• According to Barcelona’s SPORT, the appropriately named Bigboy Cheverevere, a South African football fan rushing back home to watch the Barcelona-Arsenal match, caused quite the spat when he arrived to find his stepsons watching something other than football. The ensuing melee resulted in the channel being changed and the police being called by his wife, Grace, who is intent on divorcing her Messi-obsessed husband.
• Cristiano Ronaldo has unsurprisingly claimed that he is bigger than Messi. Indeed, he admits, he is not only taller, but wider than him.
• The English Imperial Press, much like its Spanish Nationalist Cousins, are wont to admit that the accomplishments of another nation’s league could usurp their own. Though when it comes to the “clásico,” they won’t miss a moment to do some reconnaissance on their lesser continental neighbors. From the Guardian to the Times, a smattering of paraphernalia in preparation for Saturday’s Big One.
• A curiously compelling interview with Brazil and Barcelona’s Dani Alves from The Guardian’s Man in Spain Sid Lowe, in which they discuss greatness, literature, and Wayne Rooney.

As the big countdown ticks away, less than 100 days before the World Cup, perhaps Africa’s strongest team, Ivory Coast, is still without a coach. An article in the Zimbabwean brings up the state of African football and its reliance on foreign coaches.

In Cote D’Ivoire, the disgruntled Vahid Halilhodžić was unceremoniously dispensed with following an unsuccessful run at the African Cup of Nations (despite having lost only one match during his two-year tenure). Similarly, Nigeria rid themselves of Shaibu Amodu after only getting 3rd place in the same tournament. He was axed in late February and replaced with Lars Lagerbeck, a Swedish coach whose most recent claim to fame is failure to qualify for the 2010 World Cup with Sweden.

The appointment of Lagerbeck was quite a prize for not being able to qualify with his original team, and he now has the task of ingratiating himself to the players and learning up on Nigerian football in the 90-odd days that he has before the tournament starts. Lagerbeck replaced a Nigerian coach who would have been the only other African coach in South Africa (besides Algeria’s Rabah Saadane).

Whoever inherits the Ivory Coast (latest word is that Dutch “miracle-worker” Guus Hiddink is poised to get the job) gets the privilege of coaching one of the world’s most talented squads, bursting with ability, speed, power, and efficiency at every corner: Didier Drogba, Yaya Touré, Kolo Touré, Didier Zokora, Emanuel Eboué, Salomon Kalou, and so on, without having to actually do any work in qualifying. Common sense tells me that an Ivorian coach is not in the running.

South Africa has chosen a similar path, re-hiring Carlos Alberto Pareira (Brazilian; you might remember him from the World’s Most Boring World Cup Final [TM] [1994] or as the Man Who Could Make A Team with Romario, Ronaldo, and Bebeto into a Side-Passing Snore-Fest [R]. Also known as Coach of Oil-Rich World Cup Whipping Boys [Kuwait 82, United Arab Emirates 90, Saudi Arabia '98 aka "Fired During the World Cup"]. And most recently known as Man Who Can Make Even Brazil Look Bad [Brazil, 2006]). Interestingly, he was coach of South Africa previously, and quit, citing family reasons (though it is hard to ignore the fact that he did not do anything worth noting in his brief stint with them). Perhaps he needs to fund that vacation home (I’m guessing it won’t be in Ivory Coast).

In July of 2009, Cameroon appointed perhaps the most interesting of the [actual] coaches so far mentioned, Frenchman Paul Le Guen, who played a major role in turning Olympique Lyon into a dynasty in French football. He established a reputation at Lyon for good football with resources far smaller than those at other European top clubs. Furthermore, he coached a number of immensely talented players (many of them African) and helped springboard their careers at bigger clubs.

In comparison, Ghana go WAAAAAY back with coach Milovan Rajevac, who has been with them since all the way back in 2008. Amazingly, he did not get the axe despite coming in 2nd place at the African Cup of Nations.

We shall see in the coming days how the Hiddink acquisition pans out (no doubt some interesting transactions will be taking place, considering he is still under contract with the Russian Federation). In all of this, it is a tad disheartening to see the reliance on coaches that apparently have had little or nothing to do with a nation’s football. In some cases, a coach might have a past triumph under his belt (as in Pareira), but in others (especially Lagerbeck) one wonders whether getting a mere European name is better than finding a true match for a national team’s football.

