Barcelona Transfer Targets: Top 10 Players Who Could Improve Barça in January

The term improvement is not one that is heard too often (if at all) these days around FC Barcelona’s Nou Camp. For the club that has won thirteen of their last fourteen matches, including the 5-0 shellacking of bitter rivals Real Madrid last week as well as a 19-0 combined score line over their last four opponents, amelioration, whenever it was initially sought after, has effectively been achieved by the Catalans, their newest goal being that of maintaining their recently attained two-point advantage over José Mourinho’s Blancos.

As they demonstrated in last Monday’s massacre of Real, which some are already calling the club’s best performance ever, Pep Guardiola’s squad cannot get much better. But as the old adage goes, there is always room for improvement, and with the winter transfer window looming, even the indomitable FC Barcelona may find themselves shelling out a few million more Euros on reinforcements to send an already impregnable team’s level of collective talent through the roof. They are, as follows, the top ten transfer targets that could improve Barcelona in January.

10. Emmanuel Adebayor

The wantaway striker has made only two Premier League starts this season for Manchester City and has been restricted primarily to Europa League appearances throughout the first half of this season; it has become almost a foregone conclusion that the Togolese will be sold this coming January.

While mercurial and sometimes difficult to manage, when on, Adebayor is one of the most menacing attackers around with his lightning pace and impressive finishing. Unfortunately, both of these qualities from which his name first began to grow have gone missing at Eastlands.

Therefore, a change of scenery could seriously benefit the troubled forward, and having been a former member or Arsenal, suiting up for Barcelona and playing the beautiful game in a way that Gunners manager Arsène Wenger can only dream of his team one day playing might ultimately rejuvenate Adebayor and give him an re-appreciation of football.

It’s unlikely that Barcelona will be heavy bidders (if bidders at all) for EA9, with Juventus looking like the striker’s most probable destination, but could you imagine a front line of Messi, Villa and a reinvigorated Adebayor? The rest of La Liga (and the world for that matter) will be wishing against its materialization.

9. Landon Donovan

The Los Angeles Galaxy center-forward finally made his mark on European soil last January during a 13-game loan spell at Everton that saw him bag two goals and spark to life a then dormant Toffees club.

Barcelona certainly doesn’t need any kind of a spark right now, but adding Donovan in January on-loan could make sense for the reigning La Liga champs. He is one of the smarter players around with a deft touch and an eye for the back of the net, playing with more a palpable passion than your average overpaid footballers (here’s looking at you, Cheslea).

The greatest American footballer in history is also a superb passer and would excel in the overly-possessive tactical system with which Barcelona torments its opponents. He is also far more intelligent and experienced than Pedro Rodríguez—whom Donovan would likely replace (at least as a substitute at times) in the starting XI—and would thrive in an exciting environment like the Nou Camp, where, just as at the U.S. National Team’s camp, winning, no matter how it’s achieved, is always emphasized over flair.

8. Wesley Sneijder

There was perhaps no human being (other than José Mourinho) more instrumental than the versatile Dutchman in guiding Inter past Barcelona in last year’s 3-2 aggregate Champions League semifinal victory (not to mention their historic treble). With a seemingly clairvoyant eye for the pass and the goal as well as a unique creativity that separates him from most attacking midfielders, the acquisition of the 26-year-old would immediately boost the likes of almost any club.

But the chief reason Sneijder would improve Barcelona is his missile of a right foot. If there was anything the second leg of last year’s UCL semifinal proved, it was that Barça were too dependent on their intricate passing game when it was repeatedly thwarted by the impermeable Inter backline. What became even more evident was that the Catalans lacked someone who could put the ball on target from distance; Sneijder could be that guy.

Although, watching Barcelona tear apart Real Madrid as they did on Monday night suggests their dearth of an outside sharpshooter is one of little to no concern nowadays at the Nou Camp. Sneijder also recently put pen to paper on a new five-year contract to keep him at the San Siro until 2015, so a move anywhere seems unlikely for Inter’s talisman. But you know he’d still love to stick it to Real Madrid—the team that wrote him off and let him go before his breakout campaign last year—and how best to do that than with Los Blancos’ biggest rivals?

7. Gareth Bale

Despite several clubs’ frequent inquiries about procuring his services, Tottenham boss Harry Redknapp has made explicit the fact that Bale is not for sale, and Spurs have reportedly slapped a £55 million price tag on the Welsh left-winger.

Ignoring his potential cost, Barcelona still seems like an unlikely destination for the man Redknapp has called the best player in English football, even if he became available, as a number Serie A clubs are rumored to be interested in securing his signature.

However, Bale is as industrious and workmanlike as they come and can finish with the best of them. Playing as a traditional left-footed player on the left wing has allowed him to maximize his talents and terrorize right backs across the globe—most notably Inter’s Maicon—in this year’s Champions League, and is a big reason why Tottenham have already punched their ticket to the knockout rounds.

On paper, he would undoubtedly be an upgrade over Pedro Rodríguez (who, thanks to my slideshow, is quickly becoming one of the most dispensable players at Barcelona) in the starting XI, but it’s impossible to predict how adapting to the Spanish game might effect Bale in the long run. Would he find the adjustment challenging and then see his fine form debilitate as a result? Or—an even scarier thought—would he become even better than he already is?

6. Ashley Cole

The only Barça player in the starting XI more dispensable than Pedro Rodríguez? How about left back Éric Abidal? The Frenchman who has scored just one goal (and not for Barcelona) at club level during his entire 12-year professional career, has been with the Catalans now since 2007 and has shared defensive duties with his backup Maxwell in recent months as he continues to age a little bit faster than some of his teammates. That’s not to take anything away from Abidal, as the former Lyon defender has been superb ever since joining Barcelona four years ago. The age factor is still difficult to ignore.

