Atlético – Alavés | For Glorioso, Llorente

On their almost immaculate route after the break, Atlético added a victory made in Cholo, after much chewing and holding onto the legs of lately, a Glorioso by the last name Llorente. And that Alavés jumped into the game thinking more about what will come (Granada, Valladolid) than what was ahead, Atlético. Without Joselu or Manu García, on the bench, without Lucas, with a shot at home, with the debut of youth squad Abdallahi. A lineup loaded with substitutes, nine changes, against an Atlético almost gala that, while his rivals puncture and puncture, he continues adding foam to his mattress on the podium. Four started, Llorente and Costa among them, but João and Morata took their place. The same would give Garitano, that someone could think. But no.

The game started with a lot of referee whistle and stuck, as if it were a premonition. Atleti were looking for control, inside, the bands. Alavés answered with a forest of men, six parapetes in defense with a slogan: “They will not pass”. A wall that, in the first ten minutes, tried to knock down the Cholo with a slate. The first foul tried was sent by Morata. The second was a scissor shot by João who went within a span of the post. Until the third it would be a while. And large. The Pacheco area became an increasingly indecipherable place, a labyrinth of legs, as time passed and the circulation of the ball slowed down.

Atlético was looking for the key by the Trippier gang, but when they got up there was little company. Morata, locked between centrals, Correa denied, Koke without light, João Félix prisoner of abulia, dull and apathetic. The rojiblancos stamping themselves again and again against the Garitano wall R. R. Martín. So compact in the back and so little in attack, just some jogging by Aleix Vidal. It was time to chew. The most interesting thing that happened in the Metropolitan was the impudence of Abdallahi and the names and images of the subscribers in the video dialer. And that's it. Until 45 everything was minutes of those that seem to last for years. And they become eternal. If there had been a stand I would have asked Llorentes, Vitolos, Carrascos.

Voilá, Llorente

It took seven minutes to resume for there to be more than a jam in the game. A shot by João from outside the area that bounced off a defender. Cholo was sweating on his bench, unable to find a loophole for that Alavés with so much change and so meritorious. Two minutes after that Portuguese opportunity, he looked back and nodded: Llorente and Costa in. Two minutes after stepping on the field, the first one started a yellow. And how yellow. Would explode catenaccio.

Because Anfield's hero is the man of the season already, and that lack that Adrián Marín made him Trippier threw it to the far post as a gift to unwrap by Saul., who threw himself on the head ball screaming goool. 1-0, cholista poetry. How a life can change a party. Llorente's will always be linked to that, Anfield. With the departure of João and the entry of Carrasco he took a step forward to put himself in his place, the one that Cholo has invented for himself and that suits him well.

Burke tried to sneak into his party with the clearest occasion of Alavés so far, but Llorente had come out with the champagne and the streamer and, in a race to Ely on the wing, he took a penalty from Duarte that Costa put on the scoreboard. Very, very doubtful, it was not clear who was hitting whom, but the referee did not even see him. Neither the following. A Koke hand that was head, or shoulder, as little penalty as the previous. Joselu marked it, while Koke saw a yellow that lowers him from the Camp Nou, like Savic, the shadow of this victory made in Cholo.