Real Madrid 91 Valencia Basket 68
The whites, guided by the Argentine base, pass over the Ponsarnau team and look for their No. 28 Cup on Sunday
When Facundo Campazzo left the bench, still with nine minutes to play, everything was surprisingly resolved. There was his exhibition, to be studied in basketball schools, much beyond his numbers, which were also extraordinary (15 points, nine assists, seven recoveries and a single loss of ball). The Argentine, who forged his game in the streets, who had to do virtue of his physical inferiority, spent the afternoon in the Carpena, connected with each of his companions, as if instead of balls he shared happiness. I developed a Valencia that not even in its worst nightmare would have expected a semifinal like Saturday. (91-68: Narration and statistics)
The extraordinary thing about Real Madrid is its inexhaustible competitive capacity. There is no laziness that comes the moment of truth, where the team always responds Pablo Laso. Beyond moments of form or low passengers, it becomes eternal on the summits. This Sunday, he played his seventh consecutive Cup final, in search of the conquest of the title, after crushing Valencia Basket with the finesse of the demon Campazzo.
Madrid left no option to reply, decided from the same initial jump, radically short-circuiting any type of oxygen taronja. The same team that collapsed to Barcelona on Thursday was now pure impotence against the target. It is not that the forces had been left in the display of rooms, it is that this time their rival the lesson was remembered, how you have to ask things when it comes to trying to win a title. The one of the copera road maps, where the second onslaught has to surpass that of the debut one.
The third best attack of the ACB remained in some 20 mere points to rest, seized Valencia as if it had a wall in front. I scored seven baskets in the first 20 minutes (just a triple), ruined in the fight by the rebound. And that Pablo Laso had opted for Trey Thompkins as an extra-community, leaving Jordan's Mickey muscle resting for the final. The same gave: until the cheered Felipe Reyes put on his boots under hoops, an unbearable bleeding. And that Madrid had not yet accompanied the success.
Jaume Ponsarnau tried to react giving priority to the offensive and back from the break he scored 11 points in just over three minutes. But it was not the solution either, because Madrid puts the boots in the give and take, increasing the advantage to limits too dangerous (52-31, min. 24). The importance of the Campazzo-Tavares couple was put on that stretch even more clearly, stung Valencia by the immense hands of the African, which even Dubljevic's wisdom is not able to counteract. And with Randolph scoring without making noise (and that which goes with obvious physical discomfort), in those corners that the giant releases.
Perhaps the only but the white staging had been the minutes without Campazzo on the track, collapses that are not new, without a doubt the most important field of work that Laso has ahead. Laprovittola hardly counts and Llull fails to play all the keys of the collective game. Because the clairvoyance of the Argentine is such that all comparisons lose. Madrid lives full when its orchestra is conducted by Facu, who gave a recital at the Carpena to extend his sweet moment: in the last five meetings he has distributed 62 assists, 18 already in this Cup that profiles him as MVP.
Valencia did not have a loophole to recover its vital signs. And it is not the Ponsarnau group of those who bend easily, there is their excellent trajectory in the Euroleague, competing without complexes before the greats of Europe. The disadvantage was triggered up to 30 points (78-48) when some thought about the return to Valencia and others sharpened the tooth in the search of what will be his 28 Cup.
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