Luka Modric went to lift the trophy but there was nothing in his hands, just a look on his face that said it all. Beside him, Gareth Bale was giggling. Real Madrid won the league, shouting, embracing and leaping around the pitch at the Rosaleda where they had just defeated Málaga on the final day, but there was something missing. “What do you mean, no trophy?” the Croatian asked Madrid’s press officer. “They’ll hand it out at the start of next season,” came the reply. “So now we celebrate here, we go back to the dressing room, and that’s it.” That’s it?! Modric gave him a look; baffled, Bale did too. And off they ran to join the rest.
They had no idea. How could they? It happens every May, but this was the first time in five years that Madrid had won the league, only the second in eight years – a wait that was too long, which is why they had made it a public priority from the start, and when it finally came the sensation was that something had shifted in Spain; a fortnight later, that feeling deepened. First, rivals Barcelona won the Copa del Rey, Luis Enrique departing with just the one trophy and leaving Ernesto Valverde to step into his place, a big task ahead. In Cardiff, Madrid won again, becoming the first team to retain the Champions League.
It seems daft to suggest that this is the start of something for a team that had just won their third European Cup in four years – an end in itself, a run arguably unmatched since the 1970s – but that was how it felt, and it was the league title, perhaps the real measure of any team, that did it. Even at the club whose identity was built in Europe, the home front seemed to matter most in 2016-17. Put the two titles together and it was historic. Eight times Madrid had won the European Cup since 1958, but not once had it come with domestic success. Now, it did; now, they genuinely felt like the best team in Spain and beyond. The European Super Cup and Club World Cup were theirs too.
By the end of the campaign there was little argument, but it hadn’t always been like that. This was a curious season that often defied easy analysis. In the autumn, Zinedine Zidane had been asked if his team was in “crisis” and it wasn’t such a silly question. “No,” he had replied, “but we can’t carry on like this.” They hadn’t been beaten, and they wouldn’t be for months either, but while they went 40 games without defeat Madrid didn’t always convince. There was always something about them, though, an ability to find a way through.
Gerard Piqué saw something suspicious in it, insisting “we know now how this works” and later talking about how “strings” are pulled from the directors’ box at the Bernabéu. Ultimately, no team could match the variety Madrid had, nor the strength in depth. Atlético’s Filipe Luís said it best: “They have a really good squad: they adapt to every single game. They can build from the back, they can play long ball, they have good counterattacks, they have good set pieces, so it is really hard to play against them.”
Eventually, they had control too. Modric and Toni Kroos, aided by Isco, had not been at the forefront all the way through the year, but by the spring they certainly were. So, of course, was Cristiano Ronaldo – suddenly there in the decisive weeks, ending this season fitter, more important and just better than before.
“We’re not always going to win late in games,” Zidane had warned and he was right. Although they lost points late too, Madrid clinched points with goals in the final 10 minutes in a quarter of their matches, Sergio Ramos playing comic book hero with rare regularity. Yet as they entered the final weeks those late goals were replaced by early ones, a sense of assuredness previously absent.
Those final three matches in seven days were supposed to be hard but Sevilla, Celta and Málaga were all defeated. Ten goals, Madrid scored – then they got four against Juventus. They had scored in every game this season, via every route and almost every outfield player – only Fábio Coentrão didn’t score. This title was all of theirs, Zidane taking rotation to new levels. Twenty players went over 1,000 league minutes and it became normal to see eight or nine changes at a time. “It’s harder to beat Madrid’s B team than their A team,” Deportivo manager Pepe Mel said. Their squad was so strong there wasn’t even a place on the bench for James Rodríguez when they got to Cardiff.
“They deserve it,” Andrés Iniesta conceded, but Barcelona also knew they were complicit in handing over the league title. For all the brilliance of the front three, and a record 116 goals scored, they never rid themselves of that feeling of vulnerability. They won at Madrid, Atlético, Athletic, Valencia and Sevilla, but Alavés, Celta, Deportivo and Málaga defeated them. Even when they were winning, it didn’t feel quite right, so reliant were they on Lionel Messi. At times, the midfield that once defined them just wasn’t there. When they drew at Real Sociedad in November, they were overrun and grateful for the point. That was part of the portrait of their year, painfully revealed in Paris and Turin. “It will be hard to win the league like this,” Piqué said and so it proved.
