The Europa League gives us pure soccer nonsense and we should thank it for its service

Hello, and welcome back to Tactically Naive, SB Nation’s weekly soccer column. This week’s episode is brought to you by the International Campaign to Abolish Timezones. Stupid things. Get them gone.

European football has a dirty secret that hides in plain sight. The Champions League may be the noisiest and the biggest competition, and the one with the most money and all of the Gazprom. And the Champions League is, generally, pretty great.

But for the really good stuff, the purest uncut footballing nonsense, nothing but the Europa League will do.

TN has covered most of the reasoning before, at some length, so we’ll just summarize quickly: the name is better, Thursdays are much more convenient for everybody, it contains loads of teams you don’t see all that often, and the trophy looks like a tooth torn from some extra-dimensional being. And, most importantly, sometimes the games are completely bananas.

Consider Sevilla’s elimination at the hands of Slavia Prague. The first leg finished 2-2. The second leg finished 2-2. And then with one minute to go in extra time, the score was 3-3, and Sevilla were heading through on away goals.

Then Simon Kjaer, usually a competent human being, fell over.

Well, that’s not entirely fair. Kjaer didn’t just fall over. First he got himself in exactly the correct position to do exactly the right thing. As a goalmouth scramble unfolded, he got himself back onto the line, ready for the shot. Ready to cover his goalkeeper. Ready to be the hero. And then he fell over.

Well, that’s not entirely right. He didn’t just fall over. Instead, he asked his body to make the clearance, and his body politely told him to do one. So he shivered. He stumbled. He danced. He ended up looking a little like Bambi, if Bambi was wearing shoes three sizes too large, on the wrong feet, blindfolded. And drunk. Playing QWOP.

Funny in itself, of course. But TN has a theory that these things are funnier because they happen in the Europa League. This strange second-choice competition, this afterthought, this Thursday night thing.

Leaving aside the fans of the teams involved, nobody quite knows how important it is. And so nobody knows how much they should be caring about it. The competition floats in a limbo state, untethered from the grind. Here, farce is at its lightest. A man falling over is just a man falling over. Perfect and whole and isolated. And beautiful.

Alternative theory: Kjaer’s collapse is part of a broader pattern. Strange things are happening. Like this:

Then it happened again:

And there was also this:

And, best of all, this:

Should we be worried? One or two of these in a week might be easily dismissed as just high spirits, but this feels like an unusually high concentration of silliness.

It is a recurring theme across various cultures, religions, and societies: as the end times approach, the usual rules of existence break down. Odd things occur. Birds fly backwards. The seas boil, and the skies seethe. Weird trumpet sounds come out of nowhere, which might explain the last clip.

Perhaps it is finally happening. Perhaps we’ve finally reached a tipping point: the End of Football. So much being played, all of it being broadcast, so many opinions being generated. So much attention, both demanded and given. So much time spent. Glitches are starting to appear. The seams are starting to show. How are we supposed to keep on doing this, without something breaking?

Oh, hang on — it’s the international break next weekend. That’ll sort it. Phew.

Something funny is going on in England. There are four sides in the FA Cup semi-finals — that’s normal, at least — and fully three of them would be interesting winners.

The boring one is Manchester City, who needed some good old-fashioned governing body stupidity to get past Swansea City. Apparently, it’s better not to install VAR in a VAR-ready Championship stadium because other Championship stadia, at other times, haven’t been able to use VAR.

This baffling decision was not reviewed, and City took full advantage, completing a three-goal comeback with a soft penalty and an offside goal.

But let’s not focus on City. Let’s instead praise Wolves, Watford, and Brighton & Hove Albion, who last won this competition in (respectively) 1960, never, and never. Though oddly enough, Brighton and Watford lost consecutive finals in 1983 and 1984.

Let’s particularly praise Wolves, who took Manchester United to pieces in front of a delirious Molineux. Suddenly coming into a huge pile of money is one thing; using it correctly quite another. But Wolves have done the decent thing, and built a side that are — if the glassy stares on the faces of United’s defenders were anything to go by — more than a little terrifying.

Solid in defence, quick and imaginative on the break, and backed by a riotous crowd that are clearly having the times of their lives. It’s like Wolves were built specifically for a cup run, to make big teams look silly, and to drag just a little more magic out of the oldest silver pot of them all. It’s going to be really annoying when Watford bundle them out in the semis.