What was you, football? The opinion of José Manuel Quesada
What was you, football? I wonder once again. Years have passed and I see a rich football and orondo, but just health, and I do not like too. True love is lost and with it the tradition, to hit book, It has been scribbling.
Where are the long, lazy summers? We have tours and sickening market. Footballers rootless, equipment assignment form after transfer, Today the exotic is to have a player quarry. Neither victories in China or the United States to know that victory on penalties Teresa Herrera.
He is beginning the league, The victory was worth two points, matches were contested and there were no surprises. transistors lit., goals galore. The pool fuming, the winning ticket sought. No skin was moving so often, Today changes color and print, There are fluorescent and even waisted. Little remains of that swells beret and hype, Today fans with more add-ons that take visitors to the stadium.
I remember with some nostalgia concrete tier, standing and burst. Moats and fences, the smell of grass. That was the real football. They are now comfortable seats, Raging lighting and public address estrambótica, but the stadiums are empty. no longer care about you, your scarf or your flag. Now matter the viewer on the other side of the planet. What does it matter who sing or cheer, now matter more interactions Twitter!
I do not know for sure when he started this crazy race. I do not know if it was the Bosman law or SAD, the fact is that as the years were far ninety, perhaps the last special decade. custom and foreign handfuls lats but was still the Brand guide at home, signings in the PC Football Collecting stickers and children.
wacky hairstyles, full of tattoos but empty interviews and some selfie from the window. So now are the idols of this show, very moved away from that ball sport crowned.
The day ended with a week, a program compiled the goals of all parties and offered classification. Today starts on Friday and ends on Monday and sadly I watch from the television or on streaming four journalists who are fans of the performance.
What was you, football? What was the passion? Now I rub my eyes if Monday there is no match in my living room.