SBeing a candidate in this life can be considered a privilege. Candidate for a better job (with those labor reforms approved by the consensus of a wrong vote), candidate to preside over anything (avoiding your block of flats at all costs) or candidate to win something. When you are not used to lifting trophies, any candidacy is welcome; when you want it with all your strength, you see it even normal; If the present and the future are pointing to your name, turning your back on it is even ugly. It is not decorous. Nor tolerable.
This Sevilla, supposedly a candidate for the title, has picked up a tortoise pace that has anything but speed to even peek over that wall where Real Madrid can minimally fear for its league health. Three draws. With blows to turn them into victories and the feeling that with so little you can’t win either. You can, but the headwind, for whatever reason, doesn’t stop blowing.
A penalty in the discount. A game where Sevilla has been superior to its rival in small details. As if subjugating it cost money. Or it can cause other people’s embarrassment. All in small doses. The efforts are gigantic. Football, at times rogue. Such is this Seville that dreams of heights and is already vertigo for second place, which will be threatened as soon as some of those behind add three.
To think that Sevilla did not win because of Rakitic’s missed penalty is a perfect simplification to know how this team is doing. Two injured before breaking a sweat (even without starting the game) and a coin in the air that begins to erase Lopetegui’s face. Fall on edge And look, it’s a difficult fabric. And that rolling when the coin is not stopped runs the risk of getting lost, of not knowing where it has fallen. If you lose, the game is over. Sevilla still have a long way to go, but without a dream to chase, the longing evaporates and you don’t know what or who to chase.
And it is that Sevilla is tired. Of falling and getting up. To fight against the elements. Like when children wake up on a weekend before their usual time to go to school and it’s midnight, there’s no hint of sleep in their eyes. What strength! Yours, of course. You need the power of the new legs and the machine roaring loud again.
It’s at that point where a good result lifts you into a streak that makes you fight for everything or another bad one that makes you tremble, sweat, cross yourself and pray all you know. Because Sevilla knows that their season smells hysterical with all the elements against them. why? Because destiny is that piggy. Because Rakitic could decide to change his shot to the other post. Or En-Nesyri not finish off with the knee. Or Lopetegui will seek victory with greater zeal. Football rewards the brave. To those who forget the weight they carry. And it is that this Seville takes a step (that Easter is approaching us) of the heaviest, with a mask and all the bullshit that arises. This lift goes to all those who still believe that this Sevilla can.