I guess now would be the time to mourn and whining about the referee, mind to the mothers of the players who have failed in the goal. To recognize the superiority Barca, feel depressed, I swear not to return to encourage this computer, remove the shirt of Real Madrid, hide the scarf and pull the keychain from my portfolio.
Ya.
The problem is I do not want.
The problem is that I refuse to see this supposed superiodidad, I refuse to recognize a good game that I have not glimpsed. I refuse to blame my players fault that I have not seen. I refuse to give back to mine, because from now Roures chain are all lining up to kneel before the Lord of the abscess.
No, bucking. What I do not convencéis.
that I've seen other party. A game where Real Madrid play itself has been known to Barcelona, choking from the beginning. A game where the stripes began more lost than an athletic Cibeles. An excellent match raised by Don Manuel Pellegrini. A vibrant party where there was always room for hope and pride. Where the errors were almost inevitable-you can not keep Messi canceled a long time, "but expected to be offset by the success of our strikers. And that's where we failed, on the legs of those who never fail. In other absences were noted.
That I will not blame them, because I find nothing to criticize. Because I think they were immense. Because they fought like wild beasts, and lost to give face, maintaining high pride. Because they were our Real Madrid.
And so tomorrow I'll go with the shirt, let the scarf which is clearly visible in my wallet keychain. For my eleven useless have done more than I expected from them. Because I'm proud of her attitude. Because I refuse to give anything up for lost. Because I'm
Madrid, and that means many things. Get up when you fall. Raise the head, then the following victory between the eyes.
not ever be ashamed when your people have come, brave and honest, to give us a decent fight, leaving up, but not defeated.
Nobody told us it was easy. But only we could.
Hala Madrid.
On the eve of the inevitable time to face the Beast, I force myself to write again about my beloved team. Team do not speak long, either here or on the blog that I created for this purpose. I get bored team's endemic ills, but mysteriously can not stop screaming every goal as if it were the end of a Champions , Which this year will not play. Team weary, sick computer.
My Computer.
had a lengthy text written about how I've rethought my Real Madrid, to be aware of the atletización beginning to permeate our hobby. However, I deleted it. No need to explain something as simple as I've grown tired of seeing my players were systematically crushed, one after another. I've had enough to do it myself, I have realized how damaging was throwing stones at some kids who are already weary head down. That from now on, I abide on the following unchanging thesis
Iker Casillas. Alvaro Arbeloa. Pepe. Sergio Ramos. Fernando Gago. Mahamadou Diarra. Raúl González. Kaka. Cristiano Ronaldo. Lass Diarra. Karim Benzema. Marcelo Vieira. Jerzy Dudek. Jose Maria Gutierrez "Guti". Royston Drenthe. Raul Albiol. Ezequiel Garay. Gonzalo Higuain. Christoph Metzelder. Xabi Alonso. Rafael Van der Vaart. Esteban Granero. Anthony Adam.
With all he stuck me some time in my life. Are physically agotado Muchos, muchos goats are local, with no other blood of horchata. Them know it is on defense, others who know the attack, tenemos a Concierge who knows how to take on his feet, only to each other plays, and one that we do not know who he is. We have a front pacifier, one that does not mark in big games, and one that only gets churro. One of our defense is crazy, one can not read, and the third is a snail. We have a midfielder who closed clubs, and one that might fall asleep standing up, plus one that was by accident. We have a German intellectual who is injured sleeping. We have a Brazilian blessed with groin injury. We have to Marcelo, who do not know what heck plays. And then there's Drenthe, but does not know where.
I'll admit, they're completely useless.
But, on the eve of a likely Classic lose, and very possibly we trounced, I declare that these are useless my useless.
And from now on, I swear, I'll be the death with each and every one of these kids. Yes
even tomorrow.
Even when we confront the Best Club of the History of Football, with the thumb of the nose ready to leave us in underwear always perfect on the carpet at the Santiago Bernabeu.