Abidal is now 31-years-old, and after succumbing to a muscle injury last February that kept him out nearly two months, it is becoming more and more evident that a permanent replacement for him may soon be in the cards.

Insert Cole.

At 29, though still not young by any means, the English international is a full two years younger than Abidal and, more significantly, is considered by many to be the best left back in the world. His current club Chelsea is presently enduring their worst run of form in recent memory but are still in the thick of things. So it isn’t likely the Blues would part with their dynamic flanker. But if they did, and Barcelona pounced, not only would the Catalans get a considerable defensive upgrade, but also simultaneously, they would stamp out Real Madrid and Mourinho who had been (and possibly still are) after Cole’s services this past summer.

5. David Luiz

A relative unknown in the grand scheme of things, Luiz would make a fantastic addition to the Barcelona backline, if only initially as a substitute.

A physical and imposing figure (6’ 2”) who features primarily as a center back, Luiz contributed significantly to his current club Benfica’s title-winning campaign in Portugal last season and has been the subject of many a transfer rumor these past few months.

While the defensive partnership of Gerard Piqué and Carles Puyol at center back looks set in stone for the time being, the latter is due to turn 33 this April. Barça may want to start considering its future in that department with talent more guaranteed than that of present backups Gabriel Milito, Maxwell or Adriano. David Luiz just might be the answer.

4. Edin Džeko

If you type his moniker into Google, the first thing to appear on the dropdown menu other than his full name is “Edin Džeko Transfer.”

The 24-year-old striker is still hanging around his current club Wolfsburg, but the feeling is that a move away from the German outfit is (and has been) imminent for the Bosnia and Herzegovina international. He has already bagged nine league goals for Wolfsburg this season, which is tied for third-best in the Bundesliga and would almost definitely play a big role wherever he might end up come January.

For the most part, Barcelona appear to be set up front with Villa and Messi, but adding Džeko and his near 6’4” frame to mix would supply the Blaugranes with another fiery attacking option as well as a viable aerial threat to help out Carles Puyol on corners. Barça should be wary of acquiring him, however, as this could be yet another Balkan cognomen whose promise fails to come to fruition.

Remember Zlatan Ibrahimović?

3. Fernando Llorente

Like Džeko, the Athletic Bilbao striker has been the subject of much transfer speculation in recent months. The only difference being that Llorente’s move away from the Basque Country is likely to take place within Spain as opposed to the rest of Europe. And that can only mean one thing—a transfer to Barcelona or Real Madrid.

The Pamplona-born forward has reportedly been linked with an eventual move to Real, and with Gonzalo Higuaín having recently suffered a back injury that will keep him out for several months, Llorente could find himself playing alongside CR7 much sooner than expected.

What a coup (and giant slap in the face, I might add) it would be for the Catalans if Barcelona were to swoop in and steal away the 25-year-old’s services, not to mention his towering 6’ 5” physique with which he has already begun to make his mark for the Spanish National Team as well as Athletic, having already bagged nine goals for the club this season.

2. Javier Pastore

Of all the players on this list, Pastore is without question the one most likely to join Barcelona via transfer this January.

The slender but explosive attacking midfielder has burst onto the scene this year for Palermo and has the Eagles within a point of Champions League qualification for next season, thanks to his seven goals and untouchable run of play.

At just 21-years-of-age, Pastore is only at the start of what looks to be an ever-bourgeoning, successful career, and it is only a matter of time before he is plucked from Palermo by a more lucrative club. The Argentina International has already been linked with a move to Barça, and only time will tell if Guardiola feels the need to reel in the youngster who exudes energy, zest and gusto—three essential qualities to being a member of the world’s greatest club.

1. Cesc Fàbregas

Any conversation about Barcelona transfer targets will invariably involve Cesc Fàbregas.

If you paid any kind of attention whatsoever to football this past summer, you would have heard his last name and Barcelona mentioned in the same sentence at least a hundred times—and that’s after hearing just ten sentences.

During the World Cup, it seemed like everyone but Fàbregas’s dentist was keen on his transfer to the club at which he grew up before he moved to Arsenal back in 2003. And, to be sure, the end result seems inevitable—Fàbregas will in fact at some point down the road move back to Barcelona.

The only question is when that will happen. But more importantly, in a midfield that consists of Xavier Hernández, Andrés Iniesta, Sergio Busquets, where will he play? The club reportedly wants him back, but finding a spot for him in the starting XI may prove to be more difficult than actually reacquiring his services.

El Clásico proves Barcelona and Real Madrid still a world apart

Many dubbed it the biggest club game in football history. With 209 meetings between the two sides that represent the political and cultural dichotomy prevalent throughout much of Spain, thirteen world champions on hand, the two most recent Ballon d'Or winners and the three most recent top scorers in the UEFA Champions League present, one club being just two points ahead of the other atop La Liga, and it being the most watched club football game on the planet other than the UEFA Champions League Final, the historic rivalry between Barcelona and Real Madrid had seldom received this much hype and buildup or felt more important.

Then came Monday night.

A cold, damp evening on the sodden pitch of the Nou Camp saw the 210th meeting between these two hated foes turn into a massacre of (somewhat) unexpected proportions as Barcelona thrashed visiting Real Madrid 5-0 to leapfrog Los Blancos and take the wheel as league leaders in Spain’s top-flight division.

We all know what happened, and in the aftermath of the destruction, as is typical in any big showdown between two heavyweights, pundits across the globe have been putting pen to paper (that expression is obsolete, but so be it) to tell their respective tales and opine about the more surprising storyline: Barça’s romp or Real’s whomp.

