Barça in Europe: Same Same But So Different
Over the past few weeks here in Catalunya, spring has sprung. The sun’s out until after 8:30 pm. The past few days notwithstanding, the mid-50s temperatures that, combined with an ever-present dampness, give “Barcelona cold” (I swear this is a real thing) its signature bite, are seemingly in the rearview. And the handful of hours that constitute “low season” for tourism around here have come and gone.
And, of course, any remaining hope for European glory for FC Barcelona on the football pitch now rest squarely on the shoulders of Barça Femení.
It is worth noting that, for the first time in a long time, it didn’t have to be this way.
Ten days ago, Barça’s men’s side took the pitch at the Estadi Olímpic Lluís Companys having not only arrested a near-decade-long slide in continental competition but with a golden opportunity to return the Blaugrana to within arm’s reach of the club game’s most significant piece of silverware. On the heels of a 2022-23 league-Supercopa de España double that yielded the side’s first trophies since 2021, a return to the Champions League semifinals would have represented a logical next step in the return of one of Europe’s preeminent clubs to its rightful stature.
Six days prior, having coolly navigated two legs against Napoli after topping their Champions League group for the first time since 2020, Xavi’s side cruised into Paris’s Parc des Princes and came away with a clutch 3-2 win. That they were squaring off against Europe’s preeminent pratfallers (non-Barça division) could only be seen as encouraging. So, too, the fact that Xavi sat poised to put Joan Laporta and Deco in the awkward position of having to grovel for his return, months after the club-legend-turned-embattled-coach jumped before he could be pushed. Given this club’s recent propensity for sniffing out the most uncomfortable route out of virtually any situation, there was seemingly only one way for this to go.
Sigh.
Barça looked good early. Really good. And they made it count when Lamine Yamal found Raphinha for a beautiful opener with less than 12 minutes on the clock. And they controlled the quarter hour-plus that followed. Until, of course…
That they lost their attacking impetus after Ronald Araújo’s 29th-minute red card was unsurprising. That they didn’t make the most of the chances they did create was a shame. So, too, were the defensive flubs that gifted a 39th-minute opener to ex-Barça man Ousmane Dembélé and a pair of second-half tie-deciders to Kylian Mbappé. This was an opportunity missed. And, yes, damn shame. But capitulation or humiliation it was not.
(I don’t like trafficking in moral victories any more than you do, but we’re just playing the hand we’re dealt.)
And yet…
This is still the eighth time in nine post-2015 treble seasons that the guys have failed to advance past the quarterfinals in Europe. From 2018’s “Rome-ontada” to 2019’s “Redmontada” at Anfield to nine-figure transfer boondoggle Philippe Coutinho’s late brace off of Bayern’s bench in 2021’s 8-2 shellacking to 2022’s Europa League quarterfinal exit in front of a “home” crowd that included some 30,000 Eintracht Frankfurt fans, to last season’s 3-2 defeat in the Europa’s round of 32 to a Man United side that got trucked 7-0 by Liverpool almost immediately afterward and currently sits closer to thirteenth than fifth in the Premier League… It’s been tough.
So, yeah, damning as it is, the first European campaign in half a decade not to end earlier than the one preceding calls for, if not celebration, at least grudging appreciation.
Of, course, roughly 25 hours after Mbappé formalized PSG’s passage to the semis, his likely future employers - the “eternal rivals” - as only they can, went on the road and rope-a-doped their way into the final four.
Despite conceding possession and control to reigning treble-winners and consensus best side in Europe Man City for the lion’s share of their second leg, Real Madrid absorbed the pressure they invited and rode a bit of luck to a 1-1 120-minute draw, a 4-4 aggregate scoreline, and a penalty shootout in which they flipped a 1-0 deficit after one round of kicks into a 2-1 advantage after three. Because of course they fucking did. And now, an ostensible “transition season” in Madrid is a solid bet to end in a fifteenth European Cup/Champions League. Because of course it fucking is.
