La finalísima

Grêmio won in Lanús’s stadium, obtaining the Copa Libertadores for the third time. Interestingly, Grêmio’s manager became only the first Brazilian to have won the tournament as a manager and as a player.

Here you can watch the highlights. All the goals are very good. Just before Grêmio’s second goal, you can hear the announcer saying that it’s a golazo, even though the ball carrier still needs to shoot past the goalkeeper.

Grêmio dominated in both games, last night and last week. After the series, Lanús’s players all wept. Barcelona would have had a good chance of obtaining the championship against Lanús. Barcelonistas will forever rue having lost to Grêmio in the semifinal.

Thanksgiving

It’s my Thanksgiving break, so I stayed at home. Karin went to her job. I read all morning. I missed the armed robbery that occurred at IUSB. In the afternoon, I performed some chores and wrote in my dissertation. Ziva and Jasper were glad to have me with them.

In the evening, I watched Grêmio defeat Lanús, 1–0, in the first game of the Copa Libertadores’s final round. It wasn’t a beautiful game. I turned it off after the first half and watched Midsomer Murders with Karin. In that show, there was one especially nice camera shot. It was from the point of view of a murderous shovel.

For tomorrow’s holiday dinner, we’re planning to eat Greek food, not Chinese. Then we’ll go to Karin’s grandpa’s house to play Phase 10 for several hours.

I’m grateful, this Thanksgiving, for my wife and kitties.

When we were orphans

Well, after this week, I know what it’s like to “throw out” one’s back. There were hours on Monday and Tuesday when I hardly could walk. To get to the toilet, I had to inch my way out of bed and cling along the furniture.

But I didn’t miss any work. At home, I rested. Now I feel downright spry.

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I’ve nearly finished reading Kazuo Ishiguro’s When We Were Orphans. What an odd book. It’s partly a detective story, with none of the investigative precision of the usual detective story. It’s partly a fantasy – not of fantastical physics, but of fantastical life expectations. It’s partly a heartrending memoir, with the foggiest, least reliable of memoirists.

The chaotic events and feelings of this book unfold with creeping slowness, in language exquisitely formal and unchaotic.

And yet: if this book is more admirable than affecting, more a construction than a spontaneous cry, that is not a fault.

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Barcelona played well and bravely in the second semifinal leg, winning again on Brazilian soil. But 1–0 wasn’t ample enough a victory. Grêmio advanced to play in the final. Now I shall cheer for the modest Argentinian club, Lanús.

A dire result

… in the Copa Libertadores. Barcelona lost its first semifinal game, at home, 3 goals to 0. Grêmio was the opponent.

One more semifinal game awaits. Recent “away” performances have been good, but 3–0 surely is too steep a mountain to climb.

Last night, South Bend had its first frost.

Santos vs. Barcelona

Last night, for the Copa Libertadores, Barcelona visited Santos of Brazil. The teams played the second leg of the quarterfinal stage.

Santos is the club at which the following illustrious players spent their formative years:

(1) Pelé;

(2) Robinho (a twerp); and

(3) Neymar (an arch-twerp).

Neymar has been in the headlines lately. He was caught, en pleno partido, bickering with his Paris Saint-Germain teammate, Edinson Cavani, on the question of who should take a certain penalty kick. This is what they probably said:

Cavani: “I’m PSG’s incumbent penalty-kick taker. I should take this penalty kick.”

Neymar: “My transfer to PSG cost €222 million. I should take all the penalty kicks. Give me the ball.”

I have no great love for Santos or for its twerps.

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During last week’s first leg, Santos played defensively and got a lucky goal. (To me, the goal seemed offside.) That game ended 1 to 1. And so, last night in Brazil, Barcelona was obliged to score at least one goal so as to avoid succumbing​ to the away-goals tiebreaker.

Last night’s game started with Santos attacking more than Barcelona. Then Barcelona began its onslaught. Santos retreated. Barcelona pounded and pounded, but without precision or success.

The (neutral) announcers kept talking about how Barcelona deserved to win. They had a fatalistic tone. It all seemed pretty bleak.

The goal arrived at minute 70, more or less. ¡Gol! ¡Gol! I shouted, alarming Ziva and Jasper.

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My joy was short-lived. Barcelona’s goalscorer, Jonathan Álvez, was red-carded. The teams’ roles were reversed: Barcelona defended and Santos desperately attacked.

The game turned into a high-tension brawl, typical of the Copa Libertadores. Each team suffered one more red card. Barcelona’s players guarded the result, wasting time and rolling on the ground, observing the proper etiquette.

They did just enough to win.

Santos was Barcelona’s third Brazilian opponent of this year. A fourth awaits in the semifinal: Grêmio, of Porto Alegre.