Clockwork Cheese

Magnanimous in defeat. Clockwork Cheese's Albacete-Reus

Detalles

Creado: Domingo, 22 Abril 2018 18:40

Escrito por Clockwork Cheese

Aggborough Stadium. Estadio de los Kidderminster Harriers

--- Spanish version follows/Versión en Español a continuación ---

Magnanimous in defeat

Supporting proper football has got one of the biggest challenges: enduring defeat. Let’s face it. In our days, when most people consume easily edible shows rather than football, City, PSG, Barça or Bayern fans are nice to support because they simplify one of the biggest struggles of real sport: defeat. Even though in England we’re slowly approaching this monstruosity of industrial sport, most Albion fans have to deal with defeat every so often; or don’t we, United supporters? Exactly, they know what we’re talking about.

We’ll admit that the FA Cup semifinal coincided with Albacete vs. Reus and Birmingham Sheffield United, so our human resources were spread out. Youtube, however, is here to bring us the highlights and what we could see at the good old Carlos Belmonte was something familiar: unexpected defeat. Analyzing the highlights, our bats had many chances, most of them via high balls, with the added difficulty of Zozulia being unable to reach them and Aridane having the job of bringing them down. Reus played with seven defenders and gambled on a draw. And then it’s injury time. Chus Herrero manages to catch a strike in the last minute that ends up in a free kick. It’s time to go. Fans are heading to Avenida de España. The ref’s looking at his watch. Tomeu’s not yelling at his side wall men. Ledes kicks it. It goes in. ‘But we were about to leave!’ Yes, mate, but the clock was still on. The three points are bound for Catalonia. Bad mood and grumpy faces; bloody-hells and other curses… 

Hang on a minute! It’s not the moment to convince fans to be merry after such an unexpected loss, but some media are showing it in a rather dramatic way considering this club has been relegated twice in the last decade. So, let us patronize everyone and show you memories of how much struggle we all go through in England. It’s definitely not the end of the world and we cannot rejoice in defeat.

Once upon a time, not very long ago, the Football League was a closed pyramid. That is, the clubs from regional leagues could not get promoted into the Football League, nor were there any clubs relegated from the fourth tier. Kiddeminster Harriers will tell you about it. Several times did they win their league, and several times they stayed were theywere as promotion was not an option. Times are different now. They play in the National League North (6th tier) and they’re very likely to qualify for promotion playoffs. However, last month, in March, they taught us another football lesson. They were facing the all mighty Salford, A.K.A. that pastime owned by Peter Lim, the Neville Bros., Ryan Giggs and Paul Scholes. They Harriers wouldn’t be afraid and they battered them in the first half. In fact, Bradley scored the fourth goal in the 54th minute: 4-0 up at Aggborough against the league leaders.

What happened then? How did the match end? Is this a 2018 tale? We’re going to leave a youtube link below for those who actually read our same old stories with the end of this one. We do it because Manchegos are always nice to us, and we think you needed to feel better after yesterday’s loss. We love real football, so we must be magnanimous in defeat.

Generosos en la derrota

Apoyar el fútbol real supone hacer frente siempre a uno de sus mayores problemas: la derrota. Seamos sinceros, en la actualidad, cuando la mayoría de la gente consume espectáculos mucho más digeribles que el fútbol, ​​los aficionados del City, PSG, Barça o Bayern no tienen dificultad alguna en apoyar a sus equipos porque tienen la suerte de no tener que hacer frente o porque pueden dulcificar el mayor de los inconvenientes del deporte real: la derrota. Aunque en Inglaterra nos acercamos lentamente a esta monstruosidad del deporte industrial, la mayoría de los aficionados de la vieja Albion tienen que lidiar, sin embargo, con la derrota cada cierto tiempo; ¿o no es asi, seguidores del United?. Ellos saben perfectamente de lo que estamos hablando.

