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falling in love is hard on proper sleep schedules.
People love (hate, follow, are intrigued by, obsess over, it's all the same) Serie A because of the culture and the politics and its inherent screwed-up-ness, the crooked officials and the ultras and the violence and glory and grit, the myths and all the myriad nets of power, the way you really cannot understand Italian football without getting a proper grip on what Italy looked like at the time the football was being played; and people love (hate, follow, see above) the Premier League because of the glitz and the ruthlessness and the way football is how emotions are expressed and so of course they end up being expressed in the worst possible way, the we-invented-the-game pride and that football isn't religion because religions die; and I love (follow, at any rate) them both but there is La Liga, and for me nothing beats La Liga. (Please let's not bring up the World Cup. The World Cup doesn't count. It's the World Cup.)
La Liga means Barcelona and Real Madrid spending more money in a transfer zone than your average Third World country does in a year while everyone else complains about the league waiting on the Big Two on the field and off, means referees that are better at keeping people's teeth on edge than at keeping games sensible and club officials just as prone to tabloid-worthy antics as the players, means show tricks and the hope that this year might be the year someone else walks away with the title and that hope all but disappearing after the first nine games. La Liga is Barcelona and its mes que un club pretension and its sheer stubborn faith in its own goodness, is Real Madrid and its galacticos and the way El Clasico will always be presented as a battle of principles, is indebted Valencia and Atletico whose season ticket sales doubled after they were relegated and the way Villareal can win five games in a row and not be noticed by anyone. It's 4-1 scorelines on a regular basis and people complaining when Barcelona wins things because they're not winning well enough.
It means emotion, of course, and theatrics, of course, and prestige speaking louder than actions, of course of course, and it boils down to the fact that in La Liga, nothing is ever done by halves. The good are very good, the relegated are very relegated, and nobody doubts that everything will go down in history, somewhere. It's the telenovela for all seasons, amorality to a degree that is almost comical and egos that can carry countries and clubs that switch managers after every loss and history, always history. And how much of that love is Spanish conditioning over a century after the Spanish left the Philippines I have no idea, but it's my league, whether or not it's because it reminds me of home is something for another day. And I haven't even mentioned the tabloids. Thank goodness.
La Liga means Barcelona and Real Madrid spending more money in a transfer zone than your average Third World country does in a year while everyone else complains about the league waiting on the Big Two on the field and off, means referees that are better at keeping people's teeth on edge than at keeping games sensible and club officials just as prone to tabloid-worthy antics as the players, means show tricks and the hope that this year might be the year someone else walks away with the title and that hope all but disappearing after the first nine games. La Liga is Barcelona and its mes que un club pretension and its sheer stubborn faith in its own goodness, is Real Madrid and its galacticos and the way El Clasico will always be presented as a battle of principles, is indebted Valencia and Atletico whose season ticket sales doubled after they were relegated and the way Villareal can win five games in a row and not be noticed by anyone. It's 4-1 scorelines on a regular basis and people complaining when Barcelona wins things because they're not winning well enough.
It means emotion, of course, and theatrics, of course, and prestige speaking louder than actions, of course of course, and it boils down to the fact that in La Liga, nothing is ever done by halves. The good are very good, the relegated are very relegated, and nobody doubts that everything will go down in history, somewhere. It's the telenovela for all seasons, amorality to a degree that is almost comical and egos that can carry countries and clubs that switch managers after every loss and history, always history. And how much of that love is Spanish conditioning over a century after the Spanish left the Philippines I have no idea, but it's my league, whether or not it's because it reminds me of home is something for another day. And I haven't even mentioned the tabloids. Thank goodness.
Nice title