Below them, Sevilla momentarily looked like they might compete for the league, their candidacy presented when they became the first team to defeat Madrid, but Leicester did them a lot of damage and they fell away, Samir Nasri disappearing having previously made a case to be the best player in Spain. As for Atlético, when they were held at Leganés in week two, Antoine Griezmann said they’d be “fighting relegation”. He was wrong of course, and they overtook Sevilla, but they didn’t fight for the title. Atlético did, though, fight for the Champions League, where they were knocked out by their city rivals for the fourth year in a row, the last European night at the Vicente Calderón a so very atlético way to bid farewell, singing on through the storm, glorious defeat visited upon them once more. They’ll miss heading down the aptly-named Melancholics’ Way to the place with a motorway under the stand, crumbling foundations shaken by the noise. Small wonder there were tears on the final day. Appropriately, there were also two goals from Fernando Torres.
Up at their new stadium, right out on the other side of the city, miles from their heartland and named after the club’s Chinese shareholding, Atlético will be back in the Champions League next season with Sevilla, while three others will grace the Europa League. Fran Escribá was in swimming trunks and on his way down to get an ice cream when Villarreal called him; the same time this year, he’ll be preparing for Europe. They’ll be joined by Real Sociedad, who became one of the country’s most attractive teams under Eusébio, and Athletic Bilbao in a competition out of Spanish hands for the first time in four years.
It was close, mind you. Alavés had to lose the Copa del Rey final for Athletic to get there. It was the second final in their entire history, led out by Manu García, the local boy whose name was on the shirt when they played their first ever final, against Liverpool 16 years ago. His was the kind of story that makes football worthwhile, but it wasn’t to be. Eibar missed out too, although the miracle was that there was even a chance that Ipurua might host teams that big. “No one talks about us,” striker Sergi Enrich said, but they should have done.
Espanyol briefly hovered there and at one point, Las Palmas thought they might just make it too – but then the collapse came. The relationship between coach and board broke down and so did the team. Las Palmas had been top in week three, playing the best football around, but won just three times in the second half of the season. “It’s incredible to have seen this team before and to see it now,” Quique Setién said.
At the bottom, Betis dangled as precariously as the scoreboard hanging over one end of the stadium, Málaga were falling apart until “The Cat” used up his seventh life – yes, in Spain it’s seven – and Míchel came to sort them out, while Deportivo were occasionally on edge too. They beat Barcelona, though, and Pepe Mel saw them clear. For a while, Valencia genuinely feared the drop. And as for first division debutants Leganés, they fought to the penultimate weekend, which was one week less than they had expected. They all struggled a little but they all had one thing going for them. Well, three things: Granada, Osasuna and Sporting. Between them, they went through eight managers, but it made no difference.
The bottom three were not alone in sacking managers: three men went over Christmas, season of goodwill and all that. Nor, in fact, were they the worst: Valencia went from Pako Ayesterán to Voro to Cesare Prandelli and back to Voro again – the temporary caretaker solution the club turned to for a fifth time and the man who soon had the best record in their history, better than all those actual managers. Valencia’s very own Winston Wolfe, Voro, he rescued them not once but twice and was then ushered off again.
The first man Voro replaced, Ayesterán, had gone so early it doesn’t feel like this season any more and he was swiftly followed by Paco Jémez at Granada: it was only week seven but he’d been complaining from the start, begging to be sacked. He was replaced by Lucas Alcaraz, Granada through and through, the manager with a gate named after him at the stadium, but he was saddled with a sorry side and didn’t see out it to the end. Nor did “revolutionary” Abelardo, who was Sporting Gijón. Enrique Martín Monreal, another coach who embodied his club, thought he might last the season but was sacked oh so sooner – sorry – and his replacement Joaquín Caparrós didn’t win a game. So they, like Granada, ended with three different coaches and relegation.
Tony Adams was of course the man who took over at Los Cármenes. He did so with seven games to go, put there by the owner, his boss at the Chinese company DDMC. He promised to kick his players “up the arse”, even though he knew it was a lost cause. Many laughed, and it was often funny, but Adams the manager blinded people to something more profound: Adams the sporting director seeking to restructure the whole club.
“We’re playing very well and people are enjoying this,” Sporting manager Abelardo had said in September but it, like he, didn’t last. The bottom three were the bottom three for 23 consecutive weeks all the way to the end, none of them even making it to the final day with hope of survival. “We feel like fucking shit,” Sporting’s Xavi Torres said. “This is the other side of football, and it’s hard to live it.”
At the other end of the country and the other end of the final league table, Madrid were living something completely different, their players bursting into the press room, breaking a telly as they went, and looking suitably sheepish about it. They continued the party back out on the pitch and headed home to the Goddess Cibeles. They would return to her a fortnight later. “I think the Spanish league is the best league in the world … but don’t tell the English,” Adams had said, and Madrid had won it five years on, even if when it came to it something was missing. Still unable to believe what was happening, Bale approached Ronaldo at the Rosaleda. “No trophy,” he said. “It’s a fucking joke,” Ronaldo replied.
Still, not to worry, there are plenty of other awards to get your hands on right here. And if it’s precious metal you’re after, there’s always …
Best statue
Look at his face, just look at his face.
