The Barça show under Hansi Flick continues, with the team taking the field as if they owed money to the people. There isn’t a dull or speculative minute in their way of understanding football, whether under a sun that burns the skin or during a wild September storm arriving delayed, that is, much later than the scheduled time.
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The blaugrana players, unlike Meteocat, arrived very punctually for the match. Raphinha scored the first goal at three minutes under heavy rain, possessed like a gremlin soaked in water. The rest of the teammates didn’t stop until scoring (again) five as if they had planned it before stepping out.
The fans leave Spotify Camp Nou recreating what they saw; no one talks about the darn Ballon d’Or
This is a team that has forgotten about taking it easy, they see urgency as a virtue because they understand they perform well at full speed. Going too fast can be counterproductive unless you execute planned moves with a swiftness that disorients and knocks out the opponent. The pause, rightly associated with good play, makes sense to reset, start over, reorganize, neutralize the opponent’s dominance or counterattacks if they occur. This is not the case for the blaugrana at this start of the season, committed to a relentless press on the adversary as if doing so scored more than just winning. Matches will come when resorting to some slowing down (Rodri is a zen master in those arts and Pedri needs no reminder), but an unmotivated pause delays actions. And Barça, for now, neither wants nor needs it.
Speed raises the pace of matches and makes them very entertaining. This is a characteristic of Flick’s team, the fun one, which should not be hidden but highlighted. The world is as it is, so the emergence of a football team that sees its profession as an opportunity to entertain must be embraced, celebrated, and if necessary, silenced with praise in case it decides to disappear.
Football, when played like this, so radically offensive and collective, rises above everything and diminishes the accessories that so often distract from the core.
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Let’s talk about the darn award.
I don’t know any fanbase that has taken to the streets to celebrate the Ballon d’Or selection. The recognition is usually induced: the prelude to a match is used for the awarded player to show the trophy to their people. It’s a 30 to 60 second event if you ask me.
In recent years, the imbalance between the real interest the voting generates and the media hype becomes irritating. It’s obvious that the contenders want to win it, and we’re not going to belittle an award with great prestige, but the fuss is so big that it reveals the hidden intention: to provoke oversized debates, fueled by TV slots that stretch the topic until it loses its flavor. Football is a team sport played by individuals and its effects on fans are well known: it’s about watching matches, enjoying or suffering them, escaping, and continuing the experience at home, in the bar, at work, or in the classroom, feeding age-old rivalries. Millions of fans dream of winning Leagues and Champions, promotions or survival. I still have to meet one who truly vibrates, really vibrates, with the Ballon d’Or.
When the match at Camp Nou ended, the happiness of the fans was so thick as they left that it was hard to walk. They interrupted each other reminiscing about what they had just experienced. I didn’t hear anyone mention the Ballon d’Or. Their daydreams went elsewhere. They were collective.
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