sunday
b) I’m tired
c) There’s nothing happening
I did watch the Champions League final last night and although I wanted Atletico to win it, it was nice just to watch a game of football without any real emotional investment. I’d forgotten how enjoyable that could be. They came so close to capping a truly remarkable season too.
Perhaps they’d been Waiting for Godín the entire campaign and the man who won them the league last week looked as if he was going to be a double-hero with the winning goal in the Champions League final too. Real were so poor and Atletico so impressive in what they did and how they worked as a team.
But then Sergio Ramos scored a brilliant injury time header to send the game into extra-time and after that there was only going to be one winner. Atletico were set up for 90 minutes, they looked exhausted in the extra 30 and obviously weren’t helped by the fact Juanfran was banjaxed for most of it. For all the plaudits he’ll get for the way he’s managed his team this season, Diego Simeone’s decision to start a patently unfit Costa was a bad one.
Bale scored a header, then Marcelo took advantage of their lethargy to bang in a third which the keeper should probably have saved, before the referee rather cruelly awarded Real a penalty. This allowed Ronaldo to do what he does best – make it all about himself.
His celebration was, frankly, execrable. A repugnant display of self-promotion and narcissistic conceit. He tore off his shirt, and flexed his muscles like some kind of special needs Hulk impersonator, as if he was the one who had scored the goal that had won the trophy for his team.
He ignored completely the two goals that had come before it that had actually done just that because, I’m sure, he simply refused to accept their worth. It was the equivalent of cold-clocking a child and dancing around as if you’ve just out-punched Mike Tyson over 12 rounds.
The world had to see his pecs and obliques, and those grotesque, bulging trapezius that, no matter how buff he makes them, singularly fail to hide the fact that his tiny head makes him look like something from a carnival freak show and not the sculpted Adonis he seems to think he is.
“Come see the monster. A body like Atlas but the head of a flea! Roll up, roll up!”
After a game during which he’d done the square root of fuck all, divided by infinity, to behave like that after scoring a penalty which meant nothing to the overall story of the game summed him perfectly. I’m sure he’ll have the moment framed and mounted on the ceiling of his personal fap room – a lair plastered with so many pictures of himself that even Brendan Rodgers would look in awe and wonder.
The rest of us just have to look at the ludicrousness of what he did and even if you admire his footballing talent, his total lack of anything approaching basic decency would be hilarious if it wasn’t just so utterly odious.
Ugh, he’s making me sick even thinking about him. Time to do Sunday things, like eat food and stuff.