The idea of the foreign coach has been slowly adopted even outside of Africa; even England have turned to the [zzzzzz] Swede Sven Goran Eriksson and in 2010 will be lead by Italian Fabio Capello (Italian for “Fabulous Hair”). In 2004, Greece won the European Championship with a German coach, Otto Rehhagel . Though now that you think about it, there haven’t been all that many foreign coaches at the world stage with such success.

originally posted at the Soccer Politics blog

An article by Jonathan Wilson in the Guardian today asks an interesting question for those of us who grew up in an era in which West African football was the realm of skilled artists such as Abedi Pele, George Weah, Roger Milla, and exciting teams like the “original” Nigerian Super Eagles who played swashbuckling, imaginative football. In a piece that starts out by discussing Egypt’s tactical formation (very interesting as well), he goes on to ask:

So where have Africa’s creators gone?

That then raises the issue of where the creators have gone; why west Africa has, in a generation, not produced a player like Jay-Jay Okocha or Abedi Pele. Okocha blames the attempt to impose discipline and adopt a “European model”, but that has not prevented European nations from producing gifted creators. Manchester United’s scout in Africa, Tom Vernon, who runs an academy in the hills above Accra, suggests that the fault lies partly with European clubs, who tend to have what he terms “the Papa Bouba Diop template” in mind. The African players who have succeeded in Europe in the past have usually been big and robust, and so clubs look only for something similar. Players called up by European clubs at a young age develop faster and have a higher profile, and so it is they who make it into the national team.

Indeed, a superficial survey of some of the West African players in leagues like the Premier or the Primera División of Spain will confirm this tendency; robust, very physical, big players often placed into combative roles. Think Essien and Mikel at Chelsea, Toure Yaya and Keita at Barcelona, Abou Diaby and Song at Arsenal, M. Diarra at Real Madrid, and so on. Even African players, like Drogba at Chelsea, who play in other positions seem destined to rely on their athleticism and power; in very few instances do you see a “creator” or creative midfielder from Africa.

Of course, fans of football are no strangers to stereotyping, often of racial nature, when it comes to players at the international and club level. In England, there are stereotypes of what nationalities will succeed and which ones won’t. In England and Spain, there is an obsession with West African hard-working midfielders, yet there are few Italians (though you will find West Africans in Italy). You see a crop of Brazilians in Spain yet they are seen as difficult to adapt to England. And so on and so on.

The idea, though, becomes interesting when one starts to wonder to what extent such ideas influence the way a team thinks of itself. There is no doubt that racism towards West Africa (and elsewhere) exists, that European clubs are looking for their “Makelele” or other player willing to do the unglamorous, slavish dirty work so that their starlets may thrive. But how does this affect the way a national team, for example, envisions its own football?

Manchester United’s scout, quoted in the article, readily admits that players in these African national teams are often in a hierarchy related to who plays abroad and where. When you have such an economic force as European club football drawing up players from Africa to play in roles determined by the European footballing imagination, what impact is that going to have on the national teams?

The scout, Tom Vernon, goes on to speculate that the way kids play on the street in Ghana might have something to do with it, as in his opinion playing on tiny pitches forces them to “play through the middle” and sacrifice creative wing play. Of course, anyone familiar with Brazilian football, to cite just one example, can write that off as nonsense. In Brazil, one can witness football being played just about anywhere there is flat ground, regardless of space. The greatest players from there have hailed from inner-city squatter ghettos where space is at a premium; it is precisely that lack of space that is a driving impetus for imagination and creativity.

In the case of Brazil, these players seem to transform when they put on their yellow jersey to be a part of the seleção; while the commentators during this upcoming World Cup might talk about the Brazilian footballing blood in their veins, I would say to think about the culture built into the minds of these players. Players of diverse racial backgrounds who are playing under the idea of being Brazilian, in a culture that deifies anything related to the supposed jogo bonito, the Brazilian “beautiful game.”

Naturally, anyone who has witnessed football under Dunga, especially in ‘94, knows that the Brazilian national game can be anything but beautiful, and that their best results are the fruit of grim determination, discipline, physicality, and efficiency even more than artistry. The Brazilian team of today emphasizes this even more clearly, as Dunga coaches them into South Africa.

For the African teams in South Africa in 99 days, success will be a measure of how well they can overcome the typecast images of themselves that dominate their football history. It will be a test of how this idea of hard-working journeymen playing on chaotic, disorganized African teams can be overturned and how new ideas can be formed. To the extent that these are external, cultural ideas, accumulated and enforced through the brutal economics of football, one can say that it will take something truly special to pull it off.

