Juventus killed off Napoli and the best title race in Europe

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It’s been a bleak old season for fans of European title races. The Bundesliga was over before it began, the Premier League was done by Christmas, and this weekend Barcelona wrapped up La Liga with four games to spare. Congratulations to them, ta-ra to Andres Iniesta, and come on, folks, it’s still April.

The most notable exception to this trend was in Italy, where Juventus’ smooth progression to their seventh straight title was in danger of being interrupted by Napoli. The partenopei — that’s right, we know nicknames — would be desirable champions anyway, by virtue of being Not Juventus. However, this is a team that plays beautiful football, in a wonderful city utterly drunk on its football team. And last weekend, they beat Juventus in Turin, with a last-minute header so thumping you could have used it for fracking. That took Napoli to within a single point with four games to go. It. Was. On.

Or so we thought. But as the old Italian saying has it: Just when you think something beautiful is about to happen, you can be sure that Juventus will ruin your day.

The defending champions went to Milan on Saturday to play Internazionale, and it all went a little bit silly. Juve were one up after 12 minutes, and Inter had a man sent off shortly afterwards. All the defending champions had to do was keep the ball for the rest of the game and … oh, hang on, Inter have scored. Still, a draw’s not a bad … oh, hang on, Inter have scored again. What?

But as another old Italian saying has it: For God’s sake, Inter, what are you doing?

Sure enough, Juventus roared back to nick the game and the three points. Gonzalo Higuain, patron saint of impostor syndrome, scored the winner in the 89th minute, a fact that will be forgotten the next time he misses any chance at any level. Poor Higuain. It’s hard to be an elite-level striker when you look like a sad otter.

To Napoli, then. To Florence. And to the television replays. In the fifth minute, Fiorentina were awarded a penalty and Kalidou Koulibaly, though he was the last man, was booked under the entirely sensible new rules that prevent the ‘double punishment’ of a penalty and a red card. But then VAR, after a few minutes of intense rewinding and pausing, concluded that the offence had been committed outside the box. The penalty was downgraded to a free kick; the card was upgraded to red.

Maybe it was the counter-intuitive business of arguing for a penalty against them that broke Napoli’s minds. Or maybe it’s just really difficult to play 85 minutes with 10 men. Either way, Fiorentina won, 3-0, and the gap at the top of the table is back to four. Juventus have three games left, and while one is a tricky trip to Roma, the other two are at home against Bologna (12th) and Hellas Verona (19th ). It’s theirs to throw away.

Meanwhile Napoli will have to take comfort in the old Italian saying: You really had to win it this season, lads, because come the summer, loads of richer clubs are going to nick your best players and your manager.

He liked goals, did Harry. He hunted for them, he collected them. He was good at it, too: one of the best in the country. So when that goal happened, and he was nearby, he stuck his hand up. He claimed it. And when it was given elsewhere, he claimed it again. He swore on his daughter’s life that it was his, which might seem a bit strange to you. But then you don’t like goals as much as Harry.

Anyway, they gave him the goal. It was his. And for a moment, he was pleased … and then he heard them. They were laughing at him. They were telling jokes. Other goals happened, in other places: “Kane’s claimed it.” A royal baby was born: “Kane’s claimed it.” He was being mocked by strangers, mocked by officials, mocked even by the FA Cup.

They tried to protect him, of course. The wise old men of the media spoke out against this mockery. His friends and colleagues defended him, and protested. But it was no good. The joke was stuck fast, and the harder he squirmed, the louder his friends protested, the more it clung to him. And he knew that the joke would follow him forever. No matter how many goals he scored, there would always be one more, pinned to his chest by a stranger with a cruel chuckle. “Kane’s claimed it.”

And all he’d wanted was one more goal.

Speaking of the English press and their extremely principled stand against the public shaming of English footballers, let’s have a look what Raheem Sterling’s been doing to get himself in the news.

Right.

We’re not going to dive too deeply into the rancid and troubling fascination the English press has with Raheem Sterling and how he chooses to spend his time and money. But we will take a moment to acknowledge the beautiful work being done in that soul-sapper of a headline by “treats himself” and “despite”. Breakfast continues, even in such dark moments. The struggle goes on.

Or maybe the Daily Mail is trying to suggest some kind of causal relationship between winning awards and having breakfast. No cornflakes for me, darling, that bastard Kane’s claimed it. That’s a meal plan born from the most astonishing self-confidence. Like the old “I only smoke after sex, so I’m a 20 a day man” joke, but with croissants, coffee, and trophies with little models of footballers on. We’re not saying it’s a healthy way of arranging your life. But it’s a hell of a power move.

Incidental bonus fact: Brazil have awarded full international caps to players with all five possible names in the form Dxdx, where x is a vowel. Dadá, Dedé, Didi, Dodô, and Dudu.

As we move towards the second legs of the Champions League semi-finals, let us take a moment to consider how the directionality of time, and the order in which events occur, serve to shape the sense we have of the world. Roma are massive outsiders, of course, having conceded five to Liverpool in the first leg. But their two late goals have kept the tie alive, in the imagination if not in the odds. A three goal deficit is bad, but five would have been worse.

The fun thing is, this is the only path to 5-2 that could have kept the tie alive. Roma take a two-goal lead, then Liverpool tear back? Dead game. Roma and Liverpool exchange blows — 1-1, 2-2 — before Liverpool run away at the end? Dead game. We are simple creatures, and we like stories. PUNCH, followed by a tiny counter-punch? It’s on. But a jab, followed by a PUNCH? Nah.

Ahead of the first leg against Bayern Munich, Zinedine Zidane announced to the world that “We won’t shit our pants”. And he was right. They didn’t, and Bayern sort of did. In a way, this seems to have been Real Madrid’s overall approach over the last few seasons, as they have picked up consecutive Champions League trophies. Applied counter-scatology: turn up, keep the pants clean, and sooner or later the other lot will make a mess of themselves.

Can they do it again at the Bernabeu? We probably shouldn’t overlook that Madrid very nearly lost control against Juventus, conceding three in a performance of extreme discomfort. Only a last-minute penalty kept things corked up. Perhaps that stands as evidence of the strength of this team: Even when we almost shit ourselves, they end up shitting themselves harder. Or perhaps they got away with one.

But if Madrid make it three in a row, then Zidane’s spell in charge will go down in footballing history as one of the great sustained exercises in metaphorical bowel control.

While we’re on Madrid, let’s check with Cristiano Ronaldo. He may be slowly turning into a sculpture of himself, but his form down the back straight of this season has been nonsensically good. Two goals against Deportivo la Coruna on Jan. 21 marked the beginning of a run of 26 goals in 16 games. Indeed, the only teams to have kept from from scoring are Bayern Munich and, er, Levante. Huh.

Ronaldo’s most prolific club season came in 2014-15, when he scored a scarcely-credible 61 in 54 games. He’s currently on 42 (from 40), so breaking that record seems unlikely. However, Madrid have four league games left, plus the semifinal second leg against Bayern and a possible final in Kyiv. So if he carries on doing as he’s been doing, he could well break 50. At the age of 33. From just 46 games. Which would just be silly.

A sad moment in Essex, as Thurrock FC played their last ever competitive fixture. They have resigned from the Isthmian Premier Division after their chairman stepped away from the club due to reasons of ill health. But while the loss of any football club is a tragedy that leaves a tiny scar on the world, we were at least finally able to answer the age-old question: “What would a Viking funeral look like if it were instead held for a non-league football club and we replaced the flaming longboat with a child wearing a massive goalkeeper’s shirt?”