The media drumbeat: Anyone and everyone will join Real. From Kaka to Cristiano Ronaldo. From Wenger to Mourinho. Real is a black hole.
You maybe a unicellular organism and your name Ktoereoteawhehtrheth Sakjwentewthhyte. It does not matter as long as you can kick a ball and score 93 goals in two matches. Anyone who can do that is linked to Real forever. Under Florentino Perez.
Like Don Quixote forever chasing windmills, success in Real terms, is presently a mirage.The greatness of the Santiago Bernabeu yesteryears which spawned the likes of Di Stefano, Puskas, Kopa, Gento, Rial, and Santamaria have become too costly to bear. There are constant comparisons. The pity is that we have not tried seriously to resurrect those days. For that we have Ramon Calderon and Florentino Perez to thank, men who believe that they can pay their way through.
The paradigm shift occurred when Perez did his Galacticos spiel in 2000. The simple premise envisaged a grand scale migration of superstars to Real if the price was right.
Goalactico! La Liga was under blitz with all this attacking talent and Real had its way. Due homage was paid at a pretty price to the attacking talent at its disposal: Raul, Zidane, Ronaldo, Owen, and Beckham. But like 80’s music living on a prayer and song, it all fell apart abruptly when Claude Makelele, the underpaid grunt managing the defense, left unappreciated. Perez was left holding his cojones after Real slumped.
He wants to do it again.