Below is my translation of the
sublime article on Real Murcia’s draw at Real Madrid Castilla last weekend,
written by Luis María Valero for the blog Mondo Moyano. Such a historic feat,
first ever team to be behind, with just 9 men, an hour to play and still
get a point, deserved an article like this.
If it had been the usual robbery, one
of the many we have suffered in the last few years, we would have done our
habitual swearing and turn the page. But when we are looking at a type of theft
without precedent, unheard of for its unquestionable creativity, we need to
stop and try to find an explanation. We elaborate a theory: José Ramón Piñeiro
Crespo (the referee), an engineer from Asturias, 32 years old, is just another
man in this valley of tears, with his ego, his miseries, his weaknesses and his
temptations. He arrives at the ground of Real Madrid’s reserve side, and is
almost certainly greeted by a Butragueño or similar, who treats him with
exquisite courtesy, and shows him around the ultra-modern Valdebebas installations.
Whatever you need, José Ramón. No need to tell him anything else. It’s Real
Madrid’s reserves, bottom of the table and visited by a club in decline, a
nobody, that in summer the members of the league saved from relegation to
Segunda B by one miserable vote, and about whom the last he read said are broke
and unable to pay the taxman. Murcia are mid-table, and, he thinks, don’t
really need the points, whilst the reserves of one of Spain’s two powerful
clubs is bottom and needs to win by whatever means. José Ramón knows perfectly
well that no Spanish referees’ career has ever been harmed by giving a helping
hand to one of the big two, in this refereeing meritocracy that has the same honesty
and transparency as the examinations for public office of 19th
century Russia. For that reason, José Ramón doesn’t care that in the history of
football there isn’t one single precedent of a straight red card to a player
for handball at 35 metres from goal.
“Now he will feel guilty and he’ll
compensate”, my father said, naively, after Alcalá was dismissed. I confess I
started to think the same. But José Ramón only wanted to finish what he had
started, and as soon as possible. Real Murcia, in addition, had the insolence
to resist; refusing to be the perfect martyr, and even went ahead with Kike’s
goal. The system, incarnated in a small, grey man, of obtuse appearance and
crude manner, could not tolerate such a rebellion; he should suffocate it as an
example. Therefore, after Castilla equalized, José Ramón’s final punishment
came, blowing for a non-existent penalty against Álex Martínez. That decision
was already harmful enough, but the idea to show another red card, leaving Real
Murcia with 9 men after just 30 minutes, can only be born of a tyrannical
fantasy that would shock the government of North Korea. At that moment I felt,
at the same time, the need to: turn of the telly; cry; call the Police; shout
from my window; paint my face with the blood of a pig, go out deranged and
stone a bank; forget about football for ever. In the meantime, La Sexta (the
channel who televised the game) asked us to be calm, and to think that the
referees had already harmed Castilla this season, and that we should happily
accept our sacrifice. This also forms part of the systems crushing procedure:
whilst they push the pillow over your face, they whisper to you that it’s for
your own good. So Real Murcia didn’t even have a voice in the commentators to
condemn the scandal. That is the absolute strength of the powerful; they also
control the repercussions. You have to think that when it concerns one of the
big two, they can’t call things as they are without telephones ringing. And
also, who cares about Real Murcia? Defend Murcia, us? No, man. They should be
defended by their own miserable losers.
All was going to the regimes plans,
who were preparing to ask us to disperse, there was nothing to see. But then
our own anti-system from San Miguel appeared, he who lives apart from the rules,
knows no mandate other than to serve the club until the end, and who knows no
fear. When Acciari saw that the giant of the system raised itself and advanced
slowly and confidently towards us, he not only didn’t capitulate, he stood firm
and prepared his slingshot and his stone. What a game José Luis (Acciari), and
what a goal, just when it looked impossible. How many more lessons are you going
to give us? Seeing him celebrate the goal, radiant, like a kid, enjoying the
moment without thought of the 40 minutes of agony ahead to hold the result, almost
made me ashamed for not having believed that these players, led by José Luis,
could do it. “Heroes”. That was on one of the banners that the fans held in the
small hours as they received the team at the Nueva Condomina, and that is the
best description, because a hero is anyone that stands up to the system and
even beats it. Heroism is what our players showed for 65 minutes we played with
9 against 11, during which time the result was 0 – 1 in our favour. When the
end came, those present were silenced, astounded by the achievement. The giant
lay unconscious on the grass, and a thread of blood emerged from the corner of
his mouth. Then, with the calm of the chosen, José Luis approached, impregnated
a finger with blood, and tasted it. Kike interpreted the sign, jumped on the
giant, screamed a battle–cry, and took his scalp. Piñeiro Crespo ran to his
dressing room, the children of Castilla cried, and in the stands families fled
in terror. They had tried to mock Real
Murcia.
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