Two giants of European soccer are stumbling

This is the introductory paragraph, in which Tactically Naive greets you, invites you to consider that football is good, mostly, and then salutes you for your agreement. This establishes a feeling of mutual interest and respect, which then encourages you to proceed to the rest of the column. Did it work? Excellent.

Right then. Something weird is happening. The old order is trembling; the squares and streets are filled with the songs of revolution. Liberty is in the air. So is the scent of blood. For as you read this, not one but two of Europe’s most honkingly aristocratic, entitled football clubs are both a little bit rubbish. Can you hear the people sing?

We’re speaking, of course, about Real Madrid and Bayern Munich. The former have held the Champions League captive for the last few seasons, as is the natural order of things. And the latter have won the last 427 Bundesliga titles, approximately, for such is their divine right. Where others scramble, they glide, noses in the air, impossibly assured in their own god-given stations.

Well, usually. On Saturday, Real Madrid were beaten 1-0 by Alaves, thanks to a 95th minute winner from García Sánchez. This extended their run of scoreless games to four, three of which have been defeats. Sevilla, CSKA Moscow, and now Alaves. All to nil, and a goalless draw with Atletico in there for seasoning. This is not how Real Madrid are supposed to operate.

Over in Germany, meanwhile, Borussia Mönchengladbach stuck three unanswered goals past Manuel Neuer. This puts Bayern in the unusual (though, yes, still early) position of having some teams above them in the table. Five teams, in fact, including leaders Borussia Dortmund, who have 17 points over seven games, have scored 23 goals, and haven’t lost yet. Those are Bayern numbers, but Bayern aren’t posting them.

What’s going on? We might be looking at the natural convulsions that come with change. Perhaps Real Madrid, having spent years perfecting a system and a culture built to elevate and amplify Cristiano Ronaldo’s goalscoring, are now struggling to adjust. It certainly makes metaphorical sense: When the Galactico departs, a black hole is left behind, sucking in light, goals, and Karim Benzema. Basic physics.

Bayern Munich, meanwhile, are in an interesting place. Running an eye down their first squad, you start to wonder if all those familiar names, all that experience, is just a little too familiar. Lots of players in or near their 30s, with hundreds upon hundreds of games in their legs. A handful in their early 20s. Not too many in the sweet spot between. Have they passed that point where experience sighs and slumps into dusty tiredness?

On the other hand, it could all be the fault of Madrid manager Julen Lopetegui and Bayern boss Niko Kovac, two managers who looked, at the beginning of the season, to have been elevated far above their capacities, and haven’t done much to shake that impression. Apparently Bayern’s James was recently moved to remind his coach that “We’re not at Frankfurt here.” If the manager’s starting to lose track of even their basic geographical location, you know things are going poorly.

Perhaps Lopetegui and Kovac have made things bad; perhaps they don’t quite have it in them to make it good. In a sense it doesn’t really matter how much of the blame is theirs — they will be the ones taking it all if things don’t improve. The aristocracy always win in the end, of course, however impressive the singing. But that doesn’t mean heads won’t roll along the way.

A question that has been occupying Tactically Naive for much of the week: Which is the funniest vegetable?

We’re spoiled for choice, in truth, since vegetables are nature’s comedy prop-crop. Pumpkins are big, orange, and have an excellent name. Aubergines (or eggplants, if you insist) have been rendered delightfully obscene by the internet. And if you’re able to pick up a leek without wanting to boop the nearest person on the head with it, you’re a better person than TN.

Then there’s the cabbage.

At first consideration, the cabbage seems kind of overshadowed in this illustrious company. It is a serviceable vegetable: round in a boring way, green in a quiet way, lacking any kind of flair or personality. Heavy lettuce.

And in the UK, it is the key component — along with heat, water, and ennui — of overboiled cabbage, a dish that sits in the nation’s shared cultural memory as a kind of childhood bogeyman. The ghost of bad school dinners, a slithering, greasy presence on the plate and in the gut. A sulphuric haunting, known even to those who never actually had to eat the stuff.

But comedy is all in the delivery, and just as Eric Morecambe is able to get laughs out of an empty paper bag, so an unidentified Aston Villa fan was able to render the cabbage into something beautiful. All you need to do, it turns out, is bring a cabbage to Villa Park, then chuck it at Steve Bruce.

Throwing things at football managers is, broadly speaking, a bad thing to do — futile and unpleasant at best, actively dangerous at worst. Throwing cabbages, however, is great. And the key to resolving this contradiction can be found in Bruce’s response, which was understandably quite angry:

The guy who is being questioned … unfortunately, it sums up the society we are in at the moment. There’s no respect for anyone. Certainly for someone like him, I’m surprised he knew what a cabbage was. I find the whole thing hugely disrespectful.

And he’s right. Not about the decline of Western civilization bit, that’s a little overcooked. About the huge disrespect. That was the point, and that was the beauty.

Consider the things that are thrown at football managers. Coins, cigarette lighters, bottles: these are nasty, snide missiles, hurled by cowards, designed to do nothing but hurt. Season tickets, meanwhile, are a cry for help, a howl of betrayal. Extra points when chucked in the last game of the season.

But the cabbage is disrespectful, and it is only disrespectful. There’s no malice there, because it’s a cabbage. It’s not going to hurt anybody. It’s just going to fly through the air, puncture any sense of seriousness that might be hanging around, and then roll modestly into the corner. Job done. Boringly round, quietly green, utterly magical.

Sticks and stones may break your bones, but a cabbage will take your dignity to shreds.

Look, you try taking anybody seriously, after they’ve had a cabbage thrown at them. Particularly a football coach. Next day in training, they bring over a sack of balls, and they’re all cabbages. They ask you to pick up the near post at corners, and you hear “cabbages”. And you try not to giggle out loud, but you fail, and they hear, and they know. They know. Pick up your cabbage. Keep the cabbage. Get it into the mixer. Let’s make some coleslaw.

More than one commentator noted in the aftermath that vegetables were once thrown at condemned prisoners, as they walked to the scaffold. Villa, keen to pay their respects to this ancient tradition, sacked Bruce a few days later. It wasn’t because of the cabbage; it was because of the poor performances and disappointing results.

But it was also, definitely, because of the cabbage.

To which we might also add: hoo buddy, getting promoted sucks. Suddenly you’re not the big boys any more, you’re the small boys, and the bigger boys are all making fun of you. Poor Fulham. It was all going to be so beautiful.