Fermín ends the ghost of the Metropolitano

In the match between Julián Álvarez and Raphinha, the star was Fermín López. His energy and success gave Barça a prestigious victory in the Metropolitano (1-2), which at least softens the setbacks against PSG (4-2) and in the classic (1-2) and defuses that fear of thinking that Hansi Flick's men were not up for great things. Time will tell, but beating Atlético, their kryptonite last year, is already a step forward. The opposite was for Simeone's team, who fell to third place and saw, for the second game in a row, how the balloon of the first minutes deflated resoundingly and their fans became desperate.

And it was an electric start. Within ten minutes as many things had happened as in some entire games. Atlético had a special plan to attack Barça and it turned out well. The Blaugrana tend to misalign in their pressure, penalized by the sides, with a kilometer of space between the winger and the full-back that allows the rival to gain time to build the play. And there is no team that has everything as automated as the red and white team, whose neurons show off Simeone's face. One or two touches, change of orientation and balls into space.

After a failed one-on-one by Julián Álvarez and a header from Pubill that Joan García repelled, the score was 1-0 in the Jesús de Miguel minute. There is no better tribute to the forward who died this week than to honor him with what he knew how to do best. Kang in Lee changed the game, Julián crossed into the heart of the area and Giuliano Simeone, unruly like few others, pushed it with his right foot. It was undetectable. It was minute 9.

There was no news of a Barça slow in circulation, amputated on the left wing by a Gordon and a Cancelo who were too absent and clumsy, thick inside with Raphinha obstructed. Only Pedri and Lamine, whom the Metropolitan already whistles at as if he were the great enemy, found clarity. The winger, a headache for Grimaldo, tried three times, but the 1-1 score was the work of Fermín López.

If you take off the Barça shirt and put the red and white one on him, he would be another Cholo soldier. A footballer with a German face and game, as small as he is strong as graphene, and with innate conditions for smelling blood. A drive by Pedri that got tangled in the area reached Fermín's left foot. In a nanosecond he put together an unappealable left-handed shot; impossible for Oblak, the least scored goalkeeper in the League. At 1-1 the break was reached. And Frenkie de Jong accelerated the pace on the green. And his entry broke any logic.

The Dutchman, always on everyone's lips for that balance that weighs performance, cost and opportunities, entered as a right back. It cannot be calculated to what extent this movement brought out the best in Barça or if Atlético ducked out of conviction, a routine that is bad business at the Metropolitano. But after three minutes Lamine had already stepped into the area three times and only Julián Álvarez, who again wasted another one-on-one and received a notable whistle, confirmed that Atlético was still beating. Cholo, practical like few others, brought out Sörloth to enhance direct play, while Christensen gave Barça more stability and Fermín put an end to the ghost of the Metropolitan.

There are few better partners for Lamine than the Andalusian. In one of those unmarkings, the one from Rocafonda found him. Fermín only had to pass the ball into the net, beating Oblak. He didn't even look at the goal. Someday he will explain what kind of GPS he has in his head.

In the game of bench strategies, Simeone's plan took half an hour and Flick rectified with risky decisions. Atlético threw themselves in desperation at the end, bringing out more midfielders than forwards to equalize the fight. But there was no way. They had lost control and judgment, in the hands of a Barça that won without suffering and that was able to score the third in an action by Gordon that Lamine did not finish off. The ball slept on De Jong's feet and Simeone's fussing.