When football left me and forced me to hang up his boots had Just fifteen years. My case, I have very clear, it is quite curious. A kid I was a striker who met the four basic qualities for success in place: power goal, skill, speed and intelligence. He had an almost astonishing ease to get me off rivals and there was no match stick his least one goal.
But like those stars that enter little by little in its period of decline, as time went on I began to slowly lose those attributes that I had become a crack in power. Maybe I was the victim of some conspiracy genetics, or in any case committed a sin itself from the talented: the impasse. But no, no. More than stagnate, I experienced a sudden regression to transform into a player vulgar, almost clumsy, such as in the best case, merely attempt to give to a partner because they are unable to dribble an opponent.
But football is my life, and you know well what I'm talking about, after high school I wanted to stay tied to it. Then I started During coach. In my first class I had an argument with one of the teachers. He spoke of the benefits of passing game to settle out close games and I like every time they touched the subject, I tried straight ignorant. "The only football and I know it is the ball played into the ground," he said, almost brawling, and calling for a phrase that for me was religion. Militant
touch, I have no way of seeing the football always looking down. In that, I clarified, there is no chance to negotiate. In training my players are prohibited from making the throw-in by hand because the ball can not stand for a second go through the air. Not to mention the corners and free kicks: all are ordered to play it short. Nothing Bartolo go there. I do not understand why, but two years ago my journal whacking people passed by the training method that implemented it, only one in the world. Van Gaal and Bielsa will be guys who like laburar tactically, they divide the field with ropes and make independent tactical moves each team lines, but still no other technician used my formula.
My team is trained on an island that has a football field bordered by a river full of hungry crocodiles. We have only two balls for training, so that the boys are forced to treat them with kindness. Toques, triangulations, walls. The idea is to play forever. What I do have to recognize is that occasionally I steal a phrase to Flaco Menotti to encourage them to respect the ball. When players are face to face with the goalkeeper, Skinny asked to give a pass to the network. And to me this phrase seems so fantastic, so neatly summarizes my view the game, no practice in that the decision at least once.
After all, if you pack a punch or throw a ball, the ball goes into the water and there they forget about seeing her again: crocodiles are hungrier than Chavo del Ocho.
but keep it quiet that we all coldly calculated. When the ball leaves the court, does not always end in the water. If it goes down to floor level as a way to reward the boys contain some posters that line the perimeter with the wigs Mariel legend, our main sponsor. The formula works, I can assure you. Two years went into the water only eight balls, but in truth, for the budget to handle players fared little hand, or rather the leg.
In the championship we will more or less, why you gonna lie. We walk through the middle of the table. Play ten games, won three, drawn four and lost three. We take the initiative and often monopolize the possession of the ball, but we lack depth. We played and played, and often rivals go crazy because they believe that we are spending. The problem is it costs us to get assists, the final pass as he called modern technology. Still, I know a lot of fans of other teams who come to see our parties because they say we're the best play.
To me that is a pride, you know? Like it or not, I am the father of the child. The team is a true copy of what I want, a reflection of what I learned and sucked since childhood. The other day, a journalist I wanted to throw the tongue, or Chicano, I'm not sure, and asked what I prefer, if winning the championship or remain the team most respects to the ball.
that time spent walking in the Rubio Lazarte, a dubious eight style, like these ladies tufted experts in etiquette and protocol programs will be three in the afternoon. Upon hearing the question, Lazarte became indignant, and told the reporter, "That this scoundrel tell you the truth. That mask is removed and confess that we have all threatened that the punishment imposed on us if we throw a ball is to send the water with the crocodiles. Why not find out what life is Castillo, Mustafa and Diaz? "You believed you that it sold to Chile? For those kids sent them into the water and ate the crocodiles. "
After Lazarte said what he said, the journalist looked at me bewildered and only managed to ask if that was true. And I said yes, but that just was proud of how my team played.
Now I'm writing from prison. My lawyer swears in two months leave. "You do you advise? Do you believe or not believe him?
Yarroch
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