Ever since I was hired and agreed to come teach in Spain for a year at the end of this past spring, I had been looking forward to this match. Having only been to Barcelona once before when I was nine (and having partied a little too hard to remember it, apparently), I had planned on journeying up to Catalunya for the weekend and shelling out however many Euros it would take to get me inside Europe’s largest stadium to feast my eyes on the greatest rivalry in all of sports.

Let’s just say a weekend trip to Lisbon proved to be a bit less expensive than my venture to BCN might have been, and I figured since I’d be flying back from Cristiano Ronaldo’s former home to his new home, I’d still be able to catch some of the action on television in the Spanish capital.

Wrong again.

My bus from Madrid to Granada was scheduled to depart at 7:30 and arrive in Andalucía just after midnight, meaning I’d miss what was supposed to be the most exciting Clásico yet. My only hope was for my bus’s thirty-minute break to coincide with a piece of the action.

Luckily, it did.

The trip was one of the rockiest I had ever experienced via coach in my twenty-three years of existence, the light fixture above me that I needed to write things down was out, and my BlackBerry’s 3G network was having serious problems picking up a signal for most of the ride, but ultimately I managed to discover that Xavi and Pedro had found the back of the net and were sitting pretty at halftime 2-0 over Real. About fifteen minutes later the bus stopped. I walked into the bar and ordered a bocadillo de jamon y queso just as the second half was getting underway.

It didn’t take long for Barça to add insult to injury with a pair of David Villa strikes in the 55th and 58th minutes that doubled the home side’s lead over their rivals, who were lost in a sea of bewilderment and consternation. It was after the former Valencia forward’s second goal when I swallowed my last bite of baguette, cured meat, and olive oil, and headed back to the bus with several minutes to spare before the bus resumed its journey; I didn’t need to see anymore.

It should be noted that I am not a Real Madrid fan, so it’s not as if my emotions had been severely damaged by what I had just witnessed. To be fair, I appreciate the way Barcelona play, but am also a big fan of José Mourinho, the man in charge of the Catalan club’s most threatening opposition.

No, I left the bar because what I had seen in those three minutes had demonstrated to me what most of us already know: that football is a team game, and therefore, you win as a team.

One need only to have watched (or, eh-hem, seen the highlights of) Barcelona’s celebration after Xavi flicked the ball past Iker Casillas in the tenth minute for the game’s opening goal that sent the Nou Camp faithful into a thunderous uproar to confirm this notion, and catch a glimpse of Barcelona’s team-oriented mentality. After the talismanic midfielder ran wild down the goal line, there were no fewer than seven of his teammates in-tow, each one of them eager to pounce on their revered goal-scorer.

Barcelona’s possessive and meticulous style of play sold itself on this point. Intricate passing, perfectly-weighted through-balls, timely runs, composed finishing, and selfless play in general led to the demolition of (historically) Europe’s most successful club—their first defeat of the season and first under Mourinho, who was making his first return to the Nou Camp since April when he oversaw a defiant second-leg loss with Inter that still propelled the eventual champions to the UCL Final in Madrid 3-2 on aggregate.

After watching Barcelona’s bedazzling performance on Monday night, there will be many who will wonder exactly how Mourinho’s former squad managed to thwart the brilliant, disciplined tactical machine that is Pep Guardiola’s band of radiant technicians last season.

To be sure, the Special One’s new club most certainly does not lack quality. In fact, they still may be one of, if not the second-best team in Europe. But that term—team—is an ironic one for Real Madrid, because while they are one by default, it is clear that they are still light-years behind their rivals in instilling that team-first mentality on which Barcelona so prosperously thrives.

Mourinho clearly felt similarly, declaring in a post-match interview: “Barça is the finished article while Madrid is still a long way off that.”

The most telling tally in Barça’s emphatic destruction of Real on Monday night, however, must have been substitute Jeffrén Suárez’s stoppage time tap-in. A low cross from fellow sub Bojan Krkić to the Venezuelan-born winger, who slipped it past Casillas for the fifth and final goal of the evening, proved once again that at a club as great as Barcelona, even those players who are restricted to making mere cameo appearances are capable of on-pitch success thanks to the club’s seemingly impregnable tactical system.

For me, the current rivalry between these two clubs, which has now seen Barcelona capture five wins in the last five Clásicos, draws a curiously strong comparison to that of the Patriots and the Colts of the NFL—most notably during New England’s Super Bowl-winning years. It was the system employed by head coach Bill Belichick that enabled players like David Givens, Randall Gay, and even Randy Moss et al to maximize their talents and in turn help the team win game after game after game as a unit, while the Colts relied too heavily on quarterback Peyton Manning to do something about it (I’ll let you venture a wild guess as to which Real Madrid player is most closely associated with the four-time NFL MVP).

Granted, the Colts eventually found a formula that worked against the Patriots, and all of a sudden, they started winning games over their heated enemies. But will Real Madrid find a similar formula that enables them to finally return the favor and begin to conquer their now superior rivals once more?

Only time will tell as the next edition of this storied rivalry is slated for April, and Real will likely be playing catch-up until that point. There is of course no way of knowing where in the table Real and Barça will be come that date, but here is some parting advice for the future of Mourinho’s men in white when it comes to jousting with their neighbors from the northeast: invest more in an on-field philosophy based on tactics and teamwork as opposed to an off-field philosophy based on club President Florentino Pérez’s checkbook; it hasn’t won them a Clásico (much less a title) since it was activated...again.

A Tale of One Pity: Reevaluating Arsène's Goon-Squad

When MŠK Žilina striker Babatounde Bello slipped a fast one past Chelsea keeper Ross Turnbull Tuesday night, surely the sentiment reverberating around Stamford Bridge could be likened to the ominous expression: “Here we go again.”