And yet, from time to time we see teams overcome the burden of history to change the course of their destiny. Most recently Spain, in 2008, overcame the “perennial overachievers” tag to capture their first senior international triumph in 44 years. Last summer, the USA very nearly pulled off a worldwide shockwave by going up 2-0 against feared and revered Brazil in the Confederations’ Cup final, before falling victim to their own tactical naïveté (though the second American goal will live long in my memory as perhaps the finest counterattacking goal I’ve ever seen).

For many (myself included), the first African World Cup will be a fascinating stage on which some of the dominant myths of international football could well be overturned. I, for one, wonder if it will be a time for players like Essien and Toure Yaya to break their shackles as huffing-and-puffing defensive midfielders and play to their true potential as creative, imaginative geniuses that I know they can be.

originally published at the Soccer Politics blog

The whole army of Spanish media outlets has been splashed with this bit of news, regarding the facebook page of suspected ETA members–ETA being, for those unfamiliar with Spain, the Basque separatist-terrorist group responsible for thousands of acts of violence since their establishment during the Franco dictatorship. From sports dailies such as AS to Marca, to dailies such as El Mundo and even regional papers like La Voz de Galicia, most everyone had a shot at this piece.

The story stems from a photo on a facebook profile of one of the suspected terrorists, Jon Rosales, along with another suspected member, Adur Aristegi, in which both are wearing new Spanish national team jerseys and are posing with a third person also wearing the jersey. Underneath the image, a comment from Rosales saying “WE CAN DO IT” ["Podemos"].

The intrigue begins at the hour of deciding upon whom the joke has actually fallen. The mainstream media seems to interpret the situation as a one showcasing the comical ineptitude of modern-day ETA. The fact that terrorists would have facebook pages is being presented as a hallmark of the stupidity of the terrorists (though we really know that we should be suspicious of those amongst us who don’t have a facebook page).

I lament the fact that so many of the aforementioned media sources overlook the richest piece of evidence here: the photo itself. In it, the two suspects appear to be having fun–whether they are aware of their irony or not. Are they cheering for Xabi Alonso? Reveling in the glorious past of the Clemente era, when Spain were coached by a proud and impossibly red-faced chain smoker who happened to be Basque?

Those of us who remember the Clemente era will now light up in a frenzy of conspiracy theories. Maybe ETA long-ago penetrated the “Roja”in an attempt to sabotage Spain’s chances in the World Cup? Of course! That would explain Spain’s ignominious 1998 failure at the hands (literally) of Andoni Zubizaretta (cue similarities with Fabianski’s own goal yesterday). And the absence of Basques in the Euro 2008 starting lineup would explain why Spain did so well (though this aspect invites the possibility of a Catalan conspiracy to take over Spain through it’s tiki taka football).

Back to the photo: so are they being sarcastic here? If so, this is a pretty long way to go to be sarcastic. Walking into a store, befriending the clerk, trying on jerseys, all at the same time (what coordination!), hamming it up for the camera. It seems like one of those jokes that is intrinsically sick because it is more the playing out of a true fantasy than the dismissal of some idea (in this case, that Basque separatists could secretly love Spain).

And even more questions: did they actually end up buying the jerseys? (I wonder if ETA would fund such a thing in such economic times when the pirated versions are so much cheaper). Even more importantly, do ETA followers cheer for Xabi Alonso (a native Guipozcoan) when he plays for the national team?

Finally, it is worth mentioning one paper that didn’t include the news on the front page: Sport. Their headline: Guardiola wants to coach the national team. Which one? Well, Sport says loud and clear, he doesn’t say!

Guardiola in Sport

Coincidence or not: the people who arrested the ETA members were, of course, Catalans from the mossos, Catalunya’s regional, autonomous police force.

Discuss!

That Kusturica’s documentary Maradona, chronicling perhaps world football’s biggest personality, begins with shots of the director playing his guitar at a concert, is telling. Introduced by his band as “the Maradona of the guitar,” it is clear, in retrospect, that what comes after is as much a defense of Kusturica as much as it is about the greatness of Maradona.

And this undertone is not surprising, considering the infamy preceding Kusturica–often accused of being a Milosevic idolizer and apologist for the Yugoslav civil war (not to mention the accusations of genocide that go hand-in-hand with it). To give some idea, Slovenian theorist and talking head Slavoj Zizek (evidently, not a fan of Kusturica’s) dedicates a chapter called “The Poetics of Ethnic Cleansing” to Kusturica’s films in his book The Plague of Fantasies.