Best mascot
Valencia’s bat with his googly eyes and squidgy foam wings remains a favourite and Fuenlabrada’s cockerel is magnificently menacing, while Leganés’s cucumber wasn’t allowed out until they were safe from relegation, because of fears he might jinx them. Better than that, Atlético’s players were joined by the club’s 11 oldest members, which was lovely, and what about the kid who literally eclipsed Fabián Orellana? As they lined up for the pre-match photo, the giggling Valencia winger whispered in his ear: “Crouch down a bit, they can’t see me.”
Biggest hero
Alavés’s big-grinned, bigger-hearted, rubber-limbed comedy character and striker-turned-all-round-wind-up-merchant Deyverson, who approached Celta’s defeated supporters after the Copa del Rey semi, going along the front of the stand and embracing them one by one. “I saw people crying and it touched my heart,” he said. “I don’t like seeing people sad. They had travelled all the way from Vigo and supported their team to the end.”
That was good, but not good enough. It’s not Deyverson because it’s actually this guy: it’s the night before a game and a first division team are having dinner in a hotel near the ground where they play the next day. It’s late and in the reception upstairs a very small boy has been waiting a very long time, desperate to meet his idol. The club delegate sees him and calls him down. His eyes almost pop out of his head when he spots the player waiting for him, engulfing him in a massive hug.
“I bet you score loads of goals, don’t you?” the player says. “More than me.”
“I don’t think so,” the boy replies shyly, just about getting the words out.
“So,” the player says, “are you going to cheer us on tomorrow?”
“No.”
“No? Why not?”
“Because my daddy couldn’t get tickets.”
“Oh,” says the player. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out two tickets for the following day. “Here,” he says, pressing them into the boy’s tiny hand. “Promise you’ll cheer us on?”
“I promise,” the boy says.
Biggest villain
It is Deyverson, this time, the man you either love, loathe or love and loathe at the same time. He doesn’t like seeing people with tears in their eyes, but he doesn’t mind seeing players with great globules of gob hanging off their chin. Just ask Atlético’s Diego Godín. Mind you, Isco runs him close for never taking his dog for a walk. Then again, picture the scene. How could he? His dog’s name, in case you don’t know, is Messi.
Biggest piss-taker
Isco just misses out again. Seeing Tony Adams on the touchline in the kind of waistcoat worn by a waiter, he spent the game shouting: “Una Coca-Cola, por favor” but nothing was quite so cheeky as Atlético’s fans chanting for forgotten man Alessio Cerci to take a penalty. Cerci was having none of it, even though he couldn’t have done much worse than the man that actually did, or the many that went before. Thomas Partey became the sixth different Atlético player to miss from the spot, which really does take the piss.
Most creative player
Player? Forget the pitch, the most creative people in Spain this season were in the marketing department at Butarque … or Albuquerque as they called it one week after Sevilla’s visiting president got just a little confused. Every fortnight Leganés broke from the traditional matchday poster routine, going with everything from Luke Skywalker and Darth Vader celebrating Father’s Day to deities rising above the stadium, all invariably creative and clever, tongues usually wedged deep into their cheeks, and still somehow managing not to upset anyone in a world packed with sensitive souls and passive-aggression. Friday night against Real Sociedad was described as cinema night so they not only produced a poster, they provided the popcorn too – free for fans.
Best merchandise
Inspired by Messi, Suárez and Neymar, Mundo Deportivo tried to hawk three little dishes designed for olives and other savoury snacks by calling it the “tridente”, but nothing beats this: Real Madrid coffins. Now you really can be buried in the Bernabéu.
Best branding
In a world where everything has a price and cynicism reigns; where godawful adverts bang on about passion and claim that winning or, more likely, losing a tenner on the next goalscorer is just like being up in the stands; where something really rather dark lights up football and vending machines are covered up because they sell the wrong brand of fizzy drink; where clubs are fined only for not filling the bits of the stadium visible on TV; where the little kids who lead out Madrid wear T-shirts with the name of a petrol company on the front instead of their team’s kit and even littler kids can’t take a drink into a ground at 28C but can buy a bottle of water for €3; where a radio commentator pushes sex pills on the front of the papers, pulling the kind of face that can only put you off. And where the best two players, and many more, stand accused of tax fraud; where scoreboards up and down the country flash up the name Jesús Gil, momentarily raising the terrifying prospect that the legendary big-bellied crook, wideboy and Atlético president might actually still be alive, rather than just looking down on the men he fraudulently left in charge … in a world like that, it takes something to win this award. But, then, La Liga did rename the second division La Liga 1|2|3. And Atlético really will be playing in a Stadium Called Wanda next season. If it’s finished in time – and that’s a big “if”.