The Blues, who were coming off their worst run of form in recent memory (three losses in four matches), had breached yet again and found themselves trailing 1-0 at halftime to an opponent of less quality for the third straight match. This, compounded by the mysterious dismissal of assistant coach Ray Wilkins two weeks ago, rumors abound this week suggesting manager Carlo Ancelotti had tendered his resignation only then to have it rejected by the board, and a languid string of performances, did not bode well for Chelsea, a club evidently on the brink of pressing the panic button.

Little did the reigning Premier League champions or their supporters know that another London-based club some 19 hours and 49 minutes southwest by car (according to Google Maps) had already pressed it.

Manager Arsène Wenger’s Arsenal (does anyone else think it’s bizarre that the first name of Arsenal’s boss is eerily similar to the name of his club? No? Okay then), who were looking to erase a painful 3-2 collapse at home to Tottenham at the weekend, appeared to be sitting pretty late in the second half in a scoreless affair at Braga when Mexican striker Carlos Vela went down in the box, evidently as a result of having been tackled by one of the Portuguese club’s defenders.

The Gunners, who thrashed Braga 6-0 at the Emirates back in September, finally had their breakthrough, and one forthcoming Cesc Fàbregas spot-kick was all it would take to ensure both victory and advancement in Europe’s most prestigious football tournament.

But it didn’t happen.

Instead, Vela was booked for a dive, and the chance to seal progression to the knockout rounds of this year’s Champions League evaporated in the blink of an eye. Well, actually, on the foot of a 27-year-old Brazilian known simply as Matheus.

The Braga attacker with the 99 shirt found the back of the net twice in the final seven minutes—including an emphatic clincher in stoppage time—and threw Arsenal’s hopes of progressing to the final sixteen of the Champions League for the eighth-straight year into doubt. The victory put the Portuguese club even on points with Arsenal (9) and made certain the final matches of the group stages will mean something, if not everything, for both teams involved.

That being said, looking ahead to Group H’s final match day slated for December 8, Arsenal still should advance. On that fateful day they will be home to winless Partizan Belgrade, while Braga will make the long journey eastward to frosty Ukraine to take on group leaders Shakhtar Donetsk (12 points). Simply put, a loss is almost as unlikely a result for Arsenal as a win is for Braga.

But still, just what exactly is going on at the Gunners camp? And more directly, what is the issue with Arsenal?

I had the distinct privilege this past weekend to plop down in an Irish Pub and take in the aforementioned flop against Spurs. While nursing my first stout, Samir Nasri and Marouane Chamakh frustrated a rather paltry Tottenham side and gave the Gunners a 2-0 lead at the break, reassuring their manager and fans that they were still one of the Premier League’s toughest nuts to crack.

Then, Gareth Bale cheekily sneaked one past keeper Łukasz Fabiański to open the second half, Rafael van der Vaart added a penalty shortly thereafter following an inexplicable handball by Fàbregas, and Younes Kaboul’s deft header capped off what could be deemed either a remarkable comeback or a pitiful collapse.

Maybe it was the Guinness warping my vision, but I’m more inclined to believe it was the latter. Either way, the pallid performances changed sides after halftime, and this North London derby went to Spurs for the first time at Arsenal since 1993.

So I’ll ask it again (because I just realized I didn’t answer my question at all): What is the Gunners’ deal?

Well, for starters, they have little clout. I mean, is there anyone on that squad that’s going to instill legitimate fear in an opposing backline? Nasri is talented, but lacks strength; Fàbregas at the moment seems to be most invested in his reunion with Barcelona, his foolish handball speaking volumes about his lack of focus for his current club; and Robin van Persie hasn’t been fully fit since Hanson was popular (the sad thing is, that’s not far from the truth).

Secondly, they seem far more concerned with style than they do with results. I have watched a handful of Arsenal games this year—including the 2-0 loss to Chelsea in early October—and what they lack in the scoring department they more than make up with flair. But that’s not a good thing. I really can’t tell you how many times I’ve watched them pass the ball to death around the perimeter of the box before it either breaks down or is finally thwarted—all of this coming before anyone has even attempted a shot on goal. The game at Stamford Bridge supplied more than enough evidence to support that claim.

Thirdly, remember that comment Fàbregas made this summer about Arsenal lacking the drive and desire to win trophies? He was right. This should come as no surprise with Wegner’s continually placing style above results in the club’s pecking order, but if not for that reason, Arsenal simply lack both bite and an appetite for dominance, unlike foes Chelsea, Manchester United, and even Spurs.

Is it because they’re (still) too inexperienced? Too French? Or too frugal and adamant about spending big in the transfer window? It could be for one, if not all of those reasons.

At the end of Tuesday evening, Chelsea had struggled, but ultimately had won against inferior opposition, despite fielding a lineup overloaded with mere children. Arsenal, who had put forth their typical starting XI of youthful veterans, ultimately lost to decent, yet still subordinate opponents and are one loss away (this weekend at Aston Villa perhaps) from being in a bit of trouble. The difference between Arsenal and other prolific clubs such as Chelsea? It might be as simple as team makeup or as complicated as collective desire. Whatever it is, Wegner must identify and then ameliorate the problem swiftly, or he and the rest of his contingent of followers can be assured of yet another silverware-less season at the Emirates, home to one of the flashiest, yet most unfulfilling clubs in all of Europe.

Problems Aplenty at Chelsea

One of the Premier League’s worst kept secrets was unveiled two weeks ago at Anfield when Liverpool defeated Chelsea 2-0: that England’s reigning champions are a very different squad without midfielder Michael Essien and striker Didier Drogba.

The revelation, which should come as a shock to no one, was made palpably evident by an anemic display put forth by the rest of the Blues, who were without the services of the versatile Essien (injured), and who were denied those of their indomitable forward for the first 45 minutes before a malaria-stricken Drogba (somewhat reluctantly) made his way onto the pitch just after halftime. And although Chelsea generated several more opportunities in the second half, the sickly Ivorian’s cameo was negligible.

