Relief

It was never really a fully realistic task, or perhaps it was. To reach Moscow. It would have been a wonderful way to end something, or perhaps that end would have been prolonged. With the second year and no titles, the drama is present, very present. A third year without titles is unconceivable and I don't believe the club will take any risks for next year. Don't forget elections are looming under the horizont and if it is bad enough to have had two years without a single titles (not even the Catalan Cup, I think) you can imagine what three years would be.
Next year, is now, even if we have to fight for the second place.
Not fight, but obtain it.
The so called "worst Madrid ever" have won the same amount of league titles as the so called "best Barça ever".


Nothing more needs to be said.

The Manchester game was a pain, not a pain in the arse, but a painful painful week. The hope was there once we reached an allrightish result at Camp Nou. Perhaps perhaps, we could reach Moscow (a city I always wanted to visit and still do want to visit). A blurry, foggy dream. Was present, was there. Where there is life, there is hope. Yes.
With the 180 minutes without being able to score a single goal, with the so called "best three strikers in the world), it ended. I have to say that I did not feel sad, angry, just relieved that this was over. Clinging on to an Utopia, looking at the sky and hoping there was some help to be had, looking at the stones asking the elves to be there, to send their protection army.
Illusions can be helpful, but never useful.