Cursing in Aramaic

Imanol stood up from the press room after the game and, certainly not wanting anyone to see him, cursed the nonsense: “Mecagüen su p …”. There, at the right time, he caught himself. The image came to this newsroom via a live broadcast offered by the League, so it would be known if it was a cry to heaven or a whisper of anger. What a difference it makes. It was clear that the coach was not amused by a serious defeat.

It’s worth putting your hand on the fire because Imanol’s anger is at the referee’s unfair action, so close to the end. The coach had seen enough football in his life to know that Rico protected the ball and cut Pepelu into a natural stance. Players stretch, move, wave their arms because they need to be aerobic in the most demanding art of the sport for a person: defending with the feet. Referees make decisions very lightly and disrespect themselves, their own profession, when they venture to destroy a game that doesn’t require their prank. It was so easy for Alberola to make a penalty in a play that didn’t even invite him to intervene.

So Imanol asked for respect, but behind his rude pronunciation — he was forgiven, it was almost twelve o’clock, not children’s time — there may have been a desperate pathology of Real: he couldn’t score a goal or the Arc de Triomphe. He also spoke about it, insisting, with all the reason in the world, that “there is no bad luck” in football because he believes “there is none”. And that’s how that happened.

Miramón entered the ball in post strain at 1-0 as he finished well; Silva matched because he led a great cross from Gorosabel flawlessly; Melero referred to the punishment as well -deceived Remiro. None of the three goals turned out to be luck, but the graduates were proud. Unlike the other gazillion shots from Real. Of course, this is the Aramaic oath.