After Sunday’s appalling 3-0 home defeat at the hands of plucky Sunderland yet another, perhaps more significant, secret was exposed in Carlo Ancelotti’s side: that Chelsea really aren’t that good. Allow me to rephrase: Chelsea really aren’t that good without a fully fit Essien and a fully fit Drogba in the starting XI.

In Drogba, Chelsea have a headstrong, hungry, and powerful striker whose killer instinct in front of goal falls second to none. In Essien, Chelsea have a multifaceted midfielder whose versatility, dynamism, and industry are irreplaceable. Without one or the other or both, the football being played by the collective whole dips notably in quality and zest, and becomes less watchable with each scoreless, elapsing minute. Both footballers have been rendered indispensable by Chelsea and their followers, and both men unquestionably are the keys and cornerstones to the Blues ultimate success.

So the burning question has to be asked: which African footballer is more valuable to the West Londoners?

Considering the plethora of goals he has bagged in all competitions in recent years (including a golden boot-winning 29 last season), instinctually one might at first be more inclined to say Drogba. Tandem partner Nicolas Anelka and left winger Florent Malouda are more than capable of finding the back of the net themselves, but neither pose as dangerous a threat as does 2009’s African Footballer of the Year. That being said, Drogba’s figures will inevitably overshadow the labor and physical presence of Essien, both of which elude the stat sheet.

Consider for a moment the last three and a half seasons both domestically and on the continent for Chelsea. The 2007-08 season saw the Blues come within a point and a missed spot kick away from winning both the Premier League and the Champions League, respectively, falling ultimately in both races to Manchester United, who at the time boasted the world’s greatest player, Cristiano Ronaldo. Essien remained healthy for much of the season, while Drogba remained injured for a large chunk of it.

In 2008-09, the Blues got off to a flying start before hitting a rut in the winter months, which eventually led to manager Luiz Felipe Scolari’s dismissal. Not surprisingly, an out-of-form Drogba and an injury-plagued Essien, who was out for several months, coincided with Chelsea’s poor form. Only when Guus Hiddink took over as interim manager in February—at almost the exact moment Essien was cleared to play again—did the 2008 Premiership/UCL runners up begin to steer the ship in the opposite direction. And had it not been for a heartbreaking away goal at the death by Barcelona’s Andrés Iniesta, an Essien wonder-volley would have been enough to secure a rematch with United in the UCL Final in Rome.

Then there was last season, and while Drogba continued to bag goal after goal, it wasn’t enough to thwart eventual UCL champs Inter in the first round of sixteen. Essien was nowhere to be found that match, as he was injured again, this time for most of the season. Chelsea, of course went on to win the double, but did so with only a point to spare over a Ronaldo-less United.

Finally, there is this season, and the last two weeks have told a similar tale. They fell to Liverpool without Essien and a fully fit Drogba, then defeated Fulham 1-0 last Wednesday with both players in the starting XI, Essien heading home the game-winner. The Ghanaian international foolishly challenged Clint Dempsey at the end of the fixture, however, and was duly sent off and handed a three-match ban. That left Drogba and the rest of the Ancelotti’s unit to battle Sunderland, and, well, let’s just say having Essien in there might have helped.

Obviously, it is not quite that simple. Yes, Chelsea are a galvanized squad when Essien is healthy and in the starting XI, as they often are with an in-form Drogba. Unfortunately for the Blues, however, the Sunderland defeat, which is already being called the worst at Stamford Bridge during the Roman Abramovich era, exposed several other flaws in the foundation.

One need only to have looked at the Chelsea backline deployed by Ancelotti against Steve Bruce’s squad on Sunday to see that at the moment all is not quite right at the Bridge. Detrimental injuries to both Alex and John Terry that could keep the center-half partnership sidelined for months meant that normal right backs Branislav Ivanović and Paulo Ferreira were left to fill their void, while Ashley Cole and José Bosingwa covered the left and right flanks. The makeshift backline breached a whopping three times, and Ancelotti may now be forced to spend in January and reel in a dependable center-half to hold down the fort until the Brazilian and the Chelsea skipper return.

Then there were the subs, which consisted of regular Salomon Kalou and batch of untested, inexperienced youths such as Gaël Kakuta Josh McEachran, all of whom (with the exception of 25-year-olds Kalou and backup keeper Ross Turnbull) couldn’t legally purchase a drink in the United States today if they tried. Where were the normal reinforcements of Michael Ballack, Joe Cole, Deco, Juliano Belletti and Ricardo Carvalho? Ancelotti should be applauded for his persistent and methodical utilization of youth into the squad, but perhaps it would have behooved the Italian to retain a couple of the aforementioned veterans he let walk in the summer for unforeseen circumstances such as these.

The loss to Liverpool was unexpected. The loss of Essien for three matches even more so. And Sunday’s loss to Sunderland? Let’s not even go there. And yet, after two weeks of relative turmoil and unrest, Chelsea still sit atop the pinnacle of the English Premier League two whole points above city rivals Arsenal. They may be too heavily reliant on Essien and Drogba, they may have a jerry-rigged backline, and they may have a handful of unknown, unproven kids coming off the bench. But as of today, they are still the best club in English football. If they should fall this weekend at Birmingham, however, Ancelotti’s raised left eyebrow will tell the story and the Italian may for the first time in his spell at Chelsea be forced to cope with a club on the brink of crisis.

Real's (Potentially) Real Problem

There will be few unhappy Madrileños to be found following Real Madrid’s 2-2 draw against Champions League group rivals AC Milan Wednesday night at the San Siro. The result, which ensured Los Merengues’ progression to the knockout stages of European football’s elite tournament for the eighth straight year, surely induced a feeling of both comfort and relief among its supporters, no matter how mundane or tedious some believe the preliminary round has become. Like Chelsea and Bayern Munich, who also punched their tickets to the knockout rounds this week, Real Madrid are headed to the last sixteen of the Champions League once again, and that’s all that matters.