While we’re on cynicism: biggest irony
It’s hard to beat Real Madrid and Juventus waiting in the tunnel at the Millennium Stadium as kick-off time in the Champions League final came and went, unable to get out because the Black Eyed Peas were still on the pitch, singing Let’s Get It Started. But the league’s president Javier Tebas might just have managed it by watching the clásico with Syrian refugees at a camp in Salonica to show La Liga’s “commitment” and “solidarity”. The same Javier Tebas who admits wishing there was a “Spanish Le Pen”.
Best experts
On the weekend that a storm tore through Galicia, 126 litres of water falling and winds reaching 120kph, two people died, 49,378 people were left without electricity, and 48 matches were cancelled, including two in the first division, trained technicians said Balaídos was not safe, but what do they know, eh? In one poll run by a Madrid website, 93.6% said Madrid-Celta could have gone ahead, while the headline sniped: “Cancelled, on the say-so of Mr Mayor.” Eventually the referee turned up to officially postpone the game well after midnight. He couldn’t get there sooner: his flight had been diverted because of the weather. Should have got those experts to fly the thing.
Fate’s cruellest temptress
Catalonia’s very own Dumb and Dumber. Always asking for it and endearingly, eternally incapable of learning a lesson, Sport and Mundo Deportivo kept choosing the same headline, time after time, which would have been fine if they were any good but they weren’t: they were rubbish, and often wrong within hours. These are the papers that went for “the hunt begins!” and “pressure them!” only to watch Madrid pull even further clear; declared “today’s going to be a great day” only for it to become the first day in almost two years that Barcelona failed to score, slipping behind when they were supposed to be going in front; and opened week 12 with “Operation leadership” and “up for the leadership” then watched as Málaga inevitably undid Barcelona again. Together they kept cocking it up all the way to the decisive, penultimate match, when Madrid went to Vigo. “Força Celta!” didn’t work, so they did it all over again on Champions League final morning, guaranteeing a Madrid victory with front covers that shouted “Forza Juve!” and “Forza Alves!”.
Best poll
And by the way, yes, that is the same Dani Alves they wrote off and 92.5% of Mundo Deportivo readers claimed to have completely forgotten.
Best front cover
Even better than Beef magazine, “for men with taste”, was this from AS, the paper with a bizarre obsession with leading on photos (and not even very good photos) of football teams arriving at train stations and airports: Ronaldo has day off, eats pig. Mind you, there was a late bid only this week from Marca, AS, El País, El Mundo, ABC, La Razón and the rest, none of whom managed to find a picture of Ronaldo in a Madrid kit on the day that it was announced that state prosecutors accuse him of tax evasion.
Best use of social media
Madrid. Or Barcelona. Or … oh, who cares? They do, of course. Yep, Madrid and Barcelona really did compete to see who could reach 100 million Facebook likes first and, yep, the media really did argue about it, each accusing the other club of aggressively seeking the target, “unlike us”. Of course. All that in the week when it was revealed that Madrid president Florentino Pérez had paid a company to set up a website that would be favourable to him – insert your own joke here – pushing his agenda and not only attacking opponents and referees but even his own manager at the time, Carlo Ancelotti.
But it’s still not them. It’s not even Piqué or Cerci, the Atlético player who put up a picture of him strolling down Calle Serrano while his team-mates were busy playing Barcelona, later excusing himself by saying he hadn’t been out for a walk then; he’d just put it up then, because that’s OK. Nope. The winner is everyone’s favourite parody account, Málaga president Abdullah al-Thani, who took to Twitter to say many, many silly things.
None quite so memorable, though, as the time he spat: “God willing, we will beat Madrid on the final day but the scum from Catalonia will not even smell the title after making up lies about our coach”, or his defence of new and largely unknown manager Cléver Marcelo Romero Silva. Unknown to him, anyway. Better known as Gato (Cat) Romero, Al-Thani called him “Mr Cat” and posted his Wikipedia page for all those people who knew nothing about him. Which, let’s face it, included people like him. And which is exactly why he had it to hand.
Best excuse for missing a match
Eibar’s Takashi Inui, sent to Japan to be part of the welcoming party for the Spanish state visit there. Maybe he shouldn’t have put his phone number on Twitter?
Silliest excuse for missing a match
Douglas, falling asleep on the team coach and injuring his arse.
Most ill-advised trip to the doctor
Most well-advised to take a trip to the doctor
Leganés captain Martin Mantovani, who during one pre-match harangue told his team-mates: “We go out there with three bollocks. Not two, three!”
Best pre-match routine
Alavés’s Daniel Torres who walks the pitch barefoot, reciting Deuteronomy 11:24 down the phone: “Every place upon which the sole of your foot treads will be yours.” Maybe not every place, but it worked at the Camp Nou.