And, naturally, Barça closed out the ensuing weekend in Madrid, with the league campaign’s second Clásico. Despite an eight-point deficit with just seven games left to play, the true sickos among us squinted and thought…
“Grind out a win here against a physically and mentally drained side, and the lead is just five. Then, on Friday night, four days before the first semifinal leg in Munich, maybe a solid Real Sociedad side that’s fighting off Real Betis for La Liga’s second Europa League spot does us a solid and takes care of business at home. (They did not.)
Then, assuming the German adventure takes enough out of the Blacos, maybe a visit four days later from Cádiz, with the second leg against Bayern on the horizon, is sufficiently taken for granted…”
Sigh.
Instead, for the first time this century, Barça dropped a Clásico despite leading on two different occasions and, for the first since before the Spanish Civil War, fell to Blancos for a third consecutive time in a single season. The takeaway was a familiar one: the house always wins.
On the bright side, if there’s a springtime ritual with which culés have become familiar in recent seasons, it’s deft disassociation. Thankfully for all involved, Barça Femení is always on hand to provide the self-esteem boost this club requires every spring.
About that…
At 1:30 local time on Sunday afternoon, at the same Estadi Olímpic Lluís Companys that backdropped the men’s exit from Europe, Barça Femení took to the pitch against a familiar opponent - if not an entirely familiar lineup - in Chelsea. The sides’ most notable meeting, in the spring of 2021 in Gothenburg, Sweden, ended with an emphatic Barça victory that secured the side’s first-ever Champions League triumph and earned FC Barcelona the distinction of being the first (and still only) club with both a men’s and a women’s treble.
After a year off, the teams met again last year, again in the Champions League semis. The rematch was decidedly more competitive, with Chelsea holding Barça to just eight shots on target and two goals over two legs and falling just a goal shy of extra time after a tough, if cynical 1-1 second-leg draw in Barcelona. The difference, as she so often is, was Caroline Graham Hansen, who eviscerated Chelea’s defense for the lone first-leg goal at Stamford Bridge:
… and then netted the tie-deciding goal early in the second half at Camp Nou:
The cast of characters involved for Barça last Saturday, though laden with familiar faces. Seven of Jonatan Giráldez’s starting XI also started that April 27, 2023, contest, including five of the front six, with Salma Parallueo replacing Asisat Oshoala up front. There was decidedly more change at the back, with Ingrid Engen replacing injured (but recovering!) Mapi León alongside Irene Paredes and center back, Ona Batlle in at right back (more on this in a second) for Marta Torrejón, and Cata Coll taking over for Sandra Pañso in goal.
Chelsea, meanwhile, still led by USWNT-bound Emma Hayes, still featured the likes of Lauren James, Melanie Leupolz, Guro Reiten, Erin Cuthbert, and Jessica Carter. But the Blues setup differed pretty dramatically from a year ago, with Sam Kerr sidelined with an ACL injury, Pernille Harder now employed by Bayern Munich, and Reiten (who scored the equalizer at Camp Nou) starting on the bench, along with summer 2023 acquisition (from Lyon) and USWNT star Catarina Macário.
Never was there a doubt that Chelsea - whose five titles in the past six seasons, seven in the past nine, and have made the WSL look a bit “farmery” - were real competition. At no point, however, did the notion of Barça as anything but overwhelming favorites warrant serious consideration.
Sigh.
Now, I’ve gotta level with you. I saw this match live from an excellent vantage point. In the week since, I’ve revisited it only via the barest-bones of highlights and seething recollection. Judge the trenchancy of my forthcoming takes accordingly.
To save our collective sanity and a good chunk of my dignity, I will keep to a minimum any allusions to Chelsea’s atrocity of a gameplan that underlined, bolded, and highlighted every retrograde Stateside stereotype about this sport, its prospective methadone-esque use for anyone who finds Iowa football too exhilarating in its competence, Jose Mourinho giggling in maniacal euphoria while kicking a puppy, and the army of invisible snipers that apparently stalked Emma Hayes’s squad to Montjuïc.