However, though Real boast an unbeaten record in all competitions this season, sit atop La Liga and Group D of the UCL, and have the ability to terrorize opposing defenses and goalkeepers seemingly at the flip of a switch, Wednesday night’s clash at the Giuseppe Meazza suggested that Europe’s most successful club still has a lot of work to do if they hope to conquer the continent by season’s end.

Take for example Filippo Inzaghi’s first goal that evened the score at one in the 68th minute. A lofted pass intended for Zlatan Ibrahimović turned into a botched clearance by Pepe that freed the Swede down the left wing and enabled him to deliver a cross into the box—muffed uncharacteristically by Iker Casillas—that the evergreen Inzaghi duly headed into the back of the net.

But it wasn’t just the Portuguese defender’s slipup that assisted in Milan’s equalizer. In fact, it was only one of a handful of defensive miscues by the Madrid backline, though Real’s starting right center back will bear the brunt of the blame for his farcical flop. But even footballers are fallible beings, so Pepe can be excused this time for his unfortunate gaffe.

There is, however, no kind of justification whatsoever for the remaining two culprits, Casillas notwithstanding. Right back Sergio Ramos was nowhere to be found on the flank after Ibrahimović disposed of Pepe, and then could be seen trailing after the Swedish international before he delivered his cross. And left back Marcelo could be seen falling behind Inzaghi in similar fashion before the 37-year-old forward notched his first goal of the evening.

But so what? That’s just one goal. A one-time thing on this night. Or so Real supporters may have thought.

Inzaghi struck again just ten minutes later to become Europe’s most prolific scorer in history (fittingly tied now with Real legend Raúl) with 70 goals on the continent, and exposed even more flaws in Real’s defensive foundation. To be fair, the Italian may have been offside when he received the oncoming chip over Marcelo’s head, but does that excuse the Brazilian left back for ball-watching? Inzaghi received the floating orb with aplomb, and then deftly put it past Casillas for the second time, with Ricardo Carvalho half-a-step behind him. Milan 2 Real 1.

We know the rest of the story. Manager José Mourinho’s ingenuity ultimately prevailed when he brought on out of favor striker Karim Benzema for Gonzalo Higuaín, and then new boy Pedro León. Moments into stoppage time the former fed the latter with an exquisite pass that the former Getafe star put through Milan goalkeeper Christian Abbiati’s wickets and all lapses were suddenly forgotten. The Special One then celebrated lavishly, as only he knows how, running jubilantly down the sideline to laud his goal-scorer as his club made certain they would be playing European football come February.

But for Real Madrid, at least in recent years, European football in February has proven to be the club’s Kryptonite. For the last six years, Los Blancos have failed to advance beyond the last sixteen, and haven’t made the semifinals since the current format began in 2003. Yes, they have the best player in the world in Cristiano Ronaldo, and yes, they have one of the best supporting cast of attackers in Higuaín, Ángel di María, and Mesut Özil, and yes, they have Mourinho. So yes, this season might be different.

Yet, all of that, no matter how daunting and powerful collectively it may be still might not be enough to paper over the cracks of what remains a faulty and sometimes too offensive-minded back four.

At Inter, Mourinho molded his backline into an impregnable barrier that the manager, club, and its fans owe for their capturing of Champions League glory last May. This season at Real, his objective will be to recreate that impenetrable defense, but with inferior talent. Sergio Ramos is no Maicon, just as Pepe is no Lúcio. And Javier Zanetti’s defensive prowess makes Marcelo’s look U-12-esque. And as the competition grows stiffer, Real will be unable to rely as heavily as they have on their explosive attacking game, and more to the point, they will have to defend against better clubs. It will all depend on the draw, of course, but just think if Real were to be pegged against Tottenham, for instance. If Gareth Bale can make Maicon look silly, just imagine what he’d be able to do against Ramos.

We must remember that the 2-2 draw against Milan was only one game, and that may not be enough to raise concern for future fixtures. However, if Real fails to progress past the first round of the knockout stages once again, we may find that Wednesday night’s clash was a subtle preview of things to come for Mourinho’s men in white. Again, the design is there for the world’s greatest manager, it’s just whether or not the architect has the proper materials at his disposal.

Waiting for Manzano?

When Sevilla manager Antonio Alvarez was sacked earlier this week following a 2-0 away defeat to Hércules at the weekend, surely few supporters’ eyebrows were raised. Although he steered the Rojiblancos to a Copa del Rey victory and Champions League berth last season after taking over with just ten games remaining, the disappointments were starting to accumulate well above the brim for the recently deposed Alvarez.

The first omen came back in August in the playoff round of the Champions League, when Sevilla failed to return to the group stages following a 5-3 aggregate loss to Portuguese debutants Braga, which included an embarrassing 4-3 defeat at home.

The second portent must have been their sheer inability to bedazzle the home crowd this season, as the club is still winless (0-2-2) in four games in all competitions at the Estadio Ramón Sánchez Pizjuán, which includes a controversial 1-0 defeat against visiting Paris Saint-Germain two weeks ago.

And the third and final straw surely was Sunday’s loss in Alicante, courtesy of two David Trezeguet goals, that saw Sevilla go winless for the sixth time in eight games in all competitions this season.

Having been in Sevilla last week, I decided to pay a visit to the Estadio Ramón Sánchez Pizjuán on a Thursday night to see if I couldn’t gauge the vibe surrounding Andalusia’s second-oldest club as they prepared for battle against visiting Racing Santander.

A few blocks from the stadium I caught up with an enthusiastic Sevillista named Viktor who helped set the record straight.

