Inter Milan 7 – Barcelona 6: The Match That Tears You into Tiny Conflicting Confetti Pieces

 

Crestfallen but not out. Image - FC Barcelona

I never knew it was possible as a man to be torn in so many different directions. At one moment, it was despair, then angst, then anger. Then hope took over and then came belief. When the third goal went in, my stream wasn’t working, but when I saw ‘Raphinaaaaaa’ on multiple Barca accounts, some in ALL CAPS, elation took its place.

If ever there was a moment in my life that I peaked with mirth, that was it. Have you ever felt that kind of unbridled joy so strong, so forceful, so breathtakingly beautiful, that it almost rips your heart out of your chest?

That was me.

But football, man, it will go to work on your emotions. It will stretch you thin with despair, fill you up with hope, drag you on the floor with rage and tear you apart with frustration. It will provide you shots of pleasure coupled with deep cuts of pain. It will create and etch deep inside you wonderful memories and all the same, also shove those dreadful memories down your throat and force you to swallow.

It will take you to the zenith of the human experience and shower you with endless gifts and good fortune. It will also take you into its hands and rip you up and scattered you around like confetti, this sport.

I was back to the reality of despair not long after. Of course, the previous joy was too raw, too unbridled, too much, to last long. Of course, Barcelona conceded a last-minute equalizer. Of course. Why did I even celebrate? Football doesn’t like it when you are a Barcelona fan and are enjoying things. Somewhere deep inside me, I knew, nay, I felt, because I don’t know the future, but I felt, even at 3-2 up, that a final twist was in the offing.

This match, after all, was an M. Night Shyamalan script - full of dumb plotlines, characters making some dumbfounding decisions, mistakes galore and course, twists that, in the context of the larger plot, don’t make any fucking sense. Like what do you mean that Ronald Araujo, the Thuram stopper, would so limply fall at the feet of Thuram? Such is the kind of nonsensical twists we are dealing with.

I still had some hope lapping somewhere in my emotional pit even at 3-3, and this team, this team, if ever there is something it can do, is give you hope. Because they have that belief. If they play football as if losing doesn’t exist, how would you explain them making a comeback in three successive games?

This isn’t a football team. This is something else, and whatever it is, come end of extra time, with the dagger firmly in our hearts following the killer blow, with the snake of Guiseppe Meazza finally taking a lethal bite, I was feeling pride, but also, anger, frustration, regret, you name every conflicting emotion known to man. I felt it.

Pride because at 2-0 down, they continued believing when I had long given up, making me look a fool. At half time, I posted on Twitter that I wanted them to fight and, at the very least, keep the scoreline respectable. They went ahead and did more than that. They rose from the ashes to level the game in a span of six minutes.

Anger because, some of the goals we conceded on both legs could easily have been avoided.

Frustration because, it was so close, yet so far. That elusive final, I could already feel the cold air of Munich beckoning.

Regret because, Barcelona had to play both legs without their two dependable fullbacks, Kounde and Balde. Having them in these two games would certainly have provided a balance that this team lacked and maybe increased their odds of winning.

That said, it truly was mind-blowing that the two stand-in fullbacks, Eric Garcia and Gerrard Martin, had outrageous performances that saw them combine to pull one back for Barcelona, Martin with the assist. Martin was to his tricks once again, swinging in a beautiful cross for Olmo to head home for 2-2.

I lost my head at this time. It felt surreal, and oddly peaceful, as if I had stepped into a Bob Ross painting. I was much calmer and optimistic. We had this! When Raphinha scored the third, I was in cloud nine. Where is this place?

Unfortunately, in this life, heartbreak is a must. When that equalizer went it, it was heart-shattering, yet oddly, to me at least, somewhat inevitable too. See, despair, always lurking.

This brilliant Flick team has encountered its first crushing blow after a spirited comeback. It is such losses that are soul-crushing for fans but are lessons for the young footballers unfazed by pressure. Sometimes it is not that sudden bite that hurts; it is the slow grinding of teeth, the feeling of them sinking deeper and deeper into your skin that leaves lasting damage.

The Players

Throughout the Champions League campaign, the Barcelona players have put in delightful performances, gallant and strong-willed comebacks. Right now, I feel immense pride in these brave players.

