“I suggest you blog Barca vs Chelski later this week, in order to disperse the fog of wonkishness that hangs over AFOE.”
Jose Mourinho has branded Lionel Messi a master of the dramatic arts after the Argentinian teenager claimed centre-stage in the latest chapter in Chelsea and Barcelona’s bitter Champions League rivalry.
That sounds to me, if you will pardon the expression, a bit like sour grapes. I would rather agree with the appraisal of the AFP journalist who says:
Messi, whose diminutive stature and intuitive application of outstanding technique have invited comparisons with his compatriot Diego Maradona, was the inspiration behind a 2-1 first leg win that makes the Catalan club strong favourites to advance to the last eight.
So well done there. But perhaps a few more words are in order, words like, Ronaldinho GaÃºcho, or Samuel Eto’o. But then perhaps, and just to try to show that I am not simply your ordinary common-o-garden biggot, why not other names, Diego Forlan, for instance, or Juan RomÃ¡n Riquelme (I am what they call here a Riquelmista, but then RomÃ¡n was too big for BarÃ§a, he needed his own team, just to himself). Or more words, like Juninho Pernambucano (the assasin, for the lethal nature of his free kicks, not for his phsical prowess), or those other words, Thierry Henry who this week showed Ronaldinho that ‘anything you can do I can do better’ when he introdced himself to the ‘grandesa’ of the Bernabeu in his own unique way (and in the process probably upped his future BarÃ§a sign-up fee by a couple of zeros).
So now, as well as being breathless, I also find myself to be wordless, apart, perhaps for one last final gasp:
Visca el BarÃ§a!