carry the post of tears Borghetti.
was a bit 'and I was thinking that I had left under the plaster, but after the grotesque Arab epilogue last night it became clear to me, Benitez is moving to Inter in the same absurd ordeal that Brian Clough has had to put in his legendary forty-four days at the helm of Leeds United. The disturbing and bulky figure of José Mourinho, Clough was like that of Don Revie, with him at every step that moves at Appiano Gentile, in every interview to the press release, in any conversation with the president, any recommendation to the team as well as the love of your old girl hangs in your home, wear your clothes, gets on the lips of her lipstick. Benitez feels like Clough felt that in all the time spent with his predecessor entered into his team, in the head and in the shoes of his players in the locker room walls and trophies of the board presidency in the fans and scarves in the pens of journalists, and feels, like Clough felt that his ghost is still there when he arrives at the camp, the press room, the locker room, watching him as he speaks, while the players are prepared, while the cup is raised, while President shakes his hand, for Benitez and Mourinho, as Don Revie to Clough, is an ectoplasm that makes me want to cry because he, in that team not entered and will never in this way.
Benitez's statements after the game I have touched, the white request for "support" belongs to a different narrative from that cheeky Mourinho, educated at a grammar and elegant, with a humility that knows the dividing line with the lack respect. Vulgarity Inter environment is a true reflection of our country's middle-class, nervous and irritable, it is the vulgarity of a society that has abandoned his trainer before you begin, with his legs still soft to orgasm before, is the vulgarity of a world that prefers to spend a week in the sun of Sharm el Sheik, rather than wandering through the libraries the Marais, is the vulgarity of a reprehensible character as Materazzi, beaten for not having played (but why would he play?), is interviewed after the game and you leave to go to words of ill-concealed contempt for the coach, defending " the company that brought them to the roof of the world ", as Billy Bremner Clough attacked the poor. And 'the vulgarity of a sports journalism that cares about decency and run the poll on who will be the next coach, once again demonstrating the lowest level of the class, demonstrating once again that journalists write about sports fishing when the only fish they have seen in their lives is what is served the restaurant. From small
teach us that in life the important thing is to do something we like, we entice you to get up in the morning to leave their homes, almost all of us and instead we ended up sucked into a labor market that despises us and that we despise, where the only thing that matters is to take home pens, and defend us from life, from his predecessors and expectations, vulgarity and lack of respect, from a desk near the envy which is waiting for our fall, for able to indicate with the finger pointing and the macabre chuckle. Fortunately, there remains a sense of humor, high ceilings in our houses, with broad shoulders that shake off all this crap, a microphone from which to launch an ultimatum to the president, the dignity. As for me, we are all Rafa Benitez, as we have all been Brian Clough.