“Sevilla is one of the greatest teams in Spain,” he began in Spanish, bee-lining it across the crosswalk, “But right now, things are not good.”

He took a moment to sigh, then continued on.

“We have the players (Luis Fabiano, Freddie Kanouté, Jesús Navas, etc.) to take us far each and every year, it’s just a matter of whether or not they have the heart to finish.”

I then asked him to opine about Sevilla’s untimely exit from the Champions League at the hands of lowly Braga.

“I have nothing to say,” he told me solemnly as the two of us advanced toward the gates of the stadium.

Viktor still shook hands with me and gave me a friendly grin as we parted ways, but I realized that I had struck a concealed chord of chagrin within his Sevilla-loving heart, and my mere mentioning of the Braga debacle had visibly agitated him. It was similar to an episode I had shared with my cab driver—another rabid Sevilla fan—en route from the airport to my hotel.

When I had asked him to comment on the Braga collapse, he looked at me resentfully in the reflection of his rearview mirror and told me sternly, “We don’t talk about that here.”

As the match finally went underway, I could see why.

Sevilla looked lackluster at best against an inferior Racing Santander side, whose greatest claim to fame—19-year-old hotshot Sergio Canales—wasn’t even playing for them anymore, having been purchased last year by Real Madrid. Admittedly, the home side was without their usual big three of Fabiano, Kanouté, and Navas, all of whom were out with injuries. But besides one spot kick that was duly converted by Álvaro Negredo, there wasn’t even a hint of another goal from the outfit donned in all-white for the duration of the evening, and Racing equalized just after halftime with an impressive strike from a former bricklayer, defender Pablo Pinillos, to secure a point for Los Racinguistas in a 1-1 draw.

Just before the game’s conclusion, I ventured to the upper confines of the Estadio Ramón Sánchez Pizjuán and struck up a conversation with two other Sevillistas named Antonio and José. I asked them their thoughts so far on the night’s fixture against Racing, and they expectedly shook their heads.

“They are not playing well right now,” started Antonio alluding to Sevilla, “and that is not surprising given their recent run of form.”

Daring not to bring up Braga one more time during my brief stay in the city, I wondered aloud if Sevilla might ever be able to compete with habitual Liga giants Barcelona and Real Madrid.

They both laughed.

“No. There’s just no way,” José conceded ultimately. “Barcelona and Real Madrid are here,” he told me moving both his hands well above his head, “And [Sevilla] is here,” he said, dropping them back to eyelevel.

When the match finally ended, Antonio tapped my arm to get my attention.

“Watch this,” he informed me in Spanish.

The two of them, and almost everyone else in the stadium, reached into their respective pockets and removed a white plastic bag, which they then began to brandish in the general direction of Alvarez while a cacophony of boos rained down upon the under-fire boss. It was to be his last home match as manager.

Sevilla have since replaced Alvarez with Gregorio Manzano, who guided Mallorca to a fifth-place finish in La Liga last year and near Champions League qualification tantalizingly out of reach, in the hopes that the incumbent manager can turn things around in southern Spain’s largest metropolis. But with no Champions League fixtures in the near future, one dismal home performance after another, and the brightest event on the horizon being that of the less glamorous Europa League, Manzano will have to do it in front of an ardent soccer city that nowadays feels more like a production of Samuel Beckett’s Waiting for Godot.

As Sevilla’s players departed the pitch after the monotonous draw versus Racing, José continued to wave his white bag emphatically.

“This is a disappointing result,” he told me, “but this is what you sign up for when you root for Sevilla.”

Only time will tell as to whether Manzano has what it takes to revive Sevilla and its contingent of disillusioned followers, and after a Europe League clash away to in-form Borussia Dortmund tomorrow, it will all start this weekend at home to high-flying Atlético Madrid. Though it’s obvious that it will take much more than just victories to change the mentality of this club and its supporters seemingly stuck in purgatory.

The Northern Sights

If you happened to be watching ESPN, any soccer highlight shows, or browsing random clips on YouTube at any point during the past two weeks, chances are you’ve seen one of the strangest, most creative, and dare I say, more impressive goal celebrations in recent memory.

After finding the back of the net in a recent match, Stjarnan FC striker Thorvaldur Árnason ran towards his jubilant teammates who celebrated with him in typical soccer fashion, wrapping their arms around their colleague and embracing the euphoric goal-scorer. It was natural, basic, and expected. But Árnason and his crew were far from finished.

As the crowd applauded their side’s strike, Árnason raised an index figure to the supporters, signaling for them to wait. Seconds later, three other members of Stjarnan assembled behind Árnason forming what has quickly come to be known as the Human Toilet. The 30-year-old forward then took a seat, skimmed over his imaginary newspaper, and took care of business—at least in simulation—much to the raucous incredulity of those in attendance. Oh, and not only did Árnason have the courtesy to flush, but he remembered to put the seat down, too.

Stjarnan (pronounced SHTAIRT-nahn), who play in Iceland’s top-flight division, Pepsi-deildin, have become major celebrities in the soccer world almost overnight for their unique choreographed goal-scoring celebrations like the aforementioned Árnason’s, whose shenanigans made number one on SportsCenter’s Not Top Ten just two Fridays ago.

The lavish celebrations, which, in addition to the Human Toilet include a Rambo shooting spree, a human bicycle, and an exceptionally realistic depiction of reeling in a fish, have become a hit on the Internet and soccer television shows around world in recent months. And while each possesses its own peculiar blend of novelty, cleverness, and imagination, an onlooker witnessing these extravagant celebrations for the first time might think them all to be just a tad out of the ordinary. But they would be right, for in a land where puffin and fermented shark meat are considered delicacies, where all children are named after their fathers, and where everyone—even the Prime Minister—is listed in the country’s solitary telephone book, it’s best to expect the unexpected.

