There are dates that it is better not to remember and that of the signing of Toni Kroos by Real Madrid could well be one of them. A few months before, by the way, the white team had already incorporated Luka Modric, another anniversary to banish from the affective memory if one does not want to end up throwing walls with a Napoleon in the courtyard of a psychiatric hospital. Someone inside the club – who is taking time to build a monument, whoever it is – decided that it was okay to arm themselves with Khediras and Diarras for future battles, that the ball was more than just a throwing weapon and that modern football, as it proclaimed The One Who Must Not Be NamedIt was a midfielder business.
“The Germans don’t even have the salt burned in their eyes,” a metalworker friend of mine who is dedicated to reselling imported cars tends to say. He knows what he is talking about, although his statement has nothing to do with football: he simply has business doing it. The mechanics of used German cars are praised while the bodywork is mistrusted, mainly because of the harsh winters, the need to keep the roads open and the excess sodium chloride. “All lies,” he assures me every time I bring up the subject. And then I think of Toni Kroos, whom Bayern Munich sold at a bargain price because they considered him replaceable – and almost above the corpse of his coach – to reinforce a direct rival in the annual jousts for the European crown: what a business, Karl -Heinz Rummenigge.
If the fate of the world depended on the feet and cold blood of a mortal, Toni Kroos should head the shortlist of the chosen together with Marc-André Ter Stegen, another made in Germany with temper for punishment. Legend has it that they were able to share a dressing room in Barcelona, but one never knows how much truth there is in certain rumors. And maybe it’s better this way. For the culé fan it would mean the definitive verification that, at least for a few years, the technical secretariat of the great rival practiced a kind of heterodox cruyffismo to surround Cristiano Ronaldo with the best possible partners, just the opposite of what happened with Leo Messi at the Camp Nou offices. Convinced that he was the best midfielder in the world, the Argentine was complemented every summer with a series of hybrids yet to be classified, probably footballers, although I also don’t know anyone who puts their hand on fire for it.
Much is said these days of defensive solidity and a winning mentality when reality is much simpler: as soon as Madrid faces a team that can hurt them through the ball, Toni Kroos arrives and hides it, takes it away, denies it. Not only him, of course, but above all him: the great lie that Real Madrid only enjoys vertigo, the call to war and the infinite race, was dismantled a long time ago, just a political argument with an expiration date for times of war . And, look, nothing happens to recognize it. Think how much harder it is, for rival fans, to continue to maintain that Madrid does not play at anything every time Toni Kroos magnetizes a game as if he wanted to engrave a specific date on our foreheads.