Admitimos que la semifinal de la FA Cup coincidió con el Albacete - Reus y con el Birmingham - Sheffield United, por lo que nuestros recursos humanos estaban este fin de semana divididos. Youtube, sin embargo, está aquí para brindarnos lo más destacado. Y, lo que pudimos ver en el viejo Carlos Belmonte, fue algo más que familiar: una derrota inesperada. Analizando los aspectos más destacados, nuestros "murciélagos" tuvieron muchas oportunidades, la mayoría a través de balones por alto, con la dificultad añadida de que Zozulia no podía alcanzarlos y Aridane tenía que esforzarse en intentar bajarlos. El Reus jugó con siete defensas y apostó al empate. Y luego llegó el momento de la herida. Chus Herrero consigue parar una jugada de ataque en el último minuto que termina en un falta. Es hora de irse. Los aficionados ya enfilan la Avenida de España. El árbitro mira su reloj. Tomeu no grita a los hombres de su barrera. Ledes dispara. Entra. "¡Pero si estábamos a punto de irnos!". Sí, amigo, pero el reloj todavía estaba en marcha. Los tres puntos se van para Cataluña. Mal humor y caras de enfado; lamentos; blasfemias y otras maldiciones varias.

¡Espera un momento!. No es la hora de convencer a los aficionados de que esten contentos después de una derrota tan inesperada, pero algunos medios están siendo demasiado dramáticos teniendo en cuenta que este club ha descendido a 2ªB dos veces en la última década. Entonces, dejenos mandarles todo nuestro apoyo y mostrarles también algunos recuerdos de la lucha que todos enfrentamos en Inglaterra. Definitivamente no es el fin del mundo y no podemos regocijarnos en la derrota.

Érase una vez, no hace mucho tiempo, en que la Football League (el fútbol profesional inglés) era una pirámide cerrada. Es decir, los clubes de las ligas regionales no podían ascender a la Football League, ni había equipos que bajaran a la Cuarta División. Los seguidores del Kiddeminster Harriers pueden darnos más detalles de esto. Varias veces ganaron su liga, y varias veces se quedaron donde estaban ya que el ascenso no era una opción. Los tiempos son distintos ahora y, en la actualidad militan en la Liga Nacional Norte (sexto nivel) y es muy probable que se clasifiquen para los playoffs de ascenso. Sin embargo, el mes pasado, en marzo, nos enseñaron otra lección de fútbol. Se enfrentaban al todopoderoso Salford, equipo también conocido por ser ese pasatiempo propiedad de Peter Lim (el dueño del Valencia), los hermanos Neville (Gary y Phil), Ryan Giggs y Paul Scholes. Los Harriers no tuvieron miedo y barrieron a los de Salford en la primera mitad. De hecho, Bradley anotó el cuarto gol en el minuto 54: 4-0 en Aggborough contra los líderes de la liga.

¿Que paso despues?. ¿Cómo terminó el partido?. ¿Es esta una historia de 2018?. A continuación dejamos un enlace de Youtube para que aquellos a los que les gusta leer nuestras viejas historias con el final de esta. Lo hacemos porque los manchegos siempre son amables con nosotros, y creemos que necesitan sentirse mejor después de la derrota de ayer. Nos encanta el fútbol real, así que debemos ser magnánimos en la derrota.

Lorca: the Face of Modern Football

Detalles

Creado: Miércoles, 07 Marzo 2018 13:11

Escrito por Clockwork Cheese

--- Spanish version follows/Versión en Español a continuación ---

There were the days when people started to know about the Clockwork Cheese and most fellows used to ask: ‘Why Albacete Balompié?,’ and it is simply because Albacete represented what we all love about old English football clubs: close, real, and, most of the time, sweetly unsatisfying. You, dear Iberians, are now facing the bite of modern football ripping the soul of La Liga, burying great names like Racing de Santander or Majorca deep in the ground. Amongst the cruelty of big chunks of cash coming from over the continents, Albacete Balompié has miraculously survived years of hardship and it represents how real football can prevail when it is properly managed.

Rik, Oli, Erin, Juanjo, Molina, Ángel, and his dad struggled during those endless playoffs you have in Spain, and in that time there was a day that we cannot forget, the trip to Lorca. The atmosphere and passion was something unseen by us in Spanish football. Then two hours of water deprived standing followed, climaxed by young lads literally crying on the curbs by that Artes Carrasco. Lorca F.C. played their part wasting time, causing argument, then celebrating and cheering. They attempted a pitch invasion, but with only a bunch of fellows you can barely invade the local box.

What is Lorca exactly, and why the scarce support for such a big day? Some manchegos on the bus called it engendro, which I imagine stands for ‘mutant.’ This mutant, pals, is football today. In fact, they are the reality and we are maybe the mutants. And it is our custom to illustrate our adventures, in this case the clash between Lorca and Albacete, with tales of what we already saw in England, because England and our football are old, really old, and we have seen things you would not believe.

