Good morning, galernaut friends. In the end they have achieved it. On a day like today, we should be happy, excited at the prospect of a clash of many carats and maximum rivalry between ancient and immemorial rivals in the capital of the kingdom. But not. Maybe not. It turns out that the sensation is different. As the week goes by, The days that you play are all I am They have been sinking into a regretful concern due to the ultra shadow that hangs over the Metropolitano with everyone turning their ears and the League in its slipstream.
Total derby, yes. Totally insane. Totally tolerated by the asylum guards. We have gone from the chords of Total Challenge a Fear and Loathing in…the Metropolitan. When the Fear and Loathing It is in Las Vegas, as in the movie, everything is lysergic, stroboscopic and narcotic, the three pillars on which the average merengue will need to stand securely tonight so as not to become like a basilisk before what nests in a certain depth of the Wanda.
In any case the Show must go on It’s clear that we have to sell the best League in the world, to Mbappé – who doesn’t play – the All-Star League and all that. It’s not going to be that they take away from us is World because the unfortunate Vini gets a Mississippi burn every day or the Williamses are reminded from time to time how their parents arrived in Spain. You know; Spanish sports journalism It is the best in the world, as a daring Felipe del Campo, he of the shame of good afternoon and good goalsand Spanish football sets, shines and gives splendor while sailing in a stormy sea of shit. We were done.
As the wise galernaut can appreciate, the dangerous edges that this meeting presents in the social sphere did not merit greater concern on the part of the front pages of the plateau, more concerned, as always, with covering up the outrages of the “team of the people and the best fans of Spain.” Very few, if not none except La Galerna, seemed to be concerned about the nauseating growing noise from the industry sector. mattressism determined to cover himself with glory in the dunghill of the bad one, the hard one, the give it all to me, daddy. Uncontrolled and violent.
We have seen distinguished Manitú opinion leaders parade promoting and making jokes about a campaign to go with a mask to the Metropolitan and thus – how clever – rant with a bar of insults, including a guttural primate scream, against the first one who passes by there , preferably Vinícius who, by the way, has been provoking everyone all week. We have seen how they have invented a campaign to pay tribute to Mono Burgos—precisely today—to utter in unison that jungle word that they like so much. Could it be the anniversary of when Germán, who by the way was fired from Movistar for saying that if not out for football Lamine Yamal would be at a traffic light, did he stick his head out of the sewers on Gran Vía with his club relegated to the second division? Since we cannot understand them (so much anger, so much hatred), maybe they also celebrate these things.
The jewel in the crown of this particular KKK of Hacendado was, however, taken by two eyesores conveniently denounced by La Galerna who stood in front of a webcam to promote this execrable campaign of racist harassment of Vinícius and who also had the foresight to do so flanked by two paintings with transvestite monkeys. In the end, it turned out like a pandemic, that sometimes some cave trolls that swarm our parts look prettier with a mask. With a muzzle, some would end up completely improving. This is the case.
Did the Central Lechera, the Madrid cavern, the printing presses and media controlled by Florentino react, as they did in so many other cases due to corporate social responsibility? No. They are disturbed by the mystical as this digital extract from the Marca pages demonstrates.
You are witnessing here, dear galernaut readers, both at the height of the anti-Madrid delirium that consumes and eats away at our neighbors and adversaries, and at the nonsense of someone who sells us the story as if it were a Buddhist story of Shaolin monks in the Himalayas. It turns out that this girl recognizes her Real Madrid status on Spanish Television and immediately the son of the satrap of Marbella and his compadre Henry Cherry prevent her from performing at the Wanda before the derby. “Karma” says the horny Marca editor. Karma! It will be Karma Barceló we understand.
This is anti-Madridism. Able to embrace anything, be it racist, homophobic, fascist, communist or anarcho-syndicalist, in order to (believe) erode his worst nightmare. We all have a friend, or a brother-in-law, turned into a humanoid who feeds on hatred of Real Madrid, we all have a friend, a graduate, a professional, a family man, honorable, honest and respectable who is greatly bothered by the noise of the Bernabéu and is who lives in the Tables. Well, with these oxen we have to plow.
Among so much poison, Barça and Sport had to come to make us smile. The first, to which Panenkism and its minstrels guessed a journey of 38 consecutive victories, due to the mess that took place in Pamplona and the second for defining that as a “flickada” in homage to our galernaut master of word games, Francisco Sanchez Palomares.
For its part, Mundo Deportivo, the newspaper of Godó, the Spanish great, describes the capital derby as an “emergency” clash.
Let’s hope we don’t end up there tonight or that, on the contrary, Madrid urgently leaves the field in the face of any execrable, vomitous and intolerable demonstration by the Atlético Front, those who encourage you to freak out, as long as they don’t stab people and throw people into the river. Walpurgis night is coming.
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