Literatura futbolística

En un magnífic article aquest cap de setmana al New York Times, Rob Hughes lloa, un cop més, les característiques del joc del Futbol Club Barcelona. Si l'anglès no us és llengua estranya i sou dels que us agrada el futbol del Barça de Guardiola, us recomano la lectura de l'article, que us deixo aquí sota perquè en gaudiu.

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Barcelona Makes Real Look Second Best
By ROB HUGHES
April 11, 2010

The hour is midnight, but Madrid is not about to sleep anytime soon. Its team, Real, has just been outplayed and outclassed by Barcelona in Madrid’s own cathedral to sport, the Bernabéu.

The 2-0 score line does not settle the Spanish league title, because each team has seven games yet to play. But, with goals from Lionel Messi and Pedro Rodríguez on Saturday, each of them created by the master passer, Xavi Hernández, this was indeed a defining night, another one in Barcelona’s omnipotent season.

The defeat ended Madrid’s run of 15 consecutive league victories. It ended Real’s perfect record of 12 Liga victories on its home turf. It ended the myth that, by spending €259 million, or about $398 million, Real Madrid could eclipse what Barcelona has created over decades of diligent schooling.

Pep Guardiola, player turned coach of this new Barça, summed it up in his prematch address to reporters in the Spanish capital. He said he had told his players they would have to treat this match as a cup final because “we are talking about playing against the second-best team in the world.”

We know enough about Guardiola by now not to read arrogance into that statement. That his Barcelona squad is the best on earth is a matter of record. It is the current Spanish, European and world champion.

But, possibly unwittingly, Guardiola had laid on the line to his players what was at stake in the Bernabéu.

The day before that team briefing, Guardiola had attended a ceremony in Barcelona at which Johan Cruyff, his mentor, was made honorary president of F.C. Barcelona. This ritual mirrored Real’s appointment some years back of its former captain, Alfredo di Stéfano, as life president.

So each of the great rivals has ceremonially acknowledged that playing ideals, and any grandeur they have, comes from players. Madrid’s happens to be an Argentine, now 83 years old, while Cruyff is Dutch and 62.

They are men of different generations. While di Stéfano’s leadership in the 1950s laid the foundations of Real’s European success, what Cruyff gave Barça as a player and as coach is still at the core of the club’s philosophy today.

“Johan came along and revolutionized everything,” Joan Laporta, the Barcelona president, said. “The modern day Barça started with him, he brought us a style of soccer we love, he is the creator of the way we express ourselves.”

Cruyff’s style, his belief that the coach, or creator of an ethos, must have influence from the first team to the 8-year-old recruits has caused some conflicts down the years. But we see its fruits now. We see its expression in a squad handled by Guardiola, who came through those junior ranks and who, winning all before him in his first two seasons as coach, started the match Saturday at the Bernabéu with seven players reared through the Barcelona academy and finished it with eight.

The coach cannot score the goals. He has men who can. Messi, inevitably, scored the first. Pedro, a boy from Tenerife but a youth of Barça’s teaching, scored the second.

Madrid was finished. The presence of Cristiano Ronaldo, Gonzalo Higuaín, Karim Benzema and all its other expensive purchases could do nothing to deny which is the better team.

Manuel Pellegrini, Madrid’s latest coach, admitted that, though his players must not give up until the end of the title chase, they were defeated by a better team.

The comparisons were painful for the 80,000 Madridistas whichever way they looked. Barcelona, while never at its flowing best, had too much movement, too many talents, too much teamwork for the home side.

Messi, without being at his best, again scored the goal that set his team’s confidence soaring. His exchange of passes with Xavi, his control of the ball on his chest and then his sudden change of direction on the ground, foxed Raúl Albiol, who expected Messi to shoot with his left foot whereas he scored with the right.

Similarly, Pedro, at 22, is the same age and a similar height and weight to Messi — yet a newcomer to the first team this season, scored with his left foot. Pedro’s dominant foot is his right.

This is a trait of those raised in Barcelona’s academy. A boy may favor one foot when he arrives, but he is very soon taught to practice until he masters all the skills with the other foot.