Wimbledon Champions FA Cup 1988

Wimbledon is known abroad for having this fancy tennis tournament, but among football fans it represents how cruel money can be with this sport and its fans. The old Dons were a humble club near London that struggled to climb their way up the Football League until the eighties, when they played wonderful football and ended up beating Liverpool in the 1988 FA Cup Final. Let us say that they were a sort of Leicester of the time.

And then, money came. With the lead of Eamon Dunphy, some investors tried to take over Wimbledon FC to move the club to Dublin, since the Republic of Ireland did not have a competitive league and it was an opportunity to bring the lucrative business of the Premier League. Nevertheless, the project ended up in the drain. Although many papers insisted on the opposition of the fans, it was really FIFA who blocked the move. It is funny nowadays to read all that rubbish about F.C. Barcelona moving to such and such league after the independence of Catalonia: the engendro of Dublin Dons died because, for all those confused with the political settings of the British Isles, the Republic of Ireland is not part of the United Kingdom. Swansea is; Cardiff is; Dublin is not. Therefore, articles like this are complete detritus.

Wimbledon AFC Venue

‘Hosanna!’ would Winbledon fans say back in the nineties: the FA and FIFA will not allow them move our beloved Dons away. How wrong could they be? The owners at the time had a very interesting suggestion. How big was Wimbledon at the time? Maybe 60,000 people? The very loyal borough of Milton Keynes was a succulent city with a population of over 200,000 –larger than Albacete- and investors where drooling over the idea of such a big town not having a proper football club. ‘Well, Milton Keynes is not that far away from Wimbledon; maybe we could try the move.’ And it was then, by the turn of the century, when another engendro was born: the MK Dons. Doom came upon Wimbledon. None of the authorities stood against this and the Dons left Wimbledon forever.

The very noble people of Wimbledon did not give up and decided to establish a new club: AFC Wimbledon. As they say, they ‘did it the right way.’ Starting in the lower leagues, nowadays they compete in the very difficult League One -third tier or segunda B, as you would call it-, facing big sides like the old Blackburn Rovers, Oldham or, surprise surprise… MK Dons! In fact, the Milton Keynes group are currently unsuccessfully trying to dodge relegation.
Back to Spain, Albacete went down to Segunda B and it survived thanks to what we see as a series of consecutive miracles that put the club back in professional football. Andrés Iniesta’s decision to save the club until better times came was indeed a miracle. The promotion happened with agony and patience –we nearly lose Rik under the sun at the game against Atlético Baleares. The eventual purchase by Skyline thanks to the incompetence of the board at Elche F.C. was the last bead in the chain of miracles that have saved proper football weekends in the city of Albacete.

Lorca, on the contrary, is dying slowly. The Chinese investor already finished what he wanted to do. They only have a small group of loyal fans who will probably –who knows- never see professional football again in their pretty town. Even their manager admitted their fate. This summer they will join the legion of clubs that were bought with burning money and subsequently abandoned. Our kids will frown when we mention them.
Manchegos, every time that you complain about an unexpected loss –oh, Gimnastic-, you see an empty Carlos Belmonte, or the manager orders a strange substitution, remember that represents what proper football is. We are still here, and hopefully for a very long time.

Lorca 1 – Albacete Balompié 2

Lorca: la cara del fútbol moderno

Cuando la gente comenzó a conocer nuestra peña Clockwork Cheese, muchos de nuestros compañeros nos preguntaban "¿por qué el Albacete Balompié?", y la respuesta era sencilla: "porque el Albacete representa lo que más nos gusta y amamos de los viejos clubes de fútbol ingleses: es un club cercano, real y, la mayoría de las veces, dulcemente insatisfactorio para sus seguidores". Ustedes, queridos íberos, asisten ahora al espectáculo de ver como el fútbol moderno desgarra el alma de La Liga, enterrando bajo tierra a grandes equipos como el Racing de Santander o el Real Mallorca. Entre indecentes cantidades de dinero moviéndose por todos los continentes, el Albacete Balompié ha sido capaz de sobrevivir milagrosamente a años de dificultades y representa más que nada como el fútbol real puede prevalecer cuando se gestiona de manera adecuada.

