Late snow in spring

Snow on plum blossom,
white on white, is crystal flower,
crystal droplet soon.

CJM
Swiss Alps, April 2012

“Art, maths, science, poetry, jazz, billiards” ... and football

I just plucked this selection of words out of the first commentary posted by El País’s Ramon Besa in the early hours of the morning after Barça’s solid victory at Camp Nou  over the Madrid team Getafe (result 4-0). Art, maths, science, poetry, jazz, billiards – all contributing, as his article proclaims, to El partido perfecto del Barça (Barça’s perfect game).

I don’t think I’ve ever read such an ecstatic piece of writing about sport. Besa was clearly still on a high at that hour (his piece the following evening was more measured and analytical), having admitted that it was impossible to take your eyes off the pitch during the game in case you missed some exquisite detail of the play.

I managed to see the last fifteen minutes or so, and caught the virtuoso dance performed by Messi as, finding his way to the goal blocked, he turned about and went off on a meandering course right to the side line and back again, defenders left reeling behind one after another, and so found his way again to the goal mouth to deliver a shot just deflected by Torres’ head.

Such good football demands good writing, and here prize-winning Besa delivered a delightfully well written piece, defying exact translation, written in the grip of euphoria and enthusiasm. Look out for the extended geometry metaphor. Here is a taste of it:

El arte es un misterio y como tal se muestra en situaciones insospechadas, como ayer en el Camp Nou, en una noche desapacible por el frío y el agua, ante un contrario que tiene por costumbre responder o negar al Barcelona como es el Getafe. No parecía el mejor día para arrancarse a jugar al fútbol y, sin embargo, a Pep Guardiola le dio por juntar a Iniesta, Messi, Xavi y Busquets y los azulgrana se marcaron una actuación excelente, a ratos excelsa, tan precisa que merecería ser interpretada por un matemático si no por un poeta, nada que ver con la épica futbolística y, en cambio, muy propia de la mejor estética.

Los triángulos y las paredes, el rombo y el cuadrado y las elaboraciones y las combinaciones se sucedieron como repertorio de una ciencia exacta. El fútbol del Barcelona fue de salón. Muy técnico, riguroso con el cuidado del balón y, al mismo tiempo, con momentos de una admirable improvisación. Igual que la mejor banda de jazz. La noche fue tan solemne que no se reparó ni en el marcador ni en la clasificación, sino en el compás de Busquets, el cartabón de Xavi, el lápiz de Messi y la luz de Iniesta. Había que mirar al campo, se imponía no perder detalle, convenía memorizar cada jugada desde que se supo el once titular.

Art is a mystery and as such it arrives unannounced, as it did yesterday at Camp Nou, on such an unpleasant night, cold and wet, with Barcelona facing a rival like Getafe with a record of being able to respond and frustrate. Not the best day to throw yourself into football, yet Pep Guardiola chose this evening to bring on Iniesta, Messi, Xavi and Busquets, and the azulgranas put on an excellent show, at times superlative, so precise that it would need a mathematician, if not a poet, to interpret it, in practice nothing to do with the story of football but rather to do with the highest aesthetic.

The triangles and the lines, the rhombus and the square, and the workings and combinations succeeded each other like the repertory of an exact science. Barcelona’s football was exhibition standard. Highly technical and controlled in handling the ball, and at the same time with moments of admirable improvisation. Like an excellent jazz group. The mood of the evening was so in awe that no attention was paid to the scoreboard or to the rankings, but all were fixed on Busquet’s compass, Xavi’s set square, Messi’s pencil and Iniesta’s lamp. One had simply to watch the pitch, it was vital not to miss a single detail, each sequence of play demanding to be remembered, knowing this was the first team in action.