Messi’s tally is now 40 goals, and 10 assists, from 44 matches this season. Pedro’s contribution, 18 goals in all competitions, is so good that even without the injured Zlatan Ibrahimovic, the coach could leave Thierry Henry, Andres Iniesta and Bojan Krkic on the bench.

Yet Guardiola is in cooperation with players he helped bring through the Barcelona ranks. For the encounter Saturday, Guardiola experimented tactically. He moved Daniel Alves from right back to right wing, placing central defender Carles Puyol behind him. Several times, the players came to the touchline to converse with their coach. At halftime, team positions were switched around.

Alves reverted to right back, Puyol moved to the left and Maxwell advanced from left back to left wing.

All the while, the immovable source of what makes Barça tick, Xavi, wove his stealthy, cunning, unerringly accurate passes. He set up Messi with a chip that would have made any golfer at the Master’s proud. He released Pedro with almost a casual pass along the ground.

He was superior to Madrid’s Xabi Alonso in the creative role. Messi was more superstar than Ronaldo. Even goalie Victor Valdes proved, this night, more difficult to beat than Spain’s No.1, Iker Casillas.

The pain might not be over. Barcelona plans a return to the Bernabéu next month, when Madrid’s fine stadium hosts the Champions League final. Winning that, again, would just rub Catalan salt in Madrid’s wound.

El New York Times lloa el model del Barça

Fins i tot abans del sisè títol i de les llàgrimes de l'entrenador, que culminen de manera simbòlica aquest 2009 blaugrana, el NYTimes es rendeix al joc i al model futbolístic del FC Barcelona, en aquesta anàlisi de Rob Hughes sobre els efectes de la crisi econòmica al món del futbol.

«Messi, the little man from Argentina, has eclipsed Ronaldo for the player of the year titles in 2009. His essence is that he is a team player, and his team, Barça, has garnered all the trophies available to one club in one season. Not only that, Barcelona has raised the game back to beauty.

With Messi down either wing, with Xavi picking out passes as if by the instinct of a homing pigeon, with Andrés Iniesta and Thierry Henry, and now with Zlatan Ibrahimovic replacing Samuel Eto’o as the focal point of attack, it has a style so easy on the eye, yet also so competitive.

Madrid has support from the Spanish institutions prepared to help it pay more than its means to try to ensure that Barcelona does not keep running away with all the prizes. Madrid’s policy was to buy — not just Ronaldo, but also Kaká, Karim Benzema, Xabi Alonso and others in a single summer.

What it cannot buy is the roots of Barça’s beauty, its renowned style. That is a product of La Masia, the school built on an 18th century farm in the lea of the club’s Camp Nou stadium.

“The player who has passed through La Masia has something different to the rest,” Coach Josep Guardiola said. “It’s a plus that comes from having competed in a Barcelona shirt from the time you were a child.”

Guardiola knows, because he passed through the school and played for the first team for a decade before graduating to be its coach. One of his players, the meticulous Xavi, has just played his 500th senior game in the shirt.

Xavi is a born and bred Catalan, a child and now a man of F.C. Barcelona. But though Messi was born abroad, Txiki Begiristain, the club’s technical director, insists, “Messi’s from Argentina, but he was formed in our house.” Indeed he was, from age 13.»

7 d'octubre?

A l'edició d'ahir del New York Times, a la secció d'efemèrides extretes de l'International Herald Tribune, destacaven l'aniversari dels Fets del 6 d'octubre del 1934 a Barcelona, ara fa 75 anys.

«1934
Leaders Arrested in Catalonia

BARCELONA: The independent state of Catalonia, which was proclaimed by President Lluís Companys at 8.30 last night [Oct. 7], came to an end at 6 o’clock this morning when Spanish troops under General Batet occupied the government buildings and arrested the Catalan President and the members of the Cabinet. Simultaneously the project of proclaiming Spain a federated republic with Manuel Azaña, former Premier, as its first President, collapsed. Azaña was not to be found all day, but it was reported tonight that he has been arrested at a small port near here as he was about to embark for France.»

A la blogosfera, també se'n fa ressò el bloc In varietate concordia. Del text de l'efemèride en destaca la normalitat amb que parlen dels fets, amb una redacció neutra, gairebé teletípica, i l'error que comet el redactor en situar els fets un dia després de què succeïssin. També m'ha fet pensar en l'hemeroteca del New York Times, rica en notícies sobre les convulses primeres dècades dels segle XX a Catalunya.

