The boring perfection of Haaland that young people like

That’s right, we’ve probably never seen anything like it Haaland. Manchester City’s Norwegian forward is breaking all records, as lazy headlines from too many click-seeking sports websites like to say, he makes news when he doesn’t score and his exploits are so much on the agenda that they deserve at most a short article on the homepage of the sports section of the Guardian, which between an appeal to support “climate journalism” and a very interesting study on the distance between women’s football despite all the space to signal that many Premier League firsts risk being updated by the asexual robot who plays in attack in Pep Guardiola’s team. While waiting for Haaland to discover her pussy too, I just emphasize how much the perfect emblem of modern football is: numbers, big data, measurable performances and statistics tell us about the boring perfection of a footballer who is the opposite of what contemporary sports narration has sold us until today. Even the hat-trick at United to avenge his father who ended his career for a savage right against the Red Devils by Roy Keane did not produce memorable pages from the best pens of our generation, always ready to turn any bullshit into epic. Haaland’s surprising and cold numbers are worth more than any sentiment, and I can’t tell you how good or bad that is, I simply record how the blond Norwegian center forward is the perfect player for the generation that doesn’t watch games but looks for highlights on YouTube, and how I still prefer mine, as a blonde, to the pub.

I still have to recover from the hangover for the perfect week in Europe for the English: they all won, except for Conte’s Tottenham, which in any case did not lose. I would like to have the ephemeral certainties of the Italian sports journalists, I confess, those who before Inter-Barcelona ensured that the Nerazzurri were playing against the coach and now exalt the group that mourinhanamente stopped the Blaugrana, those who until yesterday Rabiot was a blowjob and now he is a great player, the ones that De Katelaere is the new Kaká and after the three fish & chips Chelsea to the Rossoneri say that the Belgian is not yet ready for the big stages, especially those who for two days got wet for the Serie A debut of the first female referee (or the first female referee?): they competed to explain that the promotion was deserved (not even Collina had made his debut in A after just three direct matches in B, Quarantino Fox tells me), that the direction of Sassuolo-Salernitana was perfect, and that the penalty given to the Emilians “actually c ‘was”. A servility never seen before a race director (or director?), Which perfectly reveals the basic misunderstanding that all the praises have tried to hide: Maria Sole Ferreri Caputi is not as good as they have led you to believe, she is alone because Uefa told Italy that if he didn’t make a woman make a career she would lose an international referee. In England, where the politically correct bullshit about inclusion and equality has now eaten our brains, at least let’s be realistic: there is no female referee in the Premier League. And that’s fine.