A Madrid that was on a run for the derby next Sunday at the Metropolitano was blinded by the Real, which did not provide as well as it should. The coaches had a lot to do with it. Real was in command when Casemiro was embedded between the centrals and gave flight to the adversary for twenty minutes of the second half (0-1). La Real was in command when their coach ordered the reverse gear (1-1). It was not the day of the board and Madrid was as short as its rival.
Nothing supports the Real better, a team with enormous potential, than their attack. It is their bliss. Until Zidane ordered the defensive commotion with Casemiro, it was not in Valdebebas, where the San Sebastian team remained flat until then. Silva had observatory, but no tact. Oyarzabal had a panoramic view, reiterative in the losses, give him that, one after another. Turning off the effervescent Portu, a drip of Isak and nothing else. Without offensive beatitudes, the Real stuck to the defensive catalog. At times, too defensive, with Imanol’s team more enchironados than convenient.
It was perceived by Madrid, with encyclopedic people to detect the weaknesses of others. Casemiro and Modric poked the visitors with shots beyond the border of the area. The Real was encapsulated so much that there was landscape to set up the shot. Lucas was also rowing, whom Oyarzabal tracked with his eyes, without tonnage. An adventure by the Galician side resulted in a header from Mariano that bounced off Gorosabel’s neck before being spat out by the crossbar. Asensio came to the rejection, frustrated by Le Normand, who served as a barricade.
He squeezed the Real, more bony. And there were no crushes of the Real, neat with the protocol Guevara to get closer to its distinguished attackers, but without a thread of these, challenged by the local rear. With numerical superiority in the midfield, and with Madrid somewhat broken in the axis, Imanol’s men had horizons. But nothing. Not a shiver against Courtois in the entire first act. Assault by assault, each Madridista was imposing on his opponent. Another tooth. Without bragging, but firmly, Zidane’s group was in charge of the entire first term, even though there were hardly any crumbs from Mariano. The plot was the business of the classics, Kroos, Casemiro and Modric. And some traces of Isco.
The second half opened with another perspective. La Real already had another tusk, another plug. He noticed that Casemiro, who knows the cause, was recoiling between the center-backs, leaving Kroos and Modric out in the open and stretching the white ranks more than necessary. Madrid gave clues and Real no longer splashed. Another decision. Another hierarchy. Chilean Monreal almost scored just before the side screwed the ball around the head of the shortest player in the contest. Same thing. Mendy, without a chain, was late and Portu caught a complex but wonderful header. Already unleashed the visiting team, Isak lacked a little finger to reach a service from Portu. Madrid gone, Zidane intervened. It is already customary.
For the third consecutive game, he sent the attacking trio to the crack and repeated Vinicius, the reappeared Rodrygo and Hugo Duro. By then, the encounter was no longer articulated by Kroos and Modric. The crash was at Silva’s feet, at the feet of the Guevara clinician. Madrid was only ready for bugle calls. With more sleeves than football, in search of some discharge from his best striker these days: Casemiro, a guy who deforests the area when it burns. A couple of headers went away for a fourth.
Imanol responded to Zidane with a rearmament of the rear with three centrals. Batteries facing an increasingly forced Madrid, increasingly limited to charges in any way on Remiro’s ranch. Bad decision that of the realistic technician, who preferred to lead his people to the trench rather than give the last straw. In Madrid the games are long, very long. Vinicius made him pay for it with a goal very much like Vinicius, a shot with a confused direction deflected by Zubeldia. A blink remained and no one was satisfied with Valdebebas. Real will tell that a point against Madrid is not a bad booty. He could aspire to much more. Real will tell that, at least, rescued one point. He should have aspired to much more. But it was not the night of the slates.