Best post-match interview
Bruno Soriano, after a diving “save” had denied Barcelona at the newly named Ceramic Stadium: “We had it in our hands.” Oh, well played, sir. Or maybe it should be have-a-go-hero John Guidetti after Celta knocked Real Madrid out of the Copa del Rey, standing there beaming, full of joy, and shouting above the din: “Look at this stadium. Thanks Vigo, thanks Spain. Big party. I like. I Galician.”
Speaking of which, best song
Johnny G, Johnny G, will you marry me?
Best dance
This, of course.
Best question
Adams thinks it might have been this one. Or he would do if he could remember what it was. So maybe it was the question at the Sánchez Pizjuán that began: “You’ve lost two from two, conceded five goals, you’re going down …” to which Adams grinned and replied: “Thanks very much. Lovely to meet you too.” The questioner wasn’t wrong, mind.
Best complaint
El Mundo Deportivo really did whinge that, in their live feed of the game at the Bernabéu, the league put five more “o”s in the word “Gol” after Madrid scored than they had when Valencia scored, and Valencian sports daily Super Deporte really did pick up on the story, describing it as “shameful”.
Best protest
No chants, no banners, and no messages flown from a plane, as if that makes your opinion matter worth more; some Betis fans had tried singing “Go now!” and had called for Gus Poyet to “come out [of] your cave!” but he remained stubbornly stuck to the bench, so they went old-school instead, writing a letter to the club asking them to sack the Uruguayan and insisting they wouldn’t be back until they did. He was gone within days.
While we’re here: best name
Not Cúlio. Not Juankar either. Not even Prince. No, the winner is Poyet’s short-lived assistant at Betis, who was named after the QPR team that won promotion in 1973. The entire QPR team that won promotion in 1973. Step forward Anthony Philip David Terry Frank Donald Stanley Gerry Gordon Stephen James Oatway. Also known as “Charlie”.
Best rant
Last year’s winner, Abelardo, went off on one at the “shit-seeking” journalist from “fucking paper” Marca, noting: “You claim to be a Sporting fan … you’re not a Sporting fan …”, thus offering up an inadvertently perfect portrait of the way the media is going and clubs are going with it. Staying with Sporting, goalkeeper Pichu Cuellar, accused of looking defiantly at Deportivo fans when he was in fact looking at a supporter having an epileptic fit, launched an assault on the “idiot”, “son of a bitch” whose paper had run the story.
Osasuna’s Oriol Riera picked up on a tiresome trend of teams shedding tears to insist: “I don’t want to show a lack of respect to anyone, but given that everyone talks about referees, players from big clubs talk, it seems like we’re a case apart. So: they robbed us last week. I don’t want to lack respect, but I do want to tell people that Osasuna are a first division team and we’re going to fight. We’re not from the capital or from Barcelona, or from some other place with a voice, but know this: we’re here, in the first division.” They weren’t there for long. But that night, he had a point. About the ref, and about the voice.
The winner, though, has to be Cesare Prandelli. He won a 98% approval rating from fans; a screaming headline declaring “Ave, Cesare! We’re with you!”; and (until they realised he was talking about them too) the backing of his club by launching into a 1min 57sec monologue in Italian in which he complained of a lack of professionalism, threw his players to the wolves, and banged on about how they had to sweat the shirt, fight for the shirt and love the shirt. And if not … “fuori!”. Out! “Fuori!” he said, over and over, pointing at the door. Nineteen days later, he was fuori!
Which leads us to … most harmonious club
Valencia again, the club where even the advertising boards attack the players and where sporting director Suso García Pitarch insisted he wouldn’t resign because his late father would be ashamed if he did, only to resign nine days later. When the team arrived at Manises airport one Saturday night a small group of supporters were waiting for them, taking their lead from Prandelli and chanting for “more balls”. Others warned: “We’re heading to the second division.” Cameras caught a man leaning out of his car window, shouting: “My kids are crying because of you!” From there they went to Paterna where, amid the smoke bombs, they were greeted by fans shouting “Mercenaries!”, “Sons of bitches!” and “Shameless bastards!”, singing: “You don’t deserve to wear the shirt!” As the team bus approached, footage from inside captures someone saying: “Just run those retards over.” Not that it was all their fault. After all, they were also the …
Most confused club
Valencia missed the train home after they were defeated at the Calderón, which might not have happened had they had a decent delegate, only by then the delegate was the manager, the youth academy director was the sporting director, the former captain was persona non grata, the owner was absent, and the international (that’s international) ambassador had gone, sacked for not being in Spain to be close to a club whose major decisions are taken in Singapore. No wonder the president was confused. “I am Peter Lim,” Layhoon Chan declared. “Don’t you understand: I am Peter Lim.”
