The Real Real Madrid – Manuel's Smoking Gun

In the off-season, despite the wave of cash and new signings, I had one serious concern: could Manuel Pellgrini balance the all-star egos in the locker room? And could he impose the Villareal short-passing approach on Madrid?

He has done neither. And he has succeeded with fantastic aplomb.

The Alcocorn hiccup aside, Madrid trails Barcelona by 2 points. The games, the goals, the endless and relentless storm ahead of progress. But exactly has Manuel done? It’s quite simple – he has imposed a style of Madrid that is Madrid. Madrid no longer plays like a lost puppy sniffing for scraps. Madrid now plays like Madrid. Allow me to elaborate.

You are a Barcelona fan. You believe their short-passing game is an emblem of “culture.” You set down the New York Times theatre review every Sunday for one reason and one reason alone – to obsess over Xavi and Andres Iniesta’s sideways ten foot passes. You occasionally shout at your wife – Did you see the completion of that ten foot pass? She wisely ignores you.

Barcelona’s style of the play is Citizen Kane, brilliantly deceptive and seductively boring. You could fall asleep at any segment of the mirror-as-metaphor scenes, and wake up to still follow the central question: what is rosebud? Similarly, when watching the Catalonians, you could fall asleep at any time and wake up to ask – who will complete the next ten foot sideways pass? The central question remains: when will they score the goal?

The Madrid of Pellegrini is an 80′s era Steven Spielberg Indiana Jones film. Metaphor? Ha. Social commentary? Ha Ha. Pure, simple, emotional enjoyment? By the boatloads. If Barcelona plays the cello to a delicate crescendo, then Madrid bursts and shakes like a Colt 45. But Madrid does not pause to reload.

In the 6-2 victory over Villareal, two moments come to mind. In the 65th minute, a Kaka poach-pass gifted Ronaldo a gilt-edged chance. CR9 fluffed it spectacularly, but raised his hands in disgust to nobody. The cameraman did not have time to capture a closeup of his anguish because, simply put, the rest of CR9′s teammates continued to aggressively pursue the ball.

In the 70th minute, Marcos Senna, the symbol of Villareal’s rise to Spanish and European prominence, laid down on the pitch in a sorry state. He covered his face with his jersey. He would barely walk the rest of the match. Simply put, he was exhausted. He had just failed to catch up with the fleet footed Higuain, and the Argentine’s goal would not be Madrid’s last.

So what has Manuel done? He has rotated the midfield like a game of Russian roulette, with Guti, Granero, and Mahamadou Diarra getting bit parts but playing them to perfection. He also has instilled self-belief. With a simple task – score more goals, Madrid rarely shrugs their shoulders in self-defeat. Defeat is a distinct possibility in a game of 90 minutes, but not in a spiritual sense. Not under Manuel.

Pellegrini has injected urgency into Madrid’s approach, emphasizing athleticism like a certain popular league across the pond. Granted, the obvious criticisms. (1) When Madrid bombs forward, they leave gaping holes at the back. This is true, but Pellegrini’s solution to conceding a goal is to score another one. Mathematically, he is correct.

(2) Sustainability. No team can run for 90 minutes. This is also true, but Madrid’s deluge of goals in the later stages shows either a strong fitness regime or a youthful & large roster. Or both. Also, the power of the mind to overcome physical limits should not be underestimated – adrenaline is powerful shit. Really powerful shit.

Lastly, Manuel is merely a caretaker for expensive players. And Madrid’s spending is itself not sustainable.

I concede this may be the bank-breaking version of the Galacticos Part Dos. The books may be imbalanced. But I’m just a fan. I just want to watch a great game. I want to see my team win. I want to enjoy myself. After all, that’s the fun part of a roller coaster – you don’t look down until you have to.

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