And now what do I do with Real Madrid?

I don’t like football, but I’m more or less from Real Madrid. That more or less has to do with intensity and not with identity. I am entirely from Real Madrid even though I have not seen more than four or five complete games in my life. His journey, his victories or defeats, I don’t care. But I’m from Real Madrid. When you were a child, you could change teams with impunity until you bought your shirt or suit. From that moment on, the fluttering ended: one belonged to one side forever. And if in spite of everything he changed, then the others could rightly call him a turncoat, which was almost like calling him a traitor, which was almost like calling him shit. That was the unwritten rule. I asked for the Real Madrid suit when I was 10 years old, I used it little because it was very bad (me, not the suit) but I asked for it. So I have been with Real Madrid from that day until today. You can’t betray your ten-year-old group of friends. Not even when you have many more. Especially when you have many more. So it has never occurred to me to change teams, or abandon them, and go into the limbo of football atheism, although Real Madrid and I have almost no relationship: we are like those lovers of a Filmin movie bored with themselves and the same movie. , that are not seen and that neither stop being seen.

“The role we have done with the Super League makes us simply the villain of the story, the guy to beat. If only we had had the gallantry of the English fans, who took to the streets to demand that they not be included in an ignominious club they did not want to be part of! Drunk, but brave. There was none of that here. Not even the coach was up to the task “

But now it turns out that because of the happy Super League and Florentino’s ideas, Real Madrid, who was comfortably indifferent to me, has become unpleasant. Now, friends, we are elitists, conceited, unsupportive, arrogant, nickel-free and millionaires. In addition to failures. The role that we have done with the Super League simply makes us the villain of the story, the guy to beat. If only we had had the gallantry of the English fans, who took to the streets to demand that they not be included in an ignominious club they did not want to be part of! Drunk, but brave. There was none of that here. Not even the coach was up to the task. Guardiola took a dignified step forward. Zidane hid behind the boss, the main stump of the thing. Nothing saves us. And for the record, the athletic pirouette of getting off in gear seems even worse to me. But this does not mean that I am in a dilemma that affects the main thing: memory. What I do? Unsubscribe – symbolically, since I have never been a member – and betray the ten-year-old boy or continue as before and betray the guy that I am? No exit. If I could travel back in time, I would go back to the afternoon my father bought me the shirt. Instead of Real Madrid, I would ask for Chelsea.

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