A subtle moment presents us with this reality: when Maradona comes to visit him in Serbia, Kusturica’s voiceover relates his imperial indignation (specially relating to the Falklands/Malvinas war in which Argentine forces were pummeled by the British) to that of NATO bombing his own country. This feeling of injustice, of being hard done by thanks to the international conspiracy, is a thread uniting Emir and Diego, though, as we see during the film, the footballer’s case is quite a bit more compelling; rather than apology, Maradona shoots from the hip in his clearly stated ideology.

The larger than life Maradona speaks at length about his political stance, especially against imperialism. In some stirring scenes, he speaks before hundreds of thousands in the streets of Buenos Aires at an anti-globalization rally, alongside Evo Morales, Hugo Chávez (who chants Maradona to the riled-up crowd) and other South American leftist leaders. He tells of his audience with Fidel Castro, and his admiration for Che and the Cuban Revolution, his love for Cuba, and his adoration of the proletariat, all with convincing authenticity.

Yet at the same time, there are moments of ambiguity. At one point, Maradona, chatting with a panel, mentions his [now ex-]wife (also in the room), saying “I’ve always been the better looking of the pair.” One is left wondering if we are before a moment of humorous self-deprecation, or whether the man who admits he is God means it. At another point, in a one-on-one interview with Kusturica, he urges the interviewer to “image what I could have been if it weren’t for the cocaine.” Having seen plenty of glimpses of his personality, you wonder if the cocaine was an essential part of his wildly ego-centric character on the field, and if he wouldn’t have been the same, brilliant footballer without being locked in the spiral of self-absorption fueled by substance abuse. Or would he have taken Argentina to even more World Cup glory, or S.S.C. Napoli to European dominance?

At another point in the film, he actually expresses his regret for cocaine and substance abuse, if only because it kept him from being a better father to his two daughters. At the same time, he directly blames the fact that he was caught on conspiracies (quite believable, considering the recent history of Italian football institutions and the farcical refereeing scenes at the 2002 World Cup). His first big drug suspension came in 1991–the year after he knocked Italy out of the World Cup, their World Cup, played in Italy, which, according to “God,” was rigged for Italy to win. His 1994 suspension at the World Cup (for ephedrine use,which he claims resulted from an energy drink) was, according to him, the will of João Havelange, FIFA president at the time, and a supporter of Pelé (naturally, both Brazilians).

This latter face of Maradona, that of the unrepentant, unapologetic, regret-less revolutionary who fights a war against the power structures that try to control the world, is the most endearing face of his. The throngs of fans who follow his every move, who mob him when he returns to Naples just to get a glimpse of him, who founded the Church of Maradona, create a cult of personality whose beginning and end are confused by the infectious stardom of D10S (Dios). This godlike apparition seems to perpetuate itself.

Soon after his return home from one of his health issues, thousands gathered in the street to cheer him while he appears like the Pope at his apartment balcony–though he is a spiritual leader for them, he also appears like a God. The masses begin to chant his name rhythmically in a stadium song, and Maradona, Dios himself, bounces up and down, dancing at the will of his people like a fat little puppet. In a day and age where liberal, secular, democracy rules the “first world,” the worship of Maradona hearkens back to a time when it was believed that human intervention could convince the gods, when a dance could conjure rain or a curse could sow disorder.

It is at this interstice of reason, this space of unrestrained megalomania, that the cult of Maradona makes more sense than ever. Beyond criticism, beyond political correctness, beyond self-regulation and biopolitics, we are presented with a figure who poses a refreshing, empowering, and revolutionary alternative. At the same time, between the lines, we see the shadows of another figure from this similar vein, and we cannot help but be wary of what accompanies it, from the killing fields of Yugoslavia, to the chaos of the Argentine national team under Maradona.

Has Raymond Domenech become a mere symbol as France’s national team coach?

That is what people are wondering, as France reaches do-or-die time in the struggle to obtain a World Cup playoff berth. Much-criticized French coach Raymond Domenech has been more than under fire since as far back as 2006, when a resurgent Zidane, along with fellow veterans Thuram, Makelele, Vieira, et al, led France to the final. What followed was the all-too telling moment when Zidane’s headbutt and dismissal led to the crumbling of any French hope.

