After watching Manchester United comprehensively outclassed (expectedly), driving back to Kuala Lumpur felt like what it would feel like if you had just washed your bottom with Evian and swam in a pool of a dozen pornstars. I looked back at those magical moments and had a revelation: What is more than the fact that MC Stiff did crack a really explosive performance at the Ipoh Street Fiesta prior to the match, Messi’s performance at the final match was living breathing proof that the biblical resurrection is a shit load of nonsense.
Because Jesus has not left us.
And if he were still alive and very much among us, it is reasonable to assume, that he is currently living in Spain (the second best place in the world, after Serdang). And it is also sensible to suppose that he is now embodied in a form of a footballer – by the name of Lionel Messi.
The mere fact that Messi’s wonderful display of football is a defiance of anything human and explicable to the laws of science confirms his holiness.
For me though, the shocking bit is not at all about St. Messi and the Camp Nou Church. The biggest and nicest surprise was how prodigiously pathetic Manchester United was. I thought that the loss in 2009 was bad enough. But this was beyond redemption.
What’s also terrifying, was that I’m right – you can read my previous entry here.
Barcelona may sometime look too laid back and uninspiring. But that’s really because there’s not a single player that would run around hysterically like a complete retard. They also may look whacked and weary. But the flair. Oh my God, the flair. It’s Elvish flair. And that’s more addictive than watching the ball cross the goal line on crack cocaine.
I’ve often wondered why there are so many Malaysian who glorify Manchester United, as well as the English Premier League. Of course English teams are more peppy and spirited. Their fans make better noise too. But when you delve into the art, trust me, watching the English league feels like watching a one-minute porn clip – no foreplay, no climax, only penetration.
I suppose we’re an artless kind of people. We’re simply ghastly at gauging art. But I suppose this is the illness of a developing nation. It’s always all about results, quick results. We never do take the time to appreciate exquisiteness or lovliness anymore.
And yes. Sometimes dash and flamboyance doesn’t work. But you’re better off supporting a team that’s better looking rather than a team that’s just practical and expensive.
That day, if Barcelona were unlucky to lose, I would still be absolutely proud of the kind of football they displayed. Obviously, I can’t say the same about Manchester United. I can’t even begin to imagine what it would feel like, being a Manchester United fan at the time. They’ve probably had possession of the ball equal to the number of times they’ve won the Premiership – 19 times.
Watching your team’s monumentally awful performance, losing and leaving a trail of crying virgins in your wake is pretty shitty I should think. Jogging naked through a funeral would be less silly and embarrassing. But it’s not like I’m suggesting this to any Manchester United fans.