Rik, Oli, Erin, Juanjo, Molina, Ángel y su padre sufrieron lo indecible en esos interminables PlayOffs que tienen en España, y durante ese tiempo hubo un día que no podremos olvidar: el viaje a Lorca. El ambiente y la pasión de aquel momento fueron algo que no hemos visto antes en el fútbol español. Luego siguieron dos horas de pie, privados de agua, que culminaron con muchos jóvenes literalmente llorando por los rincones del Artés Carrasco. El Lorca F.C. hizo su partido perdiendo tiempo, provocando continuos enfrentamientos para después celebrar su triunfo. Intentaron incluso una invasión del terreno de juego, pero con sólo un puñado de seguidores apenas si puedes invadir el banquillo local.

Pero, ¿qué es el Lorca exactamente y porqué tuvieron tan escaso apoyo en un día tan importante?, algunos manchegos en el autobús lo llamaban "engendro". Y este engendro, amigos, es lo que es el fútbol hoy en día. Ellos son una realidad por lo que quizás seamos nosotros los engendros. Es nuestra costumbre ilustrar nuestras aventuras, en este caso el enfrentamiento entre Lorca y Albacete, con historias de lo que ya vimos en Inglaterra, porque Inglaterra y nuestro fútbol son viejos, muy viejos, y hemos vistos cosas que no creerías.

Wimbledon campeón de la FA Cup 1988

Wimbledon es mundialmente conocido por albergar el prestigioso torneo de tenis del mismo nombre, sin embargo, para los aficionados al fútbol representa lo cruel que puede llegar a ser el dinero con este deporte y con sus seguidores. Los viejos "Dons" eran un modesto club cercano a Londres que tuvieron problemas para ascender en las distintas categorías del fútbol inglés hasta los años ochenta, cuando jugaron un fútbol maravilloso y terminaron venciendo al Liverpool en la final de la FA Cup de 1988. Digamos que eran una especie de Leicester de la época.

Y entonces llegó el dinero... Encabezados por Eamon Dunphy, algunos inversores trataron de hacerse con el Wimbledon FC para trasladar el club a Dublín, ya que la República de Irlanda no tenía una liga competitiva y era una gran oportunidad para llevar el lucrativo negocio de la Premier League allí. Sin embargo, el proyecto naufragó antes incluso de llevarse a cabo.

Aunque muchos periódicos insistieron en que fue la oposición de los aficionados lo que impidió el traslado, fue realmente la FIFA quien bloqueó el mismo. Hoy en día es divertido leer toda esa basura de rumores sobre el F.C. Barcelona jugando en tal o en cual liga en caso de una hipotética independencia de Cataluña: el engendro de los "Dublin Dons" fracasó porque, para todos aquellos no familiarizados con la organización política en las Islas Británicas, la República de Irlanda no es parte del Reino Unido. Swansea lo es; Cardiff lo es y Dublín no lo es. Por lo tanto, artículos como este son un completo detritus.

Estadio de Fútbol del Wimbledon

¡Hosanna!", decían los aficionados del Winbledon en los años noventa: la Federación Inglesa y la FIFA no les permiten trasladar a nuestros queridos "Dons" a otro lugar. ¿Cómo de equivocados estaban?, los propietarios del club en ese momento tenían otra interesante propuesta. ¿Cuántos habitantes tenía Wimbledon en ese momento? ¿tal vez 60.000 personas?, el noble municipio de Milton Keynes era un sitio atractivo con una población de más de 200.000 habitantes -un poco mayor que Albacete-, y los inversores babeaban pensando en la idea de que una ciudad tan grande no tuviera un club de fútbol acorde a su tamaño. "Bueno, Milton Keynes no está muy lejos de Wimbledon; tal vez podríamos intentar la mudanza". Y fue entonces, hacia el cambio de siglo, cuando nació otro engendro: el MK Dons. Y la maldición cayó sobre Wimbledon. Ninguna autoridad se opuso a tal traslado y los Dons dejaron Wimbledon para siempre.

La muy noble afición de Wimbledon no se rindió y decidió fundar un nuevo club: el AFC Wimbledon. Como ellos dicen: "lo hicieron de la manera correcta". Comenzando desde abajo, desde las ligas inferiores, hoy en día compiten en la complicada League One -equivalente a la Segunda B en España-, enfrentandose a antiguas glorias como el antiguo Blackburn Rovers, el Oldham o, sorpresa sorpresa ...  ¡el MK Dons!. Equipo este el de Milton Keynes que por cierto está en estos momentos intentando infructuosamente evitar el descenso.