Most caring club
Real Sociedad, who found Rubén sleeping rough by Gate 20 at Anoeta and gave him a job.
Most cosmopolitan club
Granada, the Spanish club with the Chinese owner and the English manager who took to the field with a Mexican goalkeeper; a back four from Portugal, Iceland, France and Uruguay; a Slovenian, a Nigerian, a Ghanaian and a Brazilian with a Belgian passport in midfield; a Ukrainian and an Argentinian up front, with a Cameroonian, a Greek, an Israeli, a Malian, a Moroccan, a Colombian and four Spaniards making up the squad. “Sometimes we can’t understand each other,” on-loan midfielder Andreas Pereira admitted.
Classiest club
Osasuna decided they couldn’t even wait for their former player, a youth product who played in the first team for 12 years and twice rescued them as manager, to get back from a trip to Madrid where he was representing them before sacking him over the phone. They had won just once in 11 games under Enrique Martín Monreal, it is true, but it was a miracle – his miracle – that they were even in the first division at all, and it wasn’t like things got any better in his absence. “My heart’s not made of wood, you know,” he said. “People always say: ‘Football’s like that,’ but I don’t think football is like that: we make it like that.”
Most optimistic club
Eibar started running English classes for fans in case they got into Europe, although there was nothing wildly “over-” about that optimism, so close did they come. At least they did it right, avoiding the school attended by Atlético’s English Twitter account, which was a constant source of fun and bafflement with its concentration hotels, shits on goal, and players “coming powerfully and bravely from the back”, or the language academy where Athletic Bilbao learned to call a disallowed goal “disabled”. A bit more over-optimistic were Alavés, who tested out the PA system at Mendizorroza by blasting out the Champions League anthem.
Most optimistic manager
“Maybe next season they’ll ask me – tell me – to take over with seven games to go with the team about to go up,” Adams grinned. “It would be nice to have my own team. I’ll have a good team one day. No disrespect to Zidane, but: swap teams please.” Er, non merci Tony.
Most pessimistic manager
Some managers fear the sack, some fear being attacked by the media and some fear getting whistled by the fans. Luis Enrique fears something much, much worse. “I have a great time when we win and play like this,” Barcelona’s manager said after one win, “but I know that when we lose the cannibal holocaust will come and I’ll be right in the middle of it.”
Nicest manager
Too nice, he quickly learned. At the end of the first Catalan derby, won 4-1 by Barcelona, Espanyol manager Quique Sánchez Flores sought out Messi, embracing him and whispering into his ear. What, he was asked, did you say? “I congratulated him on his humility,” Quique revealed. “They pull him down, they kick him, and he doesn’t complain … it’s amazing. He and Iniesta bring beauty to football.” Five days later, Quique said sorry and never did it again.
Dullest manager
Luis Enrique, sending them to sleep.
Most honest manager
“We attacked badly, defended badly, we were terrible,” Sporting manager Abelardo said after they were beaten by Real Sociedad. “Shit, I’d whistle us too.”
Most honest player
Sporting again. “We’re horrible,” Carlos Castro said. “All you have to do is watch us.”
Quickest player
Kevin Gameiro, who came on as a sub and scored a hat-trick in 4:45 at the Molinón. Which, when you consider there are two celebrations, a double substitution and two free-kicks, means the ball had been in play for little over 80 seconds between the first and the third. “I dedicate it to my grandmother who passed away this week,” Gameiro said as his team-mates dedicated him the ball. “The Flash,” Filipe Luís scrawled across it.
Biggest overachievers
1.4% of the Spanish territory, 4.9% of its population, 44.44% of its top nine. And a Cup finalist too. Take a bow, the Basque Country.
Best referee
“If there was technology, there’d be nothing for us to talk about,” said yet another candidate for cardiac arrest on one of those TV-set-turned-primate-pit mass debates, as if that was a bad thing. Besides, there’s always something to talk about. Sometimes they even get it right, as one official did when he rumbled Granada’s attempt to narrow the pitch, forcing them to wash those new lines off and paint the original ones back on. Then there was Álvarez Izquierdo, holding out his whistle to Athletic Bilbao’s moaning midfielder Raúl García and saying: “You do it, then.” Which was certainly better than booking him for “making observations” – and, yes, many a referee’s official report said exactly that this season. Alas, one report revealed that Málaga’s Juankar was sent off in the 94th minute for telling the ref to “blow your fucking whistle”, not because of a horrible misunderstanding when he was asked his name, so it’s the second division that provides the winner. Step forward, Pérez Pallas, the referee who gave a surreal penalty against Real Oviedo at Tenerife and comforted captain Jon Erice by reassuring him: “It wasn’t you … it was Jon Erice.”
