Puyol the wall
sent-up-the-bomb
At the time he was signed, nobody could have predicted what would happen. At Lyon, he was known for his pace and physical abilities. When Lyon played Manchester United, his job was to mark penaldo into oblivion. Abidal summed up his defensive philosophy like so:
“As a defender, my aim is to infuriate the opponent,” he explained. “I want him to be so sick of the sight of me that he has to move somewhere else on the pitch to get away.”
Many of us have forgotten that he threatened to go on strike, and refused to practice with Lyon because he wanted the transfer to Barcelona. And so it was.
He didn’t get off to the best start, and even he would admit (and did) that his beginnings weren’t what they should have been, but resolved to work harder to become the best left back in the world.
As he accomplished that mission, he defined his role with style, physicality, grace and calmness. Somewhere, he acquired this otherworldly ball control that allowed him to make plays, flip balls around and generally let attackers make fools of themselves. And suddenly, he was the best left back in the world. He resolved the Theo Walcott complexity by putting him on his butt. He marked players out of the match so much that he was free to roam into the center of the pitch, since nobody wanted to even bother coming to his side of the pitch.
His dedication to the cause was unquestioned, and unquestionable. He slammed his head into the pitch to clear a ball against Sevilla. Even more staggering, his body, riven by the capriciousness that is cancer, was beginning to let him down even as he was playing some of his best football.
Everyone knows what happened last season, a season that I still can’t think about and remain dry-eyed. Barca had a friendly at Wembley, and Abidal left a note in the locker room, vowing to return for the Champions League final, which was to be held in that venue. Then came the word: he would be lost to the club for an indeterminate period, due to liver surgery.
He’s out of the hospital now and recovering, with a goal of leading a normal life. And I, for one don’t care a whit if that normal life includes football. I imagine that Abidal doesn’t either.
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“As a defender, my aim is to infuriate the opponent,” he explained. “I want him to be so sick of the sight of me that he has to move somewhere else on the pitch to get away.”
Many of us have forgotten that he threatened to go on strike, and refused to practice with Lyon because he wanted the transfer to Barcelona. And so it was.
He didn’t get off to the best start, and even he would admit (and did) that his beginnings weren’t what they should have been, but resolved to work harder to become the best left back in the world.
As he accomplished that mission, he defined his role with style, physicality, grace and calmness. Somewhere, he acquired this otherworldly ball control that allowed him to make plays, flip balls around and generally let attackers make fools of themselves. And suddenly, he was the best left back in the world. He resolved the Theo Walcott complexity by putting him on his butt. He marked players out of the match so much that he was free to roam into the center of the pitch, since nobody wanted to even bother coming to his side of the pitch.
His dedication to the cause was unquestioned, and unquestionable. He slammed his head into the pitch to clear a ball against Sevilla. Even more staggering, his body, riven by the capriciousness that is cancer, was beginning to let him down even as he was playing some of his best football.
Everyone knows what happened last season, a season that I still can’t think about and remain dry-eyed. Barca had a friendly at Wembley, and Abidal left a note in the locker room, vowing to return for the Champions League final, which was to be held in that venue. Then came the word: he would be lost to the club for an indeterminate period, due to liver surgery.
He’s out of the hospital now and recovering, with a goal of leading a normal life. And I, for one don’t care a whit if that normal life includes football. I imagine that Abidal doesn’t either.
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If Alba even plays half as good as him he's going to be a great signing.