De vuelta a España, nuestro Alba bajó a Segunda B y sobrevivió gracias a lo que podemos considerar una serie de milagros consecutivos que volvieron a poner al club en el fútbol profesional. La decisión de Andrés Iniesta de salvar al club hasta que llegaron tiempos mejores fue un verdadero milagro. La promoción de ascenso transcurrió con agonía -casi perdimos a Rik bajo el sol en el partido contra el Atlético Baleares- y, la compra del club por parte de Skyline gracias a la incompetencia de la junta directiva del Elche F.C., ha sido el último eslabón en la cadena de milagros que han conseguido preservar los fines de semana con fútbol en la ciudad de Albacete.

El Lorca, por el contrario, está muriendo poco a poco. El inversionista chino ya terminó lo que quería hacer. Sólo queda un reducido grupo de aficionados locales que probablemente -quien sabe-, nunca volverán a ver fútbol profesional de nuevo en su bonita ciudad. Incluso su entrenador reconoce el destino que les aguarda. Este verano pasarán a formar parte de la legión de equipos comprados con dinero caliente y abandonados luego a su suerte. Nuestros hijos fruncirán el ceño cuando se lo contemos.

Manchegos, cada vez que os quejéis por una derrota inesperada -oh, el Nástic-, veáis el Carlos Belmonte vacío, o el entrenador decida un cambio extraño, acordaros de lo que representa el verdadero fútbol. Nosotros seguimos todavía aqui, y ojalá que por mucho tiempo.

Lorca 1 - Albacete Balompié 2

... and Carlos Belmonte roared as ever

Detalles

Creado: Jueves, 15 Marzo 2018 21:40

Escrito por Clockwork Cheese

--- Spanish version follows/Versión en Español a continuación ---

An improbable chronicle/tribute

Oh if only Dad could see me right now, desperately yelling at a guy in a yellow and black referee outfit, infuriated by a stream of bookings, six cards and the subsequent sending off in just six minutes? The words might have been too much for him, however annoyed he might become in the middle of any game.

Not knowing what the development of the afternoon would be, I had urged my friend to drive at full speed to Albacete just after the end of another plentiful meal topping an amazing weekend by the Mediterranean shore, birthday celebration included. We were leaving 15 degrees in sunny Alicante, only to find a blatant drop to 4 degrees at the Carlos Belmonte Southern stand five minutes prior to kickoff. “Every day you take more after your father”, petty chat in the car, my wife evoking the long-gone father figure; I tend to suspect that such comment had to do with my increasingly grumbling character rather than any other positive feature out of the huge number that I can remember from my father. It cannot be denied, though, that lately I get annoyed more often than one might expect, like he used to do, sitting at his loving arcade. And it was then, around five in the afternoon on a gloomy Sunday, that I realized I had seen him exhale his terminal breath just ten years ago, and my mind rambled on back to the early seventies, one more time. For a short while I was eight again and it was not Osasuna that we were going to watch, but any other team struggling in the depth of the regional league, may be fighting for our lives, skipping over relegation to an utterly unknown abyss. It might have been Eldense, Novelda or even Almansa, the only derby I had known for years. Milestones along the motorway as I was watching past in the car; towns whose lineups could only be imagined covered in mud in chilly Sunday afternoons. Holding my hand, he would take me straight into the main stand, where those ordinary titans, hairy grown men from nowhere, would hit the ball anxiously, looked as if tomorrow meant nothing to them. For me, though, Monday was, obviously, another average school week ahead, mom cross-examining me when I came back from the game, checking that my homework was ready for the next morning.

I woke up from the most pleasant delirium up that Avenida, filled with black and white trees and the haunting smell of roasted chestnuts, to find myself in my stand just about to hear the referee blow the whistle. How I wished Dad had started telling me about that guy who was a friend of him and now was going to shoot a free kick on Carlos Belmonte’s brownish pitch. He would for certain have shown a cynical grin when I naïvely –what should an eight-year-old say other than that?-questioned him about who was going to wash the players’ filthy clothes after the game. It was not like that last Sunday, though. We got to half time with the initial nil tie, one player off and nothing too promising to be expected when the match was resumed. Come to think of it, my mates and I had been discussing the meaning of “hopeless attack”, a term so fashionable these days, which makes the referee save a booking by applying advantage. You wouldn’t expect anything too intellectual, would you?.