Now, I’ve gotta level with you. I saw this match live from an excellent vantage point. In the week since, I’ve revisited it only via the barest-bones of highlights and seething recollection. Judge the trenchancy of any forthcoming analysis accordingly.
Not Right On the Left
I understand the inherent absurdity of displacing the fourth-place finisher in Ballon d’Or voting. That being said, Fridolina Rolfö’s time at Barça has been defined by her incredible versatility as much as anything. Before joining the back line full-time last season, Rolfö had featured and thrived as a defender, midfielder, and even in attack. Even in defense, she switched from the left to the right side of the field to accommodate Lucy Bronze’s arrival.
Why, then, in the biggest game of the season to date, would one decide to shoehorn her back in at left back at the expense of Ona Battle, a dedicated left back who, during Rolfö’s recovery from offseason knee surgery, has cemented her status as the world’s best at the position?
By moving Batlle to the right, Giráldez hamstrung his side on both sides of the pitch. Gone was her incisiveness and incredible chemistry with Salma Paralluelo (who was disappointing) down the left. Exacerbating the issue was the fact that, for as spectacular a talent as she is, Ona is not a natural right back and, equally importantly, doesn’t have Torrejón’s (or even Rolfö’s) experience on the right with Aitana and CGH.
This cannot be the case again on Saturday afternoon at Stamford Bridge.
Let the Superstars Shine
Had the decision been mine to make, I, too, would have selected the Aitana-Patri-Keira Walsh in the middle of the park. For my money, no trio better exemplifies, collectively, the full complement of technical and attitudinal qualities that a team could want from its midfield. Three outstanding passers, each unnervingly comfortable in unnervingly tight spaces, but sufficiently diverse to warrant clear-headed comparisons to Iniesta, Xavi, and Sergio Busquets. Similarly, I can’t imagine a scenario in which both Salma and CGH didn’t start.
However, the inclusion of Mariona in the starting XI gave me pause. Not because she lacks the necessary instinct, intelligence, or technical acumen - it must be said, she didn’t play at all well on the day. Rather, it’s because that game, on that stage, with these stakes, is one for which certain players - two-time Ballon d’Or winners, perhaps - were made. Nailing Alexia to the bench for more than an hour, even as the side struggled, rather than starting her in a Nikola Jokic-esque #9 role, with Salma on the left (where, again, Ona ought to have been), is inexplicable.
While we’re on this, let’s delve into a less glaring if no less egregious omission: Clàudia Pina. Pina began warming up late in the first half when it became clearer that the attack might require more juice. Then halftime came and went. Her light cardio continued. Three changes were made. She looked on from the sideline. Times got desperate. She looked on from the sideline. What drove Jonatan Giraldez to relegate Pina - a bona fide alpha difference maker - to spectator status (from a front-row seat at least!) similarly eludes me.
A couple of additional random thoughts:
By the absolute letter of the law, the offside call that negated Barça’s 51st-minute penalty was, I suppose, correct. If, however, you also found the call to be in the spirit of the sport we purport to celebrate, you have an unsettling affinity for law enforcement and I have nothing more for you.
Erin Cuthbert’s goal was, in fact, quite nice.
Around this time last year, I wrote about the arc of the typical Barça Femení campaign, the minute number of games that present actual peril and ultimately determine the difference between triumph and disappointment.
I did something similar earlier this season, only to be proven hilariously wrong - just in time for some actual competitiveness.
None of that means much now. For a second straight season, Barça Femení has been presented with an opportunity to adorn this dynasty with a signature comeback. Last year, it was overturning an early 2-0 deficit in the Champions League final against Wolfsburg. This afternoon, on hostile turf, with a fifth straight final (and probably another treble) hangs in the balance.
I don’t know many groups of people I’d trust more than these women to get this done.
Força Barça.