Having traveled to Iceland this past weekend, I sought out after the natives of Reykjavik to see if they might be able to explain to me this bizarre on-going phenomenon from the club that makes its home just down the road from the capital in the municipality of Garðabær. And I didn’t have to stray far, as two managers—Ingi and Svavar—working the front desk at my hostel proved not only to be rabid soccer enthusiasts, but de facto authorities on all-things Stjarnan.

“There was a tradition of strange celebrations in Pepsi-deildin (then known as Úrvalsdeild) that began in 1999 when club ÍBV performed a version of human bowling after scoring a goal, “ started Svavar. “Ten players lined up as pins, while the goal-scorer ran into them as the ball, knocking them down in a perfect strike. It is this mantle of odd celebrating that Stjarnan have now taken up, and theirs are pretty ingenious,” he admitted.

Entertaining they may be, however, the celebrations can only carry the intrigue of an entire league so far.

“I cannot stand watching Icelandic soccer,” conceded an honest Ingi, “it just doesn’t have anything exciting to offer.”

“So how does a team like Stjarnan and the rest of the teams in Pepsi-deildin compare to those big clubs on the continent like Real Madrid,” I inquired.

Ingi just stared at me blankly.

Okay, so it was a silly question, and of course I had known the answer well before asking it (surely anyone who follows soccer even a little bit would): the gap between the two in terms of talent was wide. Very wide. Just to give you a reference point, of the 53 top-flight divisions in all of Europe, Spain is currently 2nd in the UEFA coefficient rankings, while Iceland, clocking in just above Kazakhstan’s Premier League and just below Macedonia’s Prva Liga, is a measly 40th.

“The Icelandic people have never regarded Pepsi-deildin as being a professional soccer league, but instead as a step between amateur and professional, and it starts and ends with the Icelandic National team“ said Ingi.

To be sure, Iceland has produced a handful of notable soccer players, perhaps most famously that of current Stoke City striker Eiður Guðjohnsen, whose illustrious career has included successful spells at Chelsea and Barcelona, among others. However, at least for these Iceland fans, the amount of stars that have emanated from this tiny island in the north Atlantic seem insignificant in the grand scheme of things.

“Our country’s National team has never qualified for a major tournament (such as the World Cup or European Championship), they have never gotten anything done as a team, and they constantly give up,” continued Ingi, “which is why I have a difficult time supporting them and our country’s club teams. Liverpool is my true club.”

One need only take a stroll down Reykjavik’s main drag Laugavegur to confirm his latter statement. With several sports bars advertising match times for English Premier League fixtures featuring Manchester United, Chelsea, Arsenal, and Liverpool, it’s obvious that Icelandic soccer, like a little brother, will always succumb to the big boys and take the back seat.

Curious as to how Pepsi-deildin compared in play to England’s Premiership, a friend of mine and I journeyed southward on foot to Vodafonevöllurinn, the home stadium of the Reykjavik-based club Valur, who were fortuitously playing, yup, you guessed it: Stjarnan. Maybe I would get a chance to witness one of these ridiculous celebrations after all, and in the process, dispel Ingi’s accusations of Iceland’s top-flight division being unwatchable.

I was wrong.

Even for its wealth of collective goals scored (6), Valur’s 5-1 drubbing of the web’s most athletic goof troop was a paltry, shambolic affair to feast one’s eyes on. Throughout the entire match both teams were devoid of organization, creativity, and rhythm: three ingredients whose lack thereof inevitably lead to appallingly ugly performances. And the one glimmer of hope for seeing a new outrageous celebration vanished as quickly as it had arrived when a Stjarnan penalty (duly converted by Halldór Björnsson) came late after halftime when they were trailing 3-0; certainly not an appropriate time for such aforementioned antics.

But the fans were there—the visiting Stjarnan contingent in blue, the home supporters of Valur in red—cheering back in forth, singing their club’s songs in vociferous, yet indecipherable Icelandic expression. The fervor for clubs in Pepsi-deildin, which I had been told was nonexistent, was instead abundantly palpable. Even when a young fan ran past me in the stands wearing a Manchester United cap and a Stjarnan sweatshirt, it was evident which team had taken priority for this youth at this particular moment. And the soccer wasn’t that bad either. In fact, the sheer strength and physicality being displayed on the pitch might have rivaled some of the top leagues in Europe.

We returned to the hostel to be informed by one of the managers that a player from UMF Selfoss, another club from Pepsi-deildin, was staying in our room that night. The player, Martin Dohlsten, is the lone Swede on a team predominated by Icelandics, and when asked what he thought of Stjarnan’s unique style of celebrating goals, the 24-year-old defender just laughed.

“They are really funny,” he says with a grin, “I think our league needs something like that; they’re brilliant.”

As evidenced from Sunday’s match, Stjarnan don’t unleash their trademark histrionics after every goal they score, and playing in a country whose volcanoes are unpredictably active, that seems rather appropriate. We soccer fans have no way of knowing when the next epochal Stjarnan celebration will surface, but I have no doubt that it will catch us all by surprise and entertain as much as, if not more than the club’s previous on-field theatrics.

When asked what he thought the celebrations and their global publicity meant for Icelandic soccer and its country in general, Ingi was unexpectedly earnest:

“I honestly can see nothing bad coming from it. I’ve seen all the celebrations and they’re really cool. If [Stjarnan] continue to do them, and people see them on the Internet and identify the club as being from Iceland, that can only be seen as a positive thing for our league and for our country.”

Iceland’s national team and top-flight soccer league may be far from the best, but as long as the country and its most popular sport are getting worldwide attention from this tiny club made up of all but one home-grown player, it would appear that these unique celebrations have no end in sight. We just can’t wait to see what Stjarnan is cooking up next.