Atletico conjure a 'miracle' but Madrid and Barcelona fail to sparkle

Posted Tuesday, January 05, 2010 by theguardian.com

Atletico conjure a 'miracle' but Madrid and Barcelona fail to sparkle
Atletico Madrid's captain, Antonio Lopez, centre, celebrates their second goal against Sevilla.

At night he tosses and turns but just can't sleep. Every time he shuts his eyes, Didier Drogba and Michael Ballack emerge from the shadows and rear up before him, invading his every thought, tormenting him, climbing inside his fragile conscience and confronting him with his sins. It is, he says, "a living hell". So traumatised is he by his failure to give Chelsea four penalties against Barcelona at Stamford Bridge during last season's Champions League semi-final, so guilt-ridden at his role in Barça's six-trophy haul, that he has taken refuge in a monastery. Forget Tom Henning Ovrebo, the Norwegian referee; whisper it quietly, type it carefully, but these days he is a monk by the name of Father Knut.

It was the Madrid-based sports daily AS that published Father Knut's sad, soul-searching story, complete with his plea for forgiveness. Alongside it, the photograph of the man who swapped his cards for a cowl; above it, the detail that gave the game away: the date. Spain's April Fools' Day. The story wasn't actually true. Just as Sport's revelation that Félix Millett, the man who admitted stealing over €3m (£2.7m) from the Catalan Choral Society, would be the new president of Barcelona wasn't actually true. And while Marca weren't making a special effort in much the same way as Betis owner Manuel Ruiz de Lopera doesn't make a special effort for Halloween, everyone else was – filling their pages with ludicrously far-fetched stories and outright lies.

Well, they had to fill them with something. Spain's April Fool's Day isn't in April. Known as the día de los santos inocentes, it apparently commemorates the slaughtering of every tiny tot in Bethlehem, so naturally it's commemorated with jokes and it falls on 28 December. Which is handy. Because while in England they keep on playing over Christmas, in Spain they debate whether they should keep on playing; whinge that they're bored; wonder which Latin American players will be late back (Leo Messi); eat defecating chocolate figurines; and sit about waiting for the football to start again. A little lie helps to pass the time.

For all the comedy stories, this year it took even longer to pass than normal. There weren't even that many of the traditional regional-national team matches: only Catalunya played. Crisis-ridden Real Zaragoza tried to fill the gap by changing presidents, falling out with and missing out on potential coach Víctor Muñoz and reluctantly sticking with caretaker José Aurelio Gay, who immediately snapped: "I need 11 players not eight and a half". Almería sacked Hugo Sánchez and gave a first division return, nine years later, to philosophical coach Juanma Lillo, who immediately declared: "I know why clubs sack managers: we lose. What I haven't worked out is why they sign us." But still it felt a bit flat; everyone was desperate to get back to the real thing, especially as the new year normally returns with a bang and the occasional wallop.

Not this time. At 6.30 on Sunday evening, Sporting Gijón and Málaga were drawing 2-2. But every other game was 0-0. Late goals gave Getafe a win that took them to seventh, Lillo a debut victory against doomed Xerez and Racing a win against Málaga. Immediately afterwards, Mallorca climbed into a Champions League place with a 2-0 win over Athletic Bilbao, their eighth successive home win. But it wasn't exactly exciting. The night before, a 93rd-minute winner for Nikola Zigic had given Valencia a 1-0 win over Espanyol. But, brilliant though the celebration was, team-mates hanging off the 6ft 7in Serb like a family of Underwoods trying to stop Jonah Lomu, that hadn't been much of a game either.

Nor, it's tempting to conclude, had any of them. By the time Jornada 16 closed with another 0-0 at 11pm on Sunday night, nine teams had failed to score; ten games had produced just 16 goals. Yes, Jermaine Pennant had almost scored a blinder and so had David Villa; true, Mallorca midfielder Borja Valero's pass for Aritz Aduriz was wonderful and Pedro Munitis's assist for Racing's Gonzalo Colsa was equally superb; sure, Javier Casquero earned Getafe's victory with a crashing finish and Grégory's goal for Sporting was as good a header as you'll see. But somehow, it was all so flat, a bit meh, a bit so what? There hadn't been a single away win. No one had scored more than two. Barcelona had only scored one. Real Madrid didn't even score – and the consequences were serious. On Sunday, Marca's cover declared: "New Year, New Leader"; on Monday it had changed to: "Champions can't make mistakes [like this]".

Madrid had been given their chance by the weekend's one outstanding performance: Villarreal's on Saturday night. Ernesto Valverde's side, who had confirmed their inevitable recovery by winning four from five, drew 1-1 at the Camp Nou and should have won. For the first time, Barcelona found themselves facing a team that competed for possession and they didn't like it. Pressing high rather than simply awaiting Barcelona's attack, and their fate, in silence, Villarreal left their opponents "with no air or space, like a fly trapped in a glass", as David Gistau put it. Fuster scored once but should have score thrice; the Madrid press claimed Villarreal had two blatant penalties turned down and they might have had a point about one of them; Zlatan Ibrahimovic, irritated at getting constantly penalised for being tall, could have been sent off for a flying stamp; and Villarreal took the game to Barcelona, getting as many shots as Guardiola's side.

Villarreal, though, could not take their chances. Nor, against Osasuna the following night, could Madrid. Gonzalo Higuaín wasted his best opportunity, Ronaldo took flight in an attempt to win a penalty, Lassana Diarra kicked everything that moved and some things that didn't, and that was that. "They hardly had a chance," insisted Manuel Pellegrini, which was true but, as Roberto Palomar replied, that's a pretty weak argument for a club that boasts a budget the size of a government ministry and that was playing for top spot. It was a weak way to end the opening weekend.

Thank goodness, then, for the only comeback of the weekend, for the one team you can always rely on: Atlético Madrid. A growing rivalry. A goal down. A man down. A ridiculous, pantomime own goal. A pointless foul. A free-kick. A header. A winner. In the 94th minute. An utterly undeserved one. Scored by the man who was only playing because of injuries and suspensions. Who shouldn't even have been there – unwanted, scapegoated, already replaced, and soon to be shipped out. A coach declaring: "they didn't win it, we lost it." It could only happen to El Pupas, "the jinxed one", the side forever inventing newer and sillier ways of blowing it.

Only this time it didn't happen to Atlético; this time, it happened for Atlético. This time, luck was on their side. This time, the coach leaping about like he had won the league was Atléti's coach; this time, ludicrously, unbelievably, incredibly, implausibly, comically, the "miracle" that AS announced was Atléti's miracle. And this time the date was 2 January. Not 28 December.