The music is over, the friends are leaving, what a useless evening my Pioli…
It seemed impossible to play a worse European derby than last year but we did it, bitter Montenegro gives us a blowjob, so much more, what difference does it make?
One hundred and eighty minutes of total flatness, without a flicker, without an idea, without self-love, without pride, without balls, in which the maximum reaction was Theo’s trip like a hysterical fagot when the time was up.
We understood what the mood was after less than five minutes by observing the genius of Sala Baganza’s magician, who saw fit to place Calabria inside midfield to cover Musah’s full-range attacks, with Pulisic and Loftus-Cheek stepping on each other’s toes on the trocar.
Then it’s clear that he tells you wrong, Roma takes the post and the ball ends up at Mancini’s feet, Loftus takes the crossbar and the ball ends up who knows where, Dybala slips the far corner circumnavigating three backs, Loftus hits the header with a sure shot Spinazzola’s only back present, bad luck you say? No, it’s just that the God of football hates stupid people.
Can the move of leaving Gabbia alone to defend in an open field one-on-one against Lukaku be defined differently?
Or that of playing an entire second half in numerical superiority with a splendid 4-1-5, with all the attackers crushed at the edge of the area to close off every space and ball control entrusted to central defenders who don’t know what to do with it?
The final result was a cosmic zero, the same contribution that this coach is now able to give to the team, zero in fact.
There is only one thing left to ask of this useless season, save face next Monday and not work hard for the sixth consecutive derby.
Then whoever is paid to decide must make the right decisions, also to remove any residual alibi from a bunch of immature, presumptuous and soulless children.
Max
Tags: Commentary Roma Milan Game
