Real Madrid beat Barça 2-1, in Barcelona. Mbappé scored in the 87th minute. Camavinga made the pass. That’s the match. It fits in two lines.
Then, after the game, came the words. José Mourinho said: “They came to our hotel and sang all day, so I couldn’t take my nap.” Then he added that he hadn’t had a nap, but he had beaten their team. And that he was giving them a big hug.
I read it at the chip shop, on Monday. I read it again. A manager’s nap had become news.
In 1980, that would never have happened. The manager slept, or he didn’t, and nobody asked. People asked for the line-up. He gave the line-up. We went home.
I’m not criticising. I’m comparing. Today a man wins a Clásico away from home, three minutes from the end, and what people remember is the hour he didn’t spend on his bed. Mbappé’s goal comes second. The hug comes third.
Note that I am in favour of the nap. I take mine every day at two, before the match when the match is at three, as it should be. Nobody sings under my window. My street is quiet. I haven’t beaten anyone in a long time.
Marcel, silly question, but in 1980, did the fans sing outside the hotel?
They sang at the ground. Standing. In the downpour. The hotel was for sleeping.
Still, Mourinho’s plan worked without the nap. A 2-1 win, in Barcelona. That is a problem for my generation: if the nap no longer helps win matches, I don’t know what I’m doing at two o’clock.
Well. It’s the times.
It’s true, we checked: Walfoot.