NY Times: “A Dazzling Barcelona Wins With Style”

«It will be left to Barcelona’s supporters to gleefully debate whether this is the Catalans’ greatest team, now that the first-year coach Pep Guardiola has guided his squad to the Spanish League title, the Spanish Cup and now the European Cup with a style that is familiarly elegant and ebullient.»

—The New York Times

Holidays

Ahir va difondre's la notícia que s'incrementaran les mesures de seguretat al metro de Nova York per l'amenaça d'atemptats durant holidays (literalment “els dies sants”). Molts mitjans de Catalunya la van reproduir i traduir sense llegir-ne la lletra petita: segons ells, l'augment del risc d'atemptats tindrà lloc pels volts de Nadal. A The New York Times, però, quedava ben clar que el holiday a què es referia la notícia era avui, dia d'acció de gràcies.

Fifteen bucks

Finalment, he pogut fer-me amb un exemplar del New York Times publicat l'endemà de les eleccions; aquell que va exhaurir-se ben d'hora al matí del dia 5 i que, poques hores més tard, revenien a internet pel mòdic preu de 200 dòlars.

Ara, per 15 dòlars, el pots comprar a la botiga en línia del diari i te l'envien a casa dins d'una funda protectora. Hi ha qui diu que el vol conservar de record per poder-lo ensenyar als néts (quan en tingui) i explicar-los, així, com va viure un dia històric. D'altres, més irònics (i potser, fins i tot, més realistes), exclamen que el que de debò els farà gràcia als néts del futur serà veure que “quan l'avi era jove” les notícies s'imprimien en paper.

De la Super Bowl al Super Tuesday... i tiro perquè em toca

Com si fos un presagi del que pot passar dimarts, els New York Giants han guanyat la Super Bowl contra tot pronòstic i s'han imposat als New England Patriots, 17 a 14, en l'únic partit que els de Boston han perdut en tota la temporada.

No he viscut un esdeveniment que paralitza tot un país i que, aquest any, tenia l'al·licient afegit que hi jugava l'equip de la ciutat (bé, que té l'estadi prop de la ciutat, a New Jersey). Però, des de la planta desena de la feina, he pogut sentir els crits d'alguns aficionats exaltats que en acabar el matx celebraven la victòria i el so d'unes quantes botzines de cotxe tocades de manera insistent (cosa ben estranya en aquest racó de món).

Abans del partit, un company de feina que és dels Patriots m'ha comentat que la Super Bowl —el que alguns en castellà anomenen Super Tazón (no va de broma)— és l'espectacle publicitari més gran dels que es fan i es desfan per aquestes contrades. I és per això que se celebra l'invent, a banda dels diners que reporta per a altres negocis amb tot el que els aficionats compren per menjar-s'ho i beure-s'ho mentre veuen el partit a casa seva i en innombrables bars i restaurants.

No sé si l'espectacle del súper dimarts generarà tant volum de negoci i paralitzarà la ciutat i el país com la Super Bowl, el que sí que és cert és que el senador Obama pot emular els NY Giants i imposar-se, contra tot pronòstic, a les primàries del Partit Demòcrata.

En un article brillant dels seus, dimecres passat a La Vanguardia, Quim Monzó apuntava que hauríem de ser més cautes quan afirmem amb rotunditat que Barack Obama pot ser el primer President negre de la història dels Estats Units,

El lunes, una amiga me dijo: ˝Al principio, miraba a Obama y pensaba ´que negro tan blanco´, y ahora he leído que su madre es blanca. De modo que es tan blanco como negro. Igual que dicen de él ´el candidato negro´ podrían decir ´el candidato blanco´…˝

El negro que tenía el alma medio-medio, Quim Monzó.

Excuse me, where exactly is uptown?

