A volcanic Nervión enjoys the passage to another European final. Again? Yes, again
to the brave To the mighty As the canons of its history dictate. With an adrenaline overdose, with a touch of illusion and a story sculpted in sweat and race. Sevilla, again in a Europa League final. The seventh, after a great draw, knocking down the almighty Juve, the one with the twisted fang, the trade and the checkbook. Nor the infamous arbitration of easy nor the disastrous performance of Van Boekel They could do all the arrests, all the necks, all the dignity with one team. Again? Yes, again. Leaning on the crutch of a volcanic Nervión, Sevilla got close to the bull, completed a time-honored task, and left the bullring of Sevilla on the shoulders of the bull. Suso placed the magic, Acuña the caste, Navas the anger, Oliver the category, Rakitic the hierarchy, Fernando the sacrifice, and Bono, the miraculous dose. The rest was provided by an artist, Eric Lamela. My teammate Manolo Nieto interviewed him before the game and asked him if he imagined scoring the decisive goal. That night Erik dreamed that he had scored that goal. And hours later the dream came true with a dry and powerful excitement that made Nervión rumble. An immortal goal for the Sevillan people. Like the one at Gate. Like Palop’s. Next station, Budapest.
Months ago, It was very cold in Seville. No one believed, everything had to be burned, everything was done wrong and in the middle of the storm, far from asking for calm, the brotherhood of the holy reproach appeared, with a match and a jerry can of gasoline.Unpleasant. The usual, like never before. Cloaked in a thirst for power, in a Cainite “I”, digging the eternal trench of actions and murderous wars. The club was a ruin, they said. You had to throw games, they said. End of the cycle, they said. With obituaries, executions and funerals planned, with half the town asking for blood, Pepe Castro and Monchi They pulled the handbrake. The club recovered, had the humility to admit mistakes and were at the top of their lungs. Without victimization, without apologies, without giving up. They returned to the starting square, started again, surpassed themselves and showed once again that it is a healthy, indomitable club, forged in an indestructible feeling: the demand of the believer.
The inexhaustible factory of miracles ran in a Basque vein. mendilibar, the “fool” who arrived for three months, found a nugget in the middle of the mud, recovered the culture of the tracksuit, imposed common sense and parked the inventions. His right spark set off a fire of illusion. He took the sofa from the kitchen, then the sink from the living room, then the bed from the bathroom.. Game after game, Sevilla again had a special color and the fans recovered their lost illusion. From suffering to joy. From misery to hope. From the Inquisitors to the ‘Mendilibers’. From those who enjoyed the supposed death of Seville to those who now fear its resurrection. From the scent of Segunda to the eternal purple of maestro Araujo and his broadcasts in La Macarena. From the fear of ceasing to be to the pride of continuing to be. From nothing to everything. From the ground to the sky. They say you never give up. It’s not a cheap slogan. Is a reality. Never give up. And his legend is indestructible.
Reuben Uria
Source: Goal