Domenech has had bust-ups with a number of major players through the years, and has, to understate things, a poor sense of timing (at some point it was discussed here that he proposed to his girlfriend on live tv after France’s humiliating elimination from Euro ‘08). There appears to be a perpetual coaching void, as the French Federation has inexplicably kept 100% faith in him despite a lack of good results, poor form, and the lack of support from fans, star players, and subs alike.

A recent Guardian article goes so far as to call Domenech a “puppet” coach. Just a day before, the same paper reported Henry saying the team had no direction. Now Real Madrid striker Karim Benzema is joining in on the fun, putting his lack of motivation on display.

A sigh of relief for Domenech as the very latest buzz about him has to do with a new hit song–starring him as the theme. Former porn star turned rocker Catherine Ringer sings about him in Je kiffe Raymond (“I fancy Raymond”). You can read more on that here. Interestingly, she sings that “one golden result” and everyone will love him again. Naturally, we can’t read her mind to tell if she is being serious or facetious.

Returning to Benzema, he is not to be contented with disrespecting authority on the international level. He evidently had a hissy fit upon being substituted against Sevilla in Real Madrid’s 2-1 loss at the weekend. He took a moment to rant against Raúl González, long-time Madrid golden boy, and Manuel Pellegrini, the Madrid coach. Evidently he believes he should play 100% of the time, no matter how badly he is doing. And he was pretty bad on Sunday.

And back to the idea of the puppet coach. Everyone knows that Real Madrid have set records this summer in money spent on Cristiano Ronaldo, Kaká, Benzema, Xabi Alonso, and Raúl Albiol. Naturally, the president, construction magnate of shady associations Florentino Pérez, wants all of his new toys on display alongside a symbol of madridismo such as Raúl (remember his old policy, quite ridiculed, of Zidanes and Pavones?).

Sadly for anyone hoping that real football could emerge here, an excellent coach is being exposed as a mere puppet. Pellegrini, a Chilean, guided modest club Villarreal FC, with little history and hailing from a town of a mere 48,000 people, to unprecedented heights. In his time there, he led them to high-table finishes and Champions’ League appearances (including a semifinals appearance), playing some of the best team football in Spain and Europe. Of course, he did so as a true coach, exerting authority where needed, even exiling the Villarreal superstar Juan Román Riquelme back to Argentina for insubordination. He has already been called in for a “special meeting” with his bosses, the Sporting Director and Director General of Madrid. That must be very comforting for a coach, to know that his bosses care so much about him that they want to “help him find out what went wrong,” since it is obviously his fault.

We shall see what transpires at Real Madrid, a club with a history of firing even coaches who win major titles (Jupp Heynckes got the axe after winning the CL in ‘98, Vicente Del Bosque got the axe the day after winning the title [he coached Madrid to 2 Champions' Leagues]).

What is certain is that Benzema might be hoping for the same influence for France that players get to wield at Real Madrid. And of course, it is pretty clear that such a thing is not always good for football.

Wow, what a game. Interesting, a friend of mine, a big Premier League follower and Arsenal fan, was not impressed by what he called a “sloppy game.” To the contrary! I observed an intentionally open game, thanks to Sevilla’s tactical plan. Rather than sloppiness, I observed a directness that is characteristic of the best Spanish football, one that is arrived at through carefully executed strategy. “Vertical” backs, fast play down the wing via Perotti and Navas (Lord, let him overcome his travel fears), deadly finishing from players like Luis Fabiano (who surprisingly did not score), deep runs from the holding midfielders.

Perhaps with Him (TM) on the field, things would have been different for Real Madrid, though it might have created a total kamikaze match, with black jerseys trying to keep up with the galloping Portuguese and white jerseys hitting break after break. Sevilla were simply hungry. And good.

One thing that probably merits some more attention is the sheer inadequacy of Sergio Ramos to deputize in any defensive capacity. Attackers pass through him like ghosts (much like through Marcelo) and leave him with a horse-like expression of blankness on virtually every attack. In Euro 2008, almost every goal Spain allowed was through a Sergio Ramos error (see the ‘09 Confederations Cup as well).

Against Sevilla, former club of his heart, he might as well have sat on the sidelines, munching pipas, drinking at the botellón, catching up with his cani pals from Er Barrio. Truth be told, it seems like the only time when he actually looked good was when he played with Sevilla, where he floated from a central defensive role to come forward and join the wing-attacks as an occasional target man.

