On the face of it, Tuesday’s Champions League semifinal is a collision between two clubs who, across their European history, have usually despised each other and whose matches have consistently been explosive, and occasionally violent.
The story lurking only just underneath that surface is of two talented, ambitious Englishman. One who is being painted as a “Jonah,” an “Albatross,” and the other who is the darling of everybody’s eyes because, in footballing terms, he’s blessed with the Midas touch.
The two enemies, culturally and competitively doomed to misunderstand and envy one another, are of course Real Madrid and their first-leg hosts Bayern Munich.
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The two Englishmen are Harry Kane and Jude Bellingham — there’s a decade between these two wonderful footballers, but there’s an entire galaxy separating Bayern and Madrid where both of the two England internationals have gone, specifically, to try and win this legendary, coveted, beautiful trophy.
First of all: the evidence of how these clubs feel about one another, and why.
This particular match-up remains the European Clasico, even though Madrid against Manchester City is making inroads into that status.
The way to justify that billing is this — Madrid and Bayern have met 26 times (12 wins for the Spaniards, 11 for the Bavarians) with: 80 goals (Madrid 41 vs. Bayern 39), nine red cards (five Bayern, four Madrid), a stadium ban (Madrid), a fan punching the referee (the “Madman of the Bernabeu”), a UEFA ban (Madrid’s Juanito), Bayern executive Uli Hoeness calling Florentino Pérez’s Madrid “Galactico” project a “clown-circus,” an ultra-dramatic penalty shootout (where Bayern won and Sergio Ramos sent his penalty into outer space), thrashings for both teams home and away (one of which Pep Guardiola still refers to as “the biggest f— up of my entire career”), not a single 0-0 draw, and 20 Champions League trophies shared between these two grand clubs.
I’ll only sketch the details of a couple of those explosive moments in this long history of antagonism.
The “Madman of the Bernabeu” earned his embarrassing nickname in 1976 when the two sides played in the European Cup semifinal.
A Madrid fan, who’s subsequently been interviewed but never publicly admitted his name, was so angered by Austrian referee Erich Linemayr that he told his six-month pregnant wife he was going to the toilets, pulled his Madrid cap low down over his forehead to try and avoid identification, leapt over the barriers and, disgracefully, tried to assault the poor match official. The idiot was arrested, managed to give (friendly) Madrid police the slip, evaded punishment — except for the fact that his father, furious at the family disgrace, wouldn’t speak to him for two full years. Madrid, as a consequence, suffered a stadium ban.
The Juanito story accounts for the worst red card of the nine shown across this European vendetta. When you watch Madrid matches, or attend the stadium, you’ll have heard the crowd roar: “¡Illa illa, illa!… ¡Juanito maravilla!” If not, listen out for it next time.
The late Juanito (tragically killed in a car crash when he was only 37) is the fighting-spirit-in-a-bottle every club wishes it had. He is the emblem of the remontada — the fightback — which is now central to Madrid’s DNA. Madrid fans, when the team is in difficulty, pray for “11 Juanitos!”
But against Bayern in 1987, at the semifinal stage in Munich, the Germans were running riot: 3-0 after 37 minutes. Lothar Matthäus fouled Madrid right-back, Chendo, (who, by the way is still Los Blancos’ match delegate, so he’s the bespectacled man you see handing the details to the fourth official every time Madrid make a substitution) and all hell broke loose. Chendo jumped up and angrily pushed the brilliant German midfielder to the ground. Then Juanito came running in, kicked Matthäus in the ribs and, as soon as the Scottish referee’s back was turned, stamped on the Bayern player’s jaw. Cue mayhem. Juanito was sent off and then banned from UEFA football for five years.