Well, let’s not get carried away with ourselves. But it is true that the Eleven Devils braintrust (me) has repaired to The Thirsty Lion, in the pulsating epicenter (?) of Portland, to watch Barcelona lay waste to a startlingly indifferent Werder Bremen. Thanks to a mid-day pint of Guinness, a hulking bowl of beef stew and the fact that sleazy Torsten Frings is going out of the Champions League, all is merry and bright.

At minute 44, Barcelona leads 2-0 and is waltzing all over the vast Nou Camp, with Werder’s players acting in the role of obstacle cones. Barca should have at least four by my count, including a tricky little run by the Icelandic Samba Boy that ended with a knock to the woodwork.

There—the half-time whistle has just gone, as the British would say. If the poky wi-fi and my own sobriety permits, we could have another gripping update. I can say that the two Panamanian lads at the bar look very happy. Hasn’t anyone explained the whole Catalan separatist thing?


About zachdundas

Freelance journalist. Author of The Renegade Sportsman (Riverhead Books). Thank you.
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