Barcelona was dumped out of the Champions League yesterday after a build-up of propaganda and gamesmanship on the parts of the coaches. It was a tremendous drama.
But what I'll never forget is Ronaldinho's second goal. It was pure magic. And the odd thing about this bit of wizardry is that the Brazilian was uncharacteristically not in motion.
Given total respect by Chelsea, Ronaldinho found himself at the top of the their box with the ball at his feet. It's as if the whole world, including the Chelsea 11, stood still waiting for the Brazilain to act. Did hours pass and suns set? It felt like it. Certainly must have for Chelsea keeper Cech.
Everyone was marked up and everyone in Chelsea blue understood the great truth of the moment: move toward the Big R and the man you "had" would have a goal.
It was like a scene from a western film: the mere mortal decides to draw for his gun and the hero beats him to it and death is delivered.
Chelsea were no mere mortals. A fine side. Very well coached. And still will be better.
But they were caught. Damned if you do, damned if you don't.
Infact, the moment that Fortune delivered the ball to the magician at the top of the box, that was the goal.
And all Big R had to do was raise his kicking foot and choose where to place the ball.
R didn't even take one step. Not one!
The leg swung at once like a pendullum and guillotine, slicing the ball slowly inside a post, past a motionless Cech.
What a sublime goal, delivered from that prism at the top of the box.
So little happened.
Yet so much.
I am grateful for this goal, for perhaps more than any I've ever seen, this goal was an idea.
An idea born of genius and fortune.
Thank you.
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