Goals from Isco and Benzema and Madrid mostly forgiven

As so many times before, the game followed the script of a James Bond film: the hero is subjected to all sorts of diabolical tests that never put his Dry Martini at risk. And the ending is always the same, there are less bubbles than Scandinavian models in the secret agent's jacuzzi. In the cinema it’s called a happy ending. Here we can call it a comfortable victory.

The Valentine’s Day celebrations added chocolates and red hearts to the reconciliation. Love overcomes everything and anybody can slip up with their neighbour. For the record, the reproaches were limited. Judgement on the team was limited to some isolated whistling of Ancelotti and Casillas, half annoyance at the result in the derby, half sadistic nostalgia for Mourinho. Not a mention of the party, no memories of Kevin Roldan.

Deportivo did well for most of the match, and were excellent at times. However, in spite of their active role in the game, they went off at half-time a goal down that could have been three, if the shots from Cristiano and Bale that both hit the cross bar had gone in. But they didn’t give up. After the restart, Borges hit the post and Casillas prevented a goal from Riera after a great header that brushed Nacho. Though Depor didn’t stop trying that was the end of their chances to level it.

Madrid took time to get up to cruising speed. When they did they burst the defences of their rival. In the space of six minutes they rattled the cross bar twice. Just after, Isco scored. His goal was a carbon copy of his strike in Almería, a curling effort with the right foot looking for the far corner. The shot must be easy if you’re bandy legged and have oodles of talent. In any case, it was a wonderful gift for a Bernabéu that’s completely in love with Isco.

Meanwhile Cristiano had succumbed to anxiety. Condemned by haste, he arrived either early or badly. When he accepted it wasn’t to be his night he played better, even setting up the second goal of the game; a pinch from Benzema on a Muse’s bottom.

What can be said about Illarramendi? He is as he is. Icy, so neat, efficient in his distribution, but with no ability to go crazy, get passionate. With 20 minutes to go he came off for Lucas Silva who, although he did nothing of note (he just ran), he did it with more character, with more edge.

That's what Bond films are like, and that's what Madrid’s games are like, particularly in their own ground. After various incidents, the rivals fall to pieces and the hero comes through triumphantly, Dry Martini in hand and the Swedish ladies in the tub.

from Últimas noticias | Diario AS http://ift.tt/1BccxVQ

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