Even then, when presumably they seem powerless and humiliated, let's be objective, there will be at his side, even if we wanted to pass through a shredder.
I repeat each and every one of them.
For my part, I canceled most of the subscriptions that had several posts, and follow step by entering in some forums. I jump into the neck of a player who criticize Madrid, anyone. Too many stones they throw, and for me one too me. These boys than-worthy or unworthy of it-sudan, and suffering are bearing the sacred shield on the jersey.
Tomorrow we are going to go wrong. Do not be the slightest doubt. Not only for the three points lost, or taken the lead.
We will, as always, people who are doing this or not will come-to pass the football, or are fans of Deportivo de Villaverde Major-causing blood in front of us, basking in the difficulties of our own, doing the wave at Barça. No for the excellence of his game, but for the fact that milled Real Madrid CF. Well
.
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These are just their problems. We were not born to have to - well - take other people's problems. We were born for football, not to support, to defend our colors to our style, not yours. Because we were born to be of Madrid. And that's the biggest difference of all.
I never wanted to study history. Until I came to 2 of high school, was a subject that I just do not draw much attention, perhaps due to a chain of teachers at each more ominous. The easily learned, I was good, but I loved it.
Then I started
aa study the contemporary history of Spain, and my vision of the subject changed. Now, the big book marking highlighter with my usual method, there was a series of dates, facts without significance or relationship. Now he was studying something that really felt like mine, what had happened in my own country during the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. That which we configured, we determined to be as we are. That which you could easily find useful, I could relate to current events. A good teacher helped the fact to live each item as if reading the story of a recent event. I realized I could not understand my country could not understand myself as a English citizen, without studying that book.
I enrolled in history because I can not think of anything better to do. I did not know if I end up liking. I had doubts, at the height of the second year, when I thought if this was really my calling. They asked me if I was bored in class, and I replied that, on the contrary, I loved being there listening to the explanations. "Well you think you'll like" . End of dilemma. Nor
never raised me to devote to education. Conversely, it was something for which there seemed to be too skilled. My natural shyness and accented just let me talk to strangers without me inadvertently accelerated heartbeat. I spent the whole race at all costs avoid public speaking, subjects rejected easily by the simple fact that the pass went through an exhibition. I just had to plant me in front Class-wrapped by my co-workers, when there was nothing, and tried to speak as little as possible. How the hell I was going to be a teacher, if it was not even able to look anyone in the eye?
Then I finished the race, and concluded that there was no other way. If you wanted to earn the beans in a decent way, had to resign to take up the chalk. Spending as a lamb for a long process more objections Master-CAP, and join a company that, on balance, is quite stable and remunerative. Psych started that should. I spent countless tedious teaching classes, sociologíay psychology idle time at the academy, preparing units, thinking of how to motivate kids.
In my mind, a fear that had been dragging too long. It was the theoretical examination of the opposition, or even practical. No, what frightened me most, that for what it really no-era had prepared me it was time to get into a class, stand in front of a handful of teenagers, and liarme to speak.
killing me not only the issue of nerves, resulting in an uncontrollable shaking of hands, legs and voice, sadly characteristic of me, "that it would be the key moment. The moment to find out if wood had to teach. If I enjoyed it. If I was going to hate every second I spent stuck in a class. Well
.
After trying it out, say that I like would fall short.
I love. Be you off the board, they sat, watching. See how they deal with each slide with fear, and how light is doing in their minds, reflecting in his eyes as you, with your explanations, it is clarified. To smile if you say something funny. Do not move an eyelash, when you tell them a curiosity or a legend. Learn
. Beam. Teaching .
(And leave after class, and I congratulate the class teacher because "I've been very quiet, very loose, very confident." And he was right because you realize that you have not even sense no such thing as nerves. Manos firm, clear voice, didactic tone, quick wit appropriate language.)
History
discovered by chance. I found the teaching obligation.
Today, I could not live without both.