M'envien des de Barcelona l'article que Quim Monzó publica dissabte a La Vanguardia, la de paper. Això de viure lluny de la família té aquestes coses; és com quan et vols comprar un model de cotxe en concret i no pares de veure'l pel carrer —quan abans semblava que ni existia. I això és el mateix; el fet de viure a Nova York fa que la teva família a Barcelona, en aquest cas el meu pare, hagi desenvolupat un sisè sentit per detectar tot allò del seu entorn que fa referència a la ciutat de línies verticals. I aquí tornem a Monzó, que en el seu article d'aquest dissabte, Ni norte ni sur, ni este ni oeste, parla d'una prova pilot que es duu a terme a Nova York per tal de millorar l'orientació dels meus conciutadans quan surten del metro. Ah, i l'article m'arriba convenientment escanejat i enganxat en un correu electrònic. Gràcies Jesús!

Doncs, això, que llegeixo l'article i, com passa sovint en aquests casos, me n'assabento d'un fet que té lloc a la ciutat on visc a través de la premsa que es publica a la meva vila natal. Almenys aquest cop no s'havia rebentat cap canonada. "Les autoritats dels transports novaiorquesos s'han empescat una idea simple i brillant: instal·lar adhesius que, a tall de brúixoles, assenyalen on hi ha el nord, el sud, l'est i l'oest. I, al costat dels punts cardinals, els carrers més propers." [Paraula de Monzó]

Doncs, ja era hora! Perquè per molt que alguns diguin que és fàcil orientar-se a determinades zones de Manhattan amb els carrers que es diuen carrer, les avingudes que es diuen avinguda, els uns d'est a oest, les altres de nord a sud, i tots matriculats amb número, molts cops el problema el tens quan, precisament, surts del metro. Si no tens una referència visual clara —posa-hi el Chrysler Building—, no saps cap on para la ciutat baixa ni cap on és l'alta, ni l'est ni l'oest. I llavors, es dóna l'enèsima corroboració empírica que Murphy es mereix el Nobel, i te n'adones que vas en sentit contrari quan arribes al següent carrer.

No sé com són les brúixoles de què parla Monzó; no les he vistes i, pel que explica, n'hi ha quatre, i de prova, pels volts de Grand Central; però només caldria col·locar, un cop surts al carrer, un cartell que t'indiqués cap on és downtown/uptown, east/west i, més d'un —inclòs un que jo conec— els estaria ben agraïts.

Bona nit i tapat!

Oceà (quart)

En travessa transatlàntica es pot fullejar el diari. El cronista recomana haver-lo comprat a l'origen. Si no, et pots trobar que a business han fagocitat tots els Times –quan haurien de devorar el Financial o el Wall Street Journal– i et toca fullejar el Post. La premsa en català brilla per l'absència: ni rastre de El Punt i l'Avui, i de El Periódico només n'hi ha amb la capçalera roja.
Almenys, si voles amb Delta, t'estalvies els (a Iberia) omnipresents ABC, El Mundo i La Razón.

Fullejo l'Avui i ensopego amb un article del veterà Carles Sentís sobre un altre Carles. Fontserè. El genial cartellista morí la setmana passada a 90 anys, després d'una vida prolífica marcada per una guerra i un exili que el van dur de Catalunya a França, Mèxic i, finalment, Nova York. A NY conegué Terry Broch, qui esdevindria la seva dona, filla del president del Casal Català.

A començament de la dècada dels 70, quan van anar a Nova York diferents artistes catalans dels que abans solien anar a París, la parella Terry-Carles Fontserè constituí per a tots ells una referència acollidora. De tant en tant reunia els artistes, d'estada o de pas, en un suculent arròs.

...

Aquestes invitacions podien fer creure que tenia mitjans econòmics abundants. No era així. Una de les coses que admirava en ell fou la seva decisió d'exercir, els caps de setmana, de xòfer de taxi. No era un fet únic, sinó que altres artistes importants treballaven intensament de taxistes dos dies a la setmana per poder viure la resta de dies la bohèmia artística. Tingué, Fontserè, com a exemple el famós artista Phillip Glass: per menar un taxi a Nova York cal conèixer bastant bé l'enorme ciutat. Coneixia no solament la nomenclatura dels principals carrers, sinó també barris i sectors molt poc a l'abast. Com que era bon fotògraf, aplegà moltes imatges de llocs insospitats o bé d'indrets que endevinava que desapareixerien per ser substituïts per múltiples gratacels.

