The Champions League is coming. As our annual war atop Olympus approaches, the angry gods gather themselves and prepare for the bloodbath. The TV money is gonna be insane. Spectacular spectacular.
Down in the foundation of Western civilization, AC Milan are the top seeded team. What’s going on with them? Is Inzaghi really a 5,000 year-old mummy? Let’s find out:
People seem to have forgotten about Milan ever since they sold Kaka. The respect, the fear that used to creep into people’s voices when they talked about them is largely gone. Last year Tottenham knocked them out of the Champions League. Tottenham! The indignity.
The perception of Milanese decline is not totally off. Maldini retired. Pirlo just left for the Old Lady, Juventus. Inzaghi is still around but he’s barely there, a specter of his former lethal self. Their squad is older than just about any other top level club’s. Factor in the resurgence of Inter under Mourinho a few years ago and it’s easy to make that conclusion.
But.
There’s a reason their core squad is still their core squad despite age–they’ve still got it. Clarence Seedorf seems the same player he was in 2005, when Milan were unbeatable and would/should have won the Champions League if not for luck/destiny/Steven Gerrard’s groin. Nesta just taught a masterclass in defending at the Camp Nou, to the great frustration of the best player in the world on the best team in the world. Gattuso’s only gotten tougher with age. Ambrosini is still as quietly awesome as ever. Inzaghi is Inzaghi, immortal 12,000 year-old mummy and the greatest poacher who ever lived. Super Pippo, man. You can’t count him out.
Then there are the kids (relatively anyway). Kevin Prince Boateng is an attacking midfielder in the School of Ard (Lamp/Gerr), only better at it than either of its founding Englishmen. Robinho is talented as ever but a little wiser, just hitting his prime. Thiago Silva is maybe the best defender in the world right now. Aquilani has looked terrific so far and could probably fill the creative role Pirlo has left vacant. Cassano, like an old pervert, sneaks in more goals than he has any right to. Ibrahimovic looks like he’s finally found his home. And Pato–good God, Pato. The Great Rossoneri Hope. His pace alone makes me want to sing songs about him. We’re really big fans of pace. But unlike, say, Theo Walcott, our boy Pato is a natural finisher: composed, cold-blooded, and cruel.
Finally there’s the manager–the brains, the organization, the discipline, the mentality. Allegri took charge of this team last year and turned them into the Italian champions. The hunger is in them again. Milan are leaner and meaner than they have been in a long time, and this spells trouble for whoever’s in their way.
This is AC Motherfucking Milan we’re talking about. They’ve won seven European Cups. SEVEN. 7. That’s more than any other club except one, Real Madrid. You write them off at your peril.
So fuck yall, all of yall. If yall don’t like me, blow me. Yall are gonna keep fuckin around with me and turn me back to the old me.
andypants
neilsandwich
The Vuvuzela Stylings of Toblerone Jones 