Which brings me back to the annoying pigeonholing of footballers today–players being kept in positions as if they were genetically determined to be, say, right attacking fullbacks, or left-sided holding midfielders. I put part of the blame of Sergio Ramos’s sloppy mistakes upon his coaches and others who are unable to envision him in other spots on the field. Why not unleash him in midfield to take advantage of his speed and attacking tenacity? Give him some chances to defend but don’t count on him as a “defender?”

In the end I think this tendency in football to not demand versatility from all players is a sad mistake. For Real Madrid and Spain fans, I think that, naturally, this is going to result in many more sad mistakes from Sergio Ramos.

As a bizarre anecdote to conclude these musings, the GolTV Spanish language announcers went on a somewhat homophobic rant about Sergio Ramos allegedly posing for a Spanish gay magazine, Shangay. I would say that this is a rather progressive move by football to enter into every possible market.

When Spain won Euro 2008, “tiki’taka” became a popular buzz word in the Spanish sports press. They were referring to the selección’s style of quick, short, incisive passes–a possession game based on high-pressure in the midfield and near the opposing area, a defense playing far forward, a style based on control and calculated effort.

In fact, this style, as we could intuit from footage of World Cup ‘74, has many similarities to the Dutch style that was christened as “total football” and honed by Rinus Michels and the great Johan Cruyff. Indeed, Cruyff went to Barcelona in 1973, and his legacy there involves his identification with the Catalan cause, one of resentment towards the dictator Franco and his Spanish nationalist politics. By 1973, Franco was of ill health, and the question of succession and continuation of the dictatorship was raised; the political climate was increasingly tense. You could imagine the statement Cruyff made when he named his son Jordi, a Catalan name, as well as the name of Catalonia’s patron saint.

His legacy did not end as a player–he led Barcelona to  their first title in 14 years in just his first season. He also came back as a coach in 1988, and went on to become their most successful coach, leading them to their first Champions League (then known as the European Cup). Though he left in acrimonious circumstances, bearing the dislike of an unpopular president and vowing never to coach again, a seed was planted in Barcelona–one of total football.

Though total football is in many ways impossible to completely define, many of its modern characteristics have to do with the “Barcelona” school of playing, a philosophy that  extends beyond the stadium as well. Extensive youth set-ups, an important inheritance from the Dutch, play a major role; FC Barcelona even has its own boarding school, La Masía, for young players. Fans can be owners (socios) and participate in club elections. It is a model of self-sufficiency, what you might call sustainability–rather than having sponsors, they might be the only team in the world that pays their charity “sponsors” (UNICEF).

In 2009, as in 2006, Barcelona’s tiki-taka total football won the Champions’ League in style, often overcoming physical, fast, and direct teams with the dizzying, controlling style favored by Cruyff and his own former coach Michels. The style is identified as central to Barcelona’s otherness. Rather than buy galácticos, they “make” them through a system that launches individual brilliance while maintaining tactical unity. Messi is a perfect example of this, while pillars of the team such as Xavi have consistently been some of the world’s best players. Now we can talk about the dynamic Iniesta, the much-maligned yet steadfast Víctor Valdés, or a player dubbed “Piquenbauer” thanks to his silky defending and willingness to attack, Gerard Piqué.

Interestingly, the coach of the current team, Josep Guardiola, was a pupil of Cruyff’s, and was a central figure in the ‘92 team. 1992 was, as an aside, year of the Barcelona olympics, launching Barcelona, and Catalunya, into the world’s consciousness. Barcelona continues to be, as it was in the Franco years, a symbol of Catalan difference, a bastion of “resistance” to the centralist option of Real Madrid, “mes que un club,” as they say.

In 2008, the tiki-taka, its foundations well put down by Cruyff and company, went to Europe, as the backbone of the Spanish national team featured Barcelona players. Xavi was the midfield reference and was named player of the tournament, with decisive assists (including one for Fernando Torres in the final) and leading possesion splendidly. Carles Puyol had the summer of his life in the center of the defense. Andrés Iniesta was a catalyst for Spanish attacks–producing the type of displays that have led people as different as Wayne Rooney and World Cup-winning Argentine coach Cesar Luis Menotti to call him the best player in the world. In the post-2008 era we can count on Gerard Piqué, already the leader of the Spanish defense, as well as the maturing Sergio Busquets to be important starters on theselección. And it’s only a matter of time before younger stars like Pedrito make their impact internationally (let’s also not forget ex-Barça players such as Francesc Fábregas).

Mes que un club: “More than just a club,” a way of life, a system. And to think: the 2009 Champions’ League winning team was the first Barcelona team to do it, without a single Dutchman on the field.