(Fontserè: artista total. Carles Sentís. Avui. Diumenge, 7 de gener de 2007)

Alligator Found In Uptown Sewer

The New York Times, February 10, 1935

Youths Shoveling Snow Into Manhole See the Animal Churning in Icy Water.
SNARE IT AND DRAG IT OUT
Reptile Slain by Rescuers When It Gets Vicious—Whence It Came Is Mystery.

The youthful residents of East 123d Street, near the murky Harlem River, were having a rather grand time at dusk yesterday shoveling the last of the recent snow into a gaping manhole.

Salvatore Condulucci, 16 years old, of 419 East 123d Street, was assigned to the rim. His comrades would heap blackened slush near him, and he, carefully observing the sewer's capacity, would give the last fine flick to each mound.

Suddenly there were signs of clogging ten feet below, where the manhole drop merged with the dark conduit leading to the river. Salvatore yelled: "Hey, you guys, wait a minute," and got down on his knees to see what was the trouble.

What he saw, in the thickening dusk, almost caused him to topple into the icy cavern. For the jagged surface of the ice blockade below was moving; and something black was breaking through. Salvatore's eyes widened; then he managed to leap to his feet and call his friends.

"Honest, it's an alligator!" he exploded.

Others Look and Are Convinced.

There was a murmur of skepticism. Jimmy Mireno, 19, of 440 East 123d Street, shouldered his way to the rim and stared.

"He's right," he said.

Frankie Lonzo, 19, of 1,743 Park Avenue, looked next. he also confirmed the spectre. Then there was a great crush about the opening in the middle of the street and heads were bent low around the aperture.

The animal apparently was threshing about in the ice, trying to get clear. When the first wave of awe had passed, the boys decided to help it out. A delegation was dispatched to the Lehigh Stove and Repair Shop at 441 East 123d Street.

"We want some clothes-line," demanded the delegation, and got it.

Young Condulucci, an expert on Western movies, fashioned a slip knot. With the others watching breathlessly, he dangled the noose into the sewer, and after several tantalizing near-catches, looped it about the 'gator's neck. Then he pulled hard. There was a grating of rough leathery skin against jumbled ice. But the job was too much for one youth. The others grabbed the rope and all pulled.

Slowly, with its curving tail twisting weakly, the animal was dragged from the snow, ten feet through the dank cavern, and to the street, where it lay, non-committal; it was not in Florida, that was clear.

And therefore, when one of the boys sought to loosen the rope, the creature opened its jaws and snapped, not with the robust vigor of a healthy, well-sunned alligator, but with the fury of a sick, very badly treated one. The boys jumped back. Curiosity and sympathy turned to enmity.

"Let 'im have it!" the cry went up.

Rescuers Then Kill It.

So the shovels that had been used to pile snow on the alligator's head were now to rain blows upon it. The 'gator's tail swished about a few last times. Its jaws clashed weakly. But it was in no mood for a real struggle after its icy incarceration. It died on the spot.

Triumphantly, but not without the inevitable reaction of sorrow, the boys took their victim to the Lehigh Stove and Repair Shop. There it was found to weigh 125 pounds; they said it measured seven and a half or eight feet. It became at once the greatest attraction the store ever had had. The whole neighborhood milled about, and finally, a call for the police reached a nearby station.

But there was little for the hurrying policemen to do. The strange visitor was quite dead; and no charge could be preferred against it or against its slayers. The neighbors were calmed with little trouble and speculation as to where the 'gator had come from was rife.

There are no pet shops in the vicinity; that theory was ruled out almost at once. Finally, the theories simmered down to that of a passing boat. Plainly, a steamer from the mysterious Everglades, or thereabouts, had been passing 123d Street, and the alligator had fallen overboard.

Shunning the hatefully cold water, it had swum toward shore and found only the entrance to the conduit. Then after another 150 yards through a torrent of melting snow—and by that time it was half dead—it had arrived under the open manhole.

Half-dead, yes, the neighborhood conceded. But still alive enough for a last splendid opening and snapping of its jaws. The boys were ready to swear to that.

At about 9 P.M., when tired mothers had succeeded in getting most of their alligator-conscious youngsters to bed, a Department of Sanitation truck rumbled up to the store and made off with the prize. Its destination was Barren Island and an incinerator.

Copyright © 1935 The New York Times