Best goal
Littered with replays at the wrong time and pointless close-ups, the TV direction was terrible right to the very end, which was a pity because on the final day Messi scored a goal against Eibar that was brilliant even for him – but only the final 15 yards of a 50-yard run were actually on camera. Still, at least the goal wasn’t a one-off, Messi’s solitary moment in the sun. The two at the Bernabéu were pretty tasty, for a start.
The same can’t be said of Eibar captain Dani García, who insisted “I don’t score many goals but they’re worth the wait”, after he belted in a brilliant volley. Javier Ontiveros’s goal against Deportivo would have been good anyway and it was made even better by the fact that he’s just 19, it was the 92nd minute and the score was 3-3. Similarly, his team-mate Youssef En-Nesyri, another 19-year-old, arrived as part of a four-player package costing €125,000 and scored a wonderful winner against Eibar, admitting afterwards: “I felt like crying when it went in.” And what of Marc Navarro, who became the first player to score on his Espanyol debut for over 20 years and did it like this? Oh, and imagine marking your club’s return to La Liga like this – when it really is your club.
Gabriel scored from a long way out against Betis as Leganés all but guaranteed survival. Villarreal’s Sansone was even further away against Real Sociedad, his first touch inside his own half, his second sending the ball over Gero Rulli. Pione Sisto started alongside his own area against Espanyol. Juanmi finished a lovely move that began from deep against Valencia and Madrid got the perfect counter from a diabolically bad Betis corner.
If it’s belting free kicks you want, Mauricio Lemos, Iñigo Martínez and Sandro Ramírez starred, and Theo sent one screeching into the net in the Copa del Rey final.
Isaac Cuenca had a Le Tissier moment before his team got battered at the Calderón, while Carlos Clerc and Sergio León delivered bright moments in a bleak season for Osasuna. Florin Andone’s footwork against Sevilla was almost as neat as Isco’s disco feet at Sporting and how about these touches from Ben Yedder?
If assists make a goal, which by definition they do, Willian José rendered this Juanmi strike pretty good, Karim Benzema did that against Atlético, and Martin Montoya finished a smooth move for Valencia.
By far the best, though, was scored by Kevin-Prince Boateng for Las Palmas at Villarreal: a beautiful move that began with 18 passes from one end of the pitch to the other and ended with a lovely dinked ball into the box, a lovelier volleyed backheel assist, and an even lovelier volleyed finish from Boateng, leaping to connect with the ball 1.67m off the floor. It was a goal so good he told his wife to get packing; they were off to the Uefa gala to collect the Puskás award.
“It was going to be the best day of my life after my kids being born,” he said, but it never happened. “They explained to me afterwards that it is not the best team goal, it is the best individual goal, so why do we always say it’s a team sport? Otherwise, I’ll go play tennis,” he complained. “I saw all the messages and I got all excited. [My wife] asked me a week after: ‘What happened to Zurich?’ I said: ‘Oh forget it’.”
Best goal celebration
Barcelona’s players falling about laughing when Javier Mascherano finally scored a goal eight years on was good. When Pablo Formals scored against Sporting Gijón for Málaga, he ran to the camera shouting “I love you Mum!” And Doctor Diego Cervero, winner of this award two years ago, did press-ups again. But the best was Athletic Bilbao’s players hiding behind the dressing-room door, like some surprise birthday party, waiting for Mikel Balenziaga to walk through having just scored his first goal over 300 games into his career. It was a beauty too. “The nicest thing was seeing how happy it made my team-mates,” he said, modestly.
Best game
Sevilla beat Espanyol 6-4 on the opening day, which was a good start, and fortunately it didn’t end there either. “We had chances to win it … and chances to lose it too,” Luis Enrique admitted after Barcelona beat Valencia 3-2 with a last-minute penalty, vice-president Jordi Mestre insisting after: “I prefer this to a boring game.” Las Palmas and Celta played out a wonderful 3-3 draw that was a festival of goals and another reminder of something easily forgotten: that football is fun, that beyond the table and the targets, there’s glory in every game. Juande Ramos described Malaga’s most exciting game as a “rollercoaster”, his team getting a 92nd-minute winner to make it 4-3 against Deportivo. And Real Madrid 3-3 Las Palmas was a lot of fun. The best, though – and it is remarkable how often it is the best – might just have been the clásico. A great game won in the very last minute with the very last kick. Or it might have been, if it wasn’t for that occasion against PSG, which maybe wasn’t the best game ever but the most ludicrous night anyone could remember.
