Whoever wants it the most wins

We should start thinking about naming Atlético-Barça and vice versa with some nickname that does them justice. They don't reach the level of the classics, but it is urgent to invent something. Things always happen, morbid ingredients abound and goals are guaranteed. There were three this time, but there could have been more. Barça emerged victorious on this occasion, limping in the first half and powerful in the second, favored by its ambition and by the lack thereof of its opponent, who dedicated itself to protecting its minimal advantage instead of trying to expand it when it could, something that is part of Simeone's genes. They idolize him there, so it's better not to get involved.

It was Fermín, who looks German, is Andalusian and grew up in La Masia, who tipped the balance with two spanks of his own. De Jong, the vilified one, also influenced the change of scenery. He came on after the break as an emergency right back and, since he had Baena in front of him and not a fast winger (it was a good idea not to look for him there), he helped organize his team, even more so when he returned to midfield as a natural destination. Its 45 minutes acquired the height of a recital. Everything flowed and improved around him. It is surprising the level of rejection that a footballer of his quality concentrates in Barcelona, ​​beyond his defects, but there are people with their phobias.

Redemptions

If we can talk about the path to redemption in the case of the Dutchman, we cannot say the same about Julián Álvarez with whom his people were. The Argentine's game was a calamity. The Metropolitano, a stadium without tourists who make the wave at the wrong time, moves and moves like the fields of before, so his relationship with the Argentine is worse today than yesterday and better than tomorrow, with no means of solution. Barça, the club the forward wanted to go to, won its first big game of the season, so he will go into the break more leader and calmer, leaving a scene of which he is no longer a part to rot. Football is cruel and does not look back.

But everything must be said. Barça emerged unscathed from a first half in which they played with fire for half an hour, as if they did not feel faithful to themselves without suffering for a long time. The reasons were the usual ones when that happens. A thin center of the field, the forward off the hook and the defenders sticking their tongues out of their mouths at the rival attacks, who see 40 meters of land to be built and get excited as if they were employees. Gordon, without the ball, is not the boar they sold us, Cancelo was wrong when measuring the relationship between space-time countless times and Bernal, as in Paris, looked slow and disfigured. Atlético and its players, who have them although they hide them (Baena and Barrios on the inside and Grimaldo and Llorente, more limited, on the wings), enjoyed several opportunities. They put one in, but first they had another very clear one that didn't go in because Julián Álvarez, as has already been said, acted as an infiltrated double agent. The Argentine was already whistled by his own people before starting when the lineups were played over the public address system and, more alone than ever before Joan Garcia, he ended up bending his legs, deviating from the play like Groucho Marx when he wanted to disappear from the world. Then he tried to correct himself with the 1-0 pass, but it sounded like nothing, especially because after the break he botched it again in similar circumstances.

In that phase of the match, Barça was already in control, led by Fermín, De Jong and the fine left foot of Lamine Yamal. Flick's men wanted to win and Simeone's men did not want to lose. Not always, but justice is usually done when those who want it most win.