What was Jose Mourinho thinking?
Last season, the Portuguese maestro demonstrated why he is arguably (along with perhaps Guus Hiddink) the greatest tactician of the era when he guided Internazionale past Chelsea and Barcelona on the way to Champions League glory. Against both sides, he lined up with three forwards, including Samuel Eto'o out wide, and played a high pressing game, with a screen of defensive midfielders whose main - nay, only - job was to stop Xavi, Iniesta and Messi from getting on the ball; in the two legs against Barca, he gave the Catalans all the possession they wanted 30 yards from their own goal, but denied them the space even to breathe, let alone play, anywhere else on the pitch.
And yet, for his first Clasico as Real Madrid manager, at the Nou Camp, Mourinho played an attack minded 4-2-3-1 with Ronaldo, Di Maria, Ozil and Benzema all starting. And it ended up a massacre. The 5-0 scoreline just about does justice to the gulf in class; Barcelona were brilliant, Madrid abysmal. The Special One, as a manager had never, ever, lost by more than 3-0 before in his career. But his previous successes have been with teams built in his image. Porto, Chelsea and Inter won trophies galore by playing a pragmatic style, eschewing flair for solidity when necessary. At the first two teams he had a bunch of hungry, ambitious players willing to do whatever required to win - after all, what had John Terry, Frank Lampard and Didier Drogba achieved before they came under his charge? Meanwhile, in Italy the players are far more receptive to tactics and organization than elsewhere - and again, they would do absolutely anything if it meant victory in the Champions League. Real Madrid, however, are different. Very different.
Some things never seem to change, however hard you try, and one of those is the apparent fact that the Real Madrid starting lineup will be filled with egos. Earlier in the decade it was Ronaldo, Raul, Roberto Carlos, Figo, Beckham and Zidane. They got annihilated by a wonderful Barcelona team as well, 3-0 at the Bernabeu in November 2005, where Ronaldinho gave the greatest performance of his
life. Real are supposed to be all about flair and excitement - maybe Jose felt he couldn't play an extra defensive midfielder; maybe he wasn't allowed to; maybe he felt the squad lacked the discipline to produce the type of performance which brought his Inter side such joy last year.
Or maybe his own ego got the better of him, and he dared to believe that his own flamboyant forwards could destroy Barca in their own back yard. The result was delightful for the neutral, but humiliating for Madridistas. The midfield wasn't nearly crowded enough - giving time to Xavi and Iniesta is like giving matches to an arsonist. The latter remains one of my favourite players on this earth, buzzing like a hornet all over the park, whether to run at defenders or to play an incisive pass (like the one for Xavi's goal). His running, along with that of Barca's front men, put Real Madrid's lackadaisical, workshy forwards to shame; it also meant that their backline had no time to pass out of defence, and the home side had a monopoly on possession.
I have already extolled Iniesta, but what can one say of Xavi? Now thirty, he has been the fulcrum of sides that, at club and international level, have won just about everything that they possibly can over the last three years. He seems, superficially, so limited - he is of diminutive stature, he lacks pace, he is not proficient at tackling, and, last night notwithstanding, his goal return is modest. Yet, in my lifetime at least, I cannot remember a player who appears to control a match in the way Xavier Hernandez Creus (his full name) does. It seems every attack, every incisive movement, is dictated, in some way, by his passing. Sid Lowe, the Guardian's esteemed journalist, described his effects best - not only does he see, and make, the killer passes, but he sometimes moves and passes in such a way that it extols a teammate to make a run that he would not otherwise have made. Does that make sense? In short, Xavi is a unique player, able to move his teammates, and opponents, around the field as if it were a chess board. And it is much easier to win a chess game if you move your opponent's pieces as well as your own. And, unlike so many stars, Xavi produces it in the biggest of matches last night.
As for the other twenty players? The less said about Mourinho's bunch, the better. The lack of discipline was no surprise, nor was the lack of willingness to press the ball - the day Ronaldo closes down a defender will be the day the world ends. But it was a surprise that Xabi Alonso couldn't put a foot on the ball, and it was a shock to see Mesut Ozil so ineffective that he was substituted at half-time - he couldn't have been more anonymous if he had been wearing Harry Potter's invisibility cloak. Jose brought on that extra holding midfielder at the break, but not only had the horse already bolted, he had wrecked the stable door on the way out as well. Mourinho teams have never gone to pieces in this way before - his Special One aura, polarized and imbibed by over seven years of almost unstoppable victory, seemed to fade over the course of one wet Catalonian evening, finally evaporating as Sergio Ramos went for his early bath for a crude hack on Messi.
And what of the Argentinian wonderkid? A pretty average performance - for him, that is. After all, he only hit the post and laid on Villa's two goals. Pedro got one as well. And it is worth glorifying Sergio Busquets as well - the defensive midfielder provides the steel to go with his teammates' silk. Busquets-Xavi-Iniesta - has there ever been a better midfield combo? That is one to debate. Barcelona's defence might still be their achilles heel, but such was the lack of threat from their opponents that they were never stretched.
I've raved and waxed lyrical about Barcelona in the past, and with good reason.
They are not perfect, not by a long shot, but in their pomp they are a simply unbelievable team to watch. I really, really, could have watched that ninety minutes all over again from start to finish (though that proves I have too much
time on my hands). In short, Barcelona are the best club side of a generation.
The Clasico shows Jose Mourinho has a long way to go to get his side competing on an even keel.
But if anyone can do it, he can. The return game is in April; I can't wait.
L.
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