Best manager
Things might have ended badly for Jorge Sampaoli, but Sevilla still completed their best season statistically and were enjoyable to watch; at one point, it even seemed they might genuinely be candidates for the title. Quique Sánchez Flores quietly, and handsomely, guided Espanyol to a position of comfort, with the hope of further improvement to come. Just because it’s been seen before doesn’t make what Diego Simeone has done less impressive. Míchel steadied Málaga and did so in style. And in their first season in primera Mauricio Pellegrino took Alavés comfortably into the top half, won at the Camp Nou, drew at the Calderón and reached the second final in their history, leaving literally nothing to chance, every move mechanised. If he’s a very strong candidate, stronger still is José Luis Mendilibar at Eibar. What he has done is extraordinary. But the winner has to be Zinedine Zidane. In 20 European games, he’s won as many Champions Leagues as José Mourinho, Alex Ferguson or Pep Guardiola.
Best signing
Sandro Ramírez. At the end of last season, no one wanted to pay for him; at the end of this season, his manager was promising to dig into his own pocket if it meant getting him to stay at Málaga. It won’t.
Player of the Year
Leo Messi. In a season that defied easy analysis, teams shifting through different phases and players coming and then going again, stars soon slipping away, one thing was constant: Messi being brilliant. Top scorer in the league, top scorer in the Cup, and top scorer in the Champions League until he was overtaken by Ronaldo on the final day – and all that from a position that sometimes looked suspiciously like midfield. All that in a year in which it wasn’t even the goals that defined him, but everything else.
The fact that Messi was hauled back in Europe and beaten to the league does introduce significant doubt, it is true. By the end, given the way it played out and the fact that Madrid ended as double winners, there is a temptation to turn towards Isco or Ronaldo instead, or maybe even Marcelo or Ramos – arguably their best player over the whole season (Marcelo) and the embodiment of their spirit respectively (Ramos). Maybe it would be right to do so, as well. After all, Isco and Ronaldo were symbols of the shift in power, the motors that drove Madrid in the final, decisive weeks. Truth is, it does feel a little funny to crown a player whose season ultimately felt like a disappointment, despite having Luis Suárez and Neymar alongside him . It may even be wrong.
But no, it’s not. Not really. Because here’s the thing, the most simple, most basic thing: this season, Messi was the best player in Spain by a very, very long way. Maybe even better than he has ever been before. Asked to explain how Sevilla had lost to Barcelona, their president José Castro said: “Because they have Messi and we don’t.” And while even he couldn’t win every game single-handedly, that became a recurring theme. One day, cameras caught Suárez talking to Messi. “How do you strike the ball?” he asks. “I’m going to have to learn how to do that.”
Team of the season
GK: Jan Oblak (Atlético Madrid – with Valencia’s Diego Alves taking over for penalties)
RB: Dani Carvajal (Real Madrid)
CB: Sergio Ramos (Real Madrid)
CB: Gerard Piqué (Barcelona)
LB: Marcelo (Real Madrid)
M: Stephen N’Zonzi (Sevilla)
M: Luka Modric (Real Madrid)
M: Isco (Real Madrid)
FW: Messi (Barcelona)
FW: Griezmann (Atlético Madrid)
FW: Ronaldo (Real Madrid)
Subs: Madrid’s
OK, OK: Suárez, Neymar, Umtiti (Barcelona), Kroos (Real Madrid), Illaramendi (Real Sociedad), Aspas (Celta Vigo), Llorente (Alavés), Trigueros (Villarreal), Pedro León (Eibar), Sandro (Málaga), Aduriz (Athletic), Roque Mesa (Las Palmas).
And finally, some quotes to send you on your way …
“I’m in intensive care but I’m not dead yet” – Gus Poyet puts it all into perspective.
“Football is not everything in football” – Fran Escribá.
“The thing is, they’re very good” – Joaquín Caparrós offers up the simplest of analyses after defeat to Barcelona.
“I told Luka: ‘You put in a good one and I’ll put it away’” – Sergio Ramos explains his cunning plan after the clásico.
“I still have the picture: three cars, big house, I’m standing there like I’m 50 Cent. I look at it and say: ‘Look how stupid you were.’ Who drives round Loughton in a Lamborghini?” – Kevin-Prince Boateng.
“You lot must really like the national team; every time I’m with Spain, you always ask me about Real Madrid” – speaking to the press, Gerard Piqué goes on international duty and nails it.
“No, look: I’m the Athletic manager and I see it from our perspective; ask Zidane and he’ll probably say differently” – asked if a draw would have been a fairer result at the Bernabéu, so does Ernesto Valverde. Yet again.
“Going already? What’s the matter? Is it late?! Stay to the end!” – Villarreal’s Jaume Costa isn’t impressed with fans he can see sneaking out. And says so. Good on him.
“For those of us who have a heart, there’s nothing better than feeling love” – so says Quique Sánchez Flores. Which is a nice way to end.
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