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