REAL MADRID
Few mintes before the Real Madrid versus Athletic Madrid cracker of a match starts this night, permit my musing.
I hear it is said in some quarters, let's see what Madrid can do today without Belligham.
Credit to Belligham for sure, for what a driving force he has been to that team at such a young age.
I may not have an answer to what those guys above say about Belligham's absence, but what I do know is that I miss Modric.
I miss the Modric of old, the attacking Modric, the probing Modric. The modric that will arrive late in the box like Lampard and like Belligham does now.
It is that Modric in the era of Coach Zinedine Zidane that I miss! That Modric had the license to attack regularly even through the wings. Yet as an English bred, he was solid in marking and tackles.
A lot of people look around that Madrid team and confess that Belligham has no proper replacement. Well I can't fault that conclusion. They see Modric and they say his legs are older and won't be able to be the Modric of old. I won't blame them for this conclusion.
However I'd say today, unleash the Modric of old. Why? I still think he can do what he did under Zidane. I think his body can withstand it.
You can never miss Belligham with the old Modric. Never! Does Madrid have alternatives? That's really not by business.
Call it something like my fetish, I just like to check something today– Modric playing in his good old very attacking midfield position.😉!
Give me Modric!
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Ofcourse as usual these days Modric didn't start, I was only wishing he does. Real Madrid won 2–1.
Then ESPN comes up with this literary sweet write-up on him, as he was introduced in the 2nd half.
Even at 38, even off the bench, Modric is a joy to watch
Maybe so. The tempo altered; Madrid's control of the ball changed. This much is true. But watching Modric is like watching withering, tired flowers on the edge of a desert being tickled back into life by autumn rain. When Madrid's 38-year-old magician strolled onto the pitch, it was like watching Robert De Niro take control of a film. Everyone knows that "the best" just took the stage, everyone knows that he's going to stand out and do, brilliantly, what he has done forever and ever. Everyone knows that those around are going to benefit from playing off him. Modric breathed new life through every single player in a white shirt. Instead of hoping that they were in the right place, praying that they were going to receive a good pass, they knew. Real relaxed in a good way: good vibrations throbbed through them as if the 1967 Beach Boys had just hit the recording studio -- everyone simply started doing the simple things well, more quickly, with more confidence and more efficiency. It's not necessarily always spectacular, but watching it is soothing. You know that a superior power is acting, you know that it was right to have faith, and you can see that the congregation believes again. Back and forward Modric trotted, faithfully giving and receiving, receiving and giving. Adding class, marking out the beat ... showing everyone, without a "tut tut" or a frown, how it should have been all along. Modric the marvel. How lovely it was to watch him preaching his football gospel. ```-- Hunter