Saturday, March 08, 2008

Spanish Hate the Italians Because of Their Football

The ANNOTICO Report

 

If there's one thing the Spanish really, really hate, it's the Italians. In fact, it's become an obsession. Not because of the fashion, the impossibly perfect facial hair, or even the crazy driving and mopeds: Spain has got its own fair share of those. No, the Spanish hate the Italians because of their football.

 

You Only Win When You're Sinning

In the second part of our series, Sid Lowe finds the Spanish media desperate to put some kind of gloss on the unthinkable -  that their rivals across the Med play better football

London Guardian

Sid Lowe

Thursday March 6 2008

As if going out of the Champions League was not bad enough, as if seeing the dream of a tenth European Cup disappear in smoke was not sufficiently painful, Real Madrid had to go out to a AS Roma, a team from Italy - that most bitter of Spanish rivals.

Because if there's one thing the Spanish really, really hate, it's the Italians. In fact, it's become an obsession. Not because of the fashion, the impossibly perfect facial hair, or even the crazy driving and mopeds: Spain has got its own fair share of those. No, the Spanish hate the Italians because of their football.

And Roma are not your typical Italian side because they attack, because they score goals, because they are worth watching. In Spain, where football has to be aesthetic as much as it is effective, your typical Italian side is plain dull, hideously defensive.

Few people were less impressed with Fabio Cannavaro winning the Golden Ball as European player of the year than the Spanish, even if he had just joined Madrid. "It's a miracle that he didn't boot it into touch when they gave it to him," sniped one columnist.

When Cannavaro played poorly, he was rubbish; when his partner, Sergio Ramos, played poorly he was suffering an injury, having an off day, too keen to win - or dragged down by the Italian playing alongside him.

Likewise, when Fabio Capello was sacked as coach of Real Madrid for being "too boring" despite winning the club's first league title in four years, ending the longest Santiago Bernabiu drought in over half a century, his "anti-football" - and, yes, that is what they called it - was seen as being the logical conclusion of his nationality.

And the day Claudio Ranieri was sacked as Valencia coach after not managing a win in six matches, it was treated as if the Mestalla had been delivered from evil. The Italian coach was a "dictator"; according to one report; Valencia had been freed from "the yoke of Ranierism".

Valencia won their first game after sacking him and employing Spaniard Antonio Lspez. And the locals could hardly contain themselves, especially as Lspez's tactic had been so simple: drop the Italians. By leaving out the Ranieri signings Marco di Vaio, Emiliano Moretti, Bernardo Corradi and Stefano Fiore, Valencia had, the sports daily Marca gleefully said, gone through a process of "de-Italianising" themselves.

Over here, people think Italian football is dirty, cynical, talentless and boring. Few Italians have succeeded in Spain because they are rubbish, they say, while few Spaniards have succeeded in Italy because the football is rubbish - and full of cheats.

When Real Madrid faced Juventus in the 2003 Champions League quarters, a Spanish television trailer used the music and opening credits from Star Wars to announce an apocalyptic clash between Madrid's galactic superstars and the "miserable football" of the evil empire from across the Alps. TVE waved off Madrid's Jedi knights with an Obi-Wan-esque, "May the goals be with you."

A few years earlier, after the Italian press complained about a blatant - and deliberate - handball goal by Razl in the Champions League, the Spanish press got their knickers in a twist, screaming: "How dare you lecture us?!" The sports paper Marca published a "dossier" on the tricks of the trade of Italian football, "the most unsporting in the world" - tricks such as diving, fouling and, ahem, winning.

And that is, kind of, the point. Because perhaps the worst thing about the Italians is that they are successful, the current World Cup winners. Spain's only international triumph is the 1964 European Championships - a four-team tournament played in Madrid.

Italian football so perfectly fuels the schizophrenic Spanish psyche, that uneasy coexistence of massive superiority and inferiority complexes. The Spanish are convinced they are better than the Italians. But, deep down, they are also convinced the Italians will beat them. By foul means, not fair.

When Tassoti smashed Luis Enrique's nose - in the penalty area - in the last minute of the 1994 World Cup quarter-final, leaving Italy going through, Spain going out and Luis Enrique going to hospital, it was the perfect embodiment of Spain and Italy: one side played all the football; the other smashed an innocent man's nose all over his face - and won.

Those victories are illegitimate, whispered sins. Asked about Italian dominance of the Champions League a few years ago the Real Madrid defender Ivan Helguera, a man who had played in Italy and a genuine Italophile, defended the country: "You know what? I'd love it if we [Spain] could say we had three teams out of four in the semis, plus success at international level. That's the bottom line. That's all that matters." The next day, his remarks were nowhere to be seen.

Just as this Madrid will be nowhere to be seen in the draw for the next round of the Champions League. Down to ten men with a contentious decision and out of Europe, slain by Italians once more, there is a familiar ache in Spanish hearts.

 

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