Well into the second half, surprising as it may seem, our lads did not take anything for granted and so began a Spartan fight, ten against eleven. Robust guys from Navarra unsuccessfully meant to besiege Tomeu’s goal. And metamorphosis came through. The crowd started to cheer bravely, despite not being a decisive game, nor one of the most famous nights like those in 2003 –how should I not remember them, memories become so complicated, delightful and excruciating at a time- before the last promotion to La Liga. It was just another day in the stand, looking forward to the end of the damned Albacete Winter. But the crowd shouted louder and louder, each and every one of us going the extra mile. There I was, calling the referee names, running out of words and voice and demanding the guy to blow the final whistle. And there he came again, Dad with Big Brother’s eye watching over me, eternal memory. Father’s Day is coming, once a bank holiday of family gatherings. Then I realized that I had been speaking a lot about fathers lately; about those who I keep meeting, about the ones who smile so proudly when they mention their kin, about those who never wanted to be, about those on the point of celebrating a joyful anniversary, about those-my dearest friends’ fathers- who have passed away so ruthlessly in the last few months. That’s the way things go, they say, yet I will never get accustomed to loss.

It was an indistinct game, some will claim. A bland nil-nil, there is no denying that. But you and I know well that it was not. I couldn’t help remembering the title of a friend’s band last single “There are no waves at Bondi Beach” .Nor are there any waves on Spain’s Avenue, but coach Martín is a genuine witch -not a wicked one, of course- and he will surf the pitch like no other would. Osasuna was just an anecdote. The huge, overwhelming wave to overcome is bound to come in two weeks, in another, modest if anything, game of the century, versus Cultural Leonesa this time. The outstanding stuff, however, is whether I will be meeting him again. Cheers! I owed you one, Dad.

Avenida Rodríguez Acosta. Albacete. Foto: Archivo Centro de Estudios de Castilla-La Mancha. UCLM

Referees eating Manchego

Detalles

Creado: Miércoles, 24 Enero 2018 09:49

Escrito por Clockwork Cheese

How amazing! How many wonderful creatures there are here! Mankind is so beautiful! Oh, what a wonderful new world, that has such people in it!

William Shakespeare

And then we watched a game on telly where Alba tried and tried and ended losing. This time it was 1-0 in Cordoba, recovering that title of ‘The Exorcist.’ Well, beyond the annoyance of an unexpected defeat, it is nice to see the reactions of fans after the match. This is what happened. It is strictly difficult to watch Albacete Balompie in England, but there’s always the source of social networking sites. Some, very few, fans complained about the lack of quality in the game. The reaction was immediate, and true fans replied arguing that Alba play very well under Enrique Martin’s commands, and the lads don’t deserve such criticism. And then, there was all this fuzz about the ref. Mates, in England, inventors of this mad game, there’s been a lot of noise about referees, and it’s our duty to send some comfort to those Manchego plains.

It was 2011, Rik will remember, when at good old Goodison Park Everton where trying to beat Birmingham City. Jordon Mutch approached Everton’s Louis Saha with stern severity. The referee was Peter Walton, who ran onto the pitch too light for the occasion. He went upon Mutch to book him for his action, put his hand into his pocket, and… horreur! He forgot them bloody things in the locker room! What to do now? How can one book a footballer without the precious coloured carboard?

Many will remember the TV footage, which is somehow preserved on Youtube here. This is one of the most ridiculous episodes that we can remember in English footie, most of us being born in the eighties.

Yet, we keep getting nice comments about the Premier League, the introduction of Video Refereeing and figures like Webb or Clattenburg. The latter one works as a sort of c… character for American TV channels. Web should be remember, for example, for not sending De Jong off after nearly murdering Xabi Alonso.

Bad refereeing is something that happens with football. If you had the joy of watching a Championship game you’ll see men not being booked because it’s the first half, injury time not being added in spite of time being wasted, keepers taking ages to get done with a goal kick, attacking fouls being given after a corner kick because the ref can’t see what’s going on, etc. Do they ring any bells?

Now, what happened in Cordoba was outrageous. What is really annoying about it is not being able to say how bad it was. We complain about how corrupt certain politicians are, how bad TV is, how expensive toll roads are, but we can’t say that a referee was rubbish at it. We’re only humans and can make mistakes, but it’s still difficult to understand how managers and footballers can’t say hat the referee truly affected the final score.

Keep on trying, Alba. It’s only a stumble.