Pedri, Barcelona’s influential conduit, was at the heart of this team. It was through him that the courage of this team transmitted, waltzing through the defensive heart of Inter Milan and spraying passes through that black and blue wall with his usual precision and talent.

Frenkie De Jong, for so long a figure of frustration and derision, showed up in this tie, his spins in midfield, frustrating sometimes, were key in pulling Thuram or Lautaro out of position to open up passing lanes into midfield or out wide.

Lamine Yamal, that lavishly gifted young player, the young boy who is making grown men look like training cones, was his usual fleet-footed, arrogantly evasive self. He had me on the edge of my seat with each touch of the ball. Inter Milan at times had three men in his telephone booth. Yet he still managed to pull up grass and create danger. This isn’t a footballer. This is something galactic, an alien from another world, and I am glad he plays for a team I love dearly.

I recently described Gerrard Martin as a walking flaw but in the two previous games, he truly has stepped up and showed great character in both games, despite also showing his usual flaws in both games. At San Siro, in the first half, he was non-existent, but for the first 10-15 minutes of the second half, he seemed a man possessed. First, he set up Eric Garcia for the 2-1 goal then he got just the right amount of weight on his cross from the half space for Olmo to head home the equalizer.

I actually found myself consistently saying ‘pass to martin’ for a few minutes after that equalizer, such was his influence and impact at the time. He perhaps would be our wild card, I though, because you need the supporting cast to step up in ties such as these.

Eric Garcia, another player derided since his arrival in sunny Catalonia, had one of his best games for Barcelona. In fact, scratch that, this season has perhaps been his best in a Barcelona shirt. Whether it is in defensive midfield, at centre back or at right back, the nimble, easy-to-shove center back, has shown merit and bravery. Such players are great for the squad and Barcelona should consider themselves lucky to have him.

But not every player had this auric white spotlight of excellence shining on them for the entire game.

Wojciech Szczesny was in retirement before Barcelona called. He showed great promise when he started playing. Unfortunately though, he has chosen the worst time to look like the chain-smoking Polish pensioner that he is. In both ties against Inter, one or two goals could be put squarely on his shoulders, from not closing down shooting angles to reacting late to shots.

Ronald Araujo just hasn’t looked the part this season. Sure, he has been injured for much of it, he hasn't stamped his authority even when he has been trusted to play. Thuram easily turned him inside out like a dirty sweater in the build-up to Inter’s fourth goal of the evening, and, before that, he had let Acerbi easily slide home for the Inter equalizer.

So close, yet so far at the end.

Closing Thoughts

As for Inter, this was a performance of experience. Even after Barcelona equalized, I still did not feel any sense of panic in them. You know when a team experiences a setback and players begin finger-pointing and cursing? That didn’t happen with Inter after Barca pulled two back and even equalized. No. these wizened old men simply got back at it and kept going.

They aren’t elegant, Inter. But they did cut through Barcelona, not with razor-sharp precision, but with machete-edged blows – less finesse, more force.

Yet, I can’t help but still sparkle in pride at just how well Barcelona has done this season. If someone had told you as a Barcelona fan that they would finish second in the Champions League, float through to the semis, lead La Liga, and win the Copa Del Rey and Supercopa, would you have believed them? No, really, be honest?

What many of us had hoped for this season was for the team to give us thrilling, brain-melting, heart-warming football, and to show spirit. They have accomplished that and more! Even a few of the fringe players that had looked out of their depths in Xavi’s final season, suddenly look revitalized, arisen from those graves of waning potential.

All thanks to the great work that Flick, his coaching and medical team, have done. They surely have done a solid one on these group of players, not just physically, but mentally too. The comebacks have been too many to mention. Just two games ago, they made a comeback to win the Copa Del Rey - against Real Madrid! You don’t just wake up and win a title on Real Madrid’s head – unless of course, you are Barcelona.

This is not a team of losers, and they won’t start now! After all the frustration and anger of getting dumped out of the Champions League when we were only two and half minutes from the final has cascaded away, I hope we have the lucidity to look at this Champions League run as what it was – a return to form of a once revered champ, a return to being inspiring, to being exciting, to being feared and admired all at once, and of course, to being loathed by fans of some EPL teams for some reason.

Now, we hose off this defeat and head on to El Clasico!

Visca Barca!