Barcelona: A Tribute

It didn't quite turn out the way I predicted but Barcelona were crowned European champions for the fourth time in twenty years in glorious style. Manchester United were subjected to utter domination for the entire match with the exception perhaps of the first ten minutes. The domination in this, a club match on the grandest scale, is testament to Barcelona's now irrefutable place among the pantheon of football's great teams. To Hungary '54, Brazil '70 and Ajax '72, add Barcelona '11.

The plaudits will go to Lionel Messi and understandably so. He is a player of extraordinary class, a graceful juggernaut that not one defender throughout the world is capable of stopping. Yet this Barcelona team is so much more than one man, as talented as that man is. Every single player has a crucial role to play, a task to fulfill to help send their team on the way to victory. The attackers must defend and the defenders must attack, for that is the Barça way. When the opposition has the ball, Pedro and David Villa will chase down defenders until they force an error and regain possession for their team. Gerard Piqué will stride into the opponent's half, head aloft at all times, searching for an incisive pass. They are the contemporary embodiment of totaalvoetbal, forty years after Rinus Michels and Johan Cruyff first laid the template at the club.

If, however, we were to single out one player as the man who makes Barcelona tick, it would not be Messi but the peerless Xavi. Xavi Hernández simply oozes class. Tonight he completed 124 passes, an incredible figure that no other player in Europe can ever expect to achieve. Put into context, that's three times more than United's top passer on the night (Rio Ferdinand  managed 40). He is the fulcrum on which every match rests, the man that lets Barcelona play. And yet, were it not for Barcelona's other diminutive geniuses, he would often be the smallest player on the pitch at a tiny 5"7. Xavi's brilliance makes a mockery of the notion that only the best athletes can dominate a game, a notion profoundly embedded in the British and Irish psyche to the extent that a player of genuine skill from these isles is the exception and not the rule. Barcelona's cantera focuses on the skill of these smaller players, safe in the knowledge that their faith will be vindicated as the players age. The fruits of La Masia's labour is this great Barcelona team we see today, the smallest team in Europe yet still the best.

Owned by their own supporters and, up until the beginning of next season, never bearing the name of a sponsor on their shirt, the club is clearly a rather special organisation. Such fawning over their values grates with numerous people but it is difficult to argue that they remain a class above clubs such as Real Madrid, a club that prides itself in gentlemanly conduct yet frequently attacks referees, or Chelsea, the plaything of a wealthy oligarch. While by no means are Barcelona a miserly outfit (no other team in world sports pays more in wages), they do not rely on the investment of some sugardaddy for success. The products of the cantera are equally, in fact, more important than the big-money signings. For every Dani Alves there's a Sergio Busquets, for every David Villa, a Pedro. The club has become a self-sustaining model that will continue to produce players with the Barcelona ideology imprinted in their minds, the legacy of Cruyff and Michels' groundwork.

These myriad virtues make it easy to overlook the unsavoury aspects of some of the players, notably Busquets' playacting and Alves' whingeing. I will gladly accept this admittedly irritating side to the game if it means Xavi continues to split defences with inch-perfect passes, Iniesta keeps creating space with a deft drop of the shoulder and Messi makes our jaws hit the floor with a glorious piece of improvisation that only he is capable of.

Tonight we were privileged to witness one of football's great teams deliver a superlative performance. I implore the critics to cast aside their animosity towards the negative side of Barcelona's game and the seemingly endless plaudits they receive from the press. Simply enjoy a superb team while they're still at their peak. It will be a long time till we see such a fine collection of players together again.

Barcelona vs Manchester United - a review

Two days before Saturday's Champions League final, now is probably the time for a preview. This is where people offer their opinions on how United will cope with Dani Alves' rampaging runs, why Park Ji-Sung's energy may prove to be crucial or how much Saturday's referee Viktor Kassai has been paid by Barcelona / United (delete to your taste).

But just to show how much of a maverick I am, I'm posting a review. That's right, before the Sunday papers can even think of dusting off their (t)rusty typewriters, I shall don my time-travelling cap and give my insights on why Barcelona won the 2011 Champions League final (yep, they won it).

The grand scale of the occasion, as always, first became truly apparent when the teams marched onto the pitch for the first time. Led by respective captains Carles Puyol and Nemanja Vidic, two men that probably feast on lions, the players filed past Ol' Big Ears and went about the formalities. Ballboys waved as cameras panned, pennants were exchanged and Javier Hernández prayed.

Kickoff. Michael Carrick charged into the Barcelona half, demanded the ball and duly won it after a lazy pass from Busquets. Carrick steadied himself and waited for support from his teammates. In the corner of his eye, he saw something none of the Barcelona players, his United teammates or the millions watching on television had spotted. Antonio Valencia had darted into the box unnoticed and unmarked. Carrick played an inch-perfect pass with nothing but a mere glance leaving Valenica with the simple task of squaring the ball to Hernández who converted with ease. 1-0 United.

Forgive me, my memory's quite hazy after all that time travel. That previous paragraph may be slightly innaccurate. I've just realised that it was in fact Xavi who had played the killer pass, Dani Alves who had charged into the box and Pedro who had poked Barcelona, not Man United, into an early lead. Other than that, the paragraph captures exactly what happened.

Once Barcelona had gained the lead, a certain pattern began to develop. It revolved around the Chameleon, the Xavi Hernández. Michael Carrick and his midfield partner, the evergreen Welshman Ryan *NAME WITHHELD DUE TO SUPERINJUNCTION*, soon found themselves surrounded by a flurry of Catalan triangles. After twenty minutes of ceaseless geometric passing, Carrick was seen to break down in tears in the centre circle and Fergie was forced to make the first change of the match. Darron Gibson came on for Carrick, who was last seen muttering to himself in a corner in Carrington.

Pass. Pass. Pass. Pass. Pass. Pass. Pass. Pa- Oh, who cares. Barcelona won 3-0 and managed 71% ball possession. Xavi completed 114 passes and even scored a rare goal to cap off Pedro's earlier tap-in and Messi's mazy dribble that took him past six United defenders, Edwin Van Der Sar, the referee and a streaker  before stroking the ball into the net. United finished with ten men after Vidic hauled down David Villa one too many times and United's dreams of a double were over.

A superb performance from Barcelona that surely cements their position as one of football's greatest ever teams. Their victory was marred by tragedy, however, when Dani Alves, Sergio Busquets and Pedro were all killed when Wesley Brown stared in their direction in a threatening manner. Michael Owen's attempts at trying to blend in with the Barcelona team as they made their way up the stands to collect their winners' medals were thwarted when he was ejected by a steward who thought he was a mischievous ballboy.

Quite a final. Congratulations Barcelona, Champions League winners 2011.