Tu sais que t’es supporter de l’Atlético quand…
Madrid, there are these Real Madrid boroughs, but you, you vibrate for the Athletic. And if you’re killing it this season with the C1, it could be said that you enjoy making others suffer. Because the tale of “the Atlete” is a jumble of mishandled moments, equal parts malevolence and irrational love.
… Actually, you have no idea why you are a supporter of this team.
You asked your father, who is also your colchonero, why you were against the Athletic, and he didn’t know what to say.
Your grandfather said that it was “an inexplicable sentiment.” You found it to be beautiful and sufficient.
“You resemble a bougie that someone forgot to put away in a dark room surrounded by somber people who are trying to make you cry.” The only child of Otto Puccino is you.
It’s a loser. Et fier de l’être.
It’s a ringard. You grasp it and you resell it.
Your favorite movie is on Torrente. A lovely arrangement.
The only CD you have ever purchased in your life is by the rock group The garb, which is from Mono Burgos.
It is exciting because your team is regarded as the second-best club in Madrid and the third-best major club in Spain. In summary, you’re not too unhappy.
That is sadomasochistic. Why spend time with the greatest club of the 20th century when one can get a hair cut with the Atletico in the same city? Why, Hein?
You like Pepsi better than Coca-Cola.
You like Walibi from Walt Disney’s “Asterix and Astérix” park. Décor question.
You enjoy switching from laughing to crying in less than a minute. Très belles émotions, tu fucks.
You’ve never understood these stories about 4-3-3, 4-4-2, or the sapin from Christmas to the con. You and your tactic, it’s like two big cojones.
You’re getting married and you understand both the best and worst about yourself and your club, that’s the impression that people have of you.
You realize that the greatest enemy of Athletico is Athletico itself.
You remember, too, that it was only because of Athletic that a type like Sinama-Pongolle had a single blue selection.
You still want to know how the team managed to lose players like Hasselbaink, Capdevila, Valerón, Bejbl, Kiko, or Solari.
You are aware of the humiliation suffered by Haskelbaink against Oviedo on the final day of the league. That day, you had a great time with Jimmy.
You were one of the forty thousand spectators that came to watch D2 play at the Calderón.
In the school hallway, you mimicked Kiko’s archer’s gesture each time you made a goal.
You know that Raùl, one of Real Madrid’s best players, was formed in the football team’s cantera.
You were shocked to learn that Raùl himself signs each derby.
On Sunday, you go for even better jogging. And the remainder of the week as well. Either one has swag or one doesn’t.
You find that Pep Guardiola’s inquisitive look has been completely ringardized by Diego Simeone.
.. You wanted to copy Cholo’s style, but you quickly realized that you looked like a manouche jazz musician.
It’s Ben Barek, Di Stéfano, coming up to you.
You have never sent any of the Real Madrid players—Vieri, Hasselbaink, Fernando Torres, Forlán, Agüero, Falcao, Villa, and Diego Costa—across. They are there, your space aliens.
It’s always the Real Madrid defense players that you send. You know full well that it’s not with Antonio Lopez, Pernia, or Perea that you will one day break the big earlobe.
To all of you, Silvio Berlusconi, he goes by Jesus Gil.
You were among the millions of people present to celebrate the President’s release from prison.
You were thrilled that Gil himself paid the Real Madrid in every interview.
Every time you have a blue moment, you replay Gil’s forain patate on the president of Compostela’s gueule.
You’ve been convinced that Gil is still alive. In actuality, he is currently working on the bringue with Tupac.
You said, “Lui, c’est un petit gars de l’Atlético,” when Torres scored the winning goal against Germany in the 2008 Euro final.
You said, “Lui, c’est un petit gars de l’Atlético,” when Torres scored the winning goal against Germany in the 2008 Euro final.
You’re thrilled to be a part of the only team with an international cup without having won the C1.
You cheered on the day when Aguirre managed to win his match and humiliate Valbuena from his touche bench.
You’ve never been wrong about Santos Mirasierra’s innocence.
You think that Seedorf’s goal in the Derby 97 is a little bit iffy. For you, it was obviously a release.
You’ve never really attached yourself to the trainers. People on their way.
You thought Arrigo Sacchi was a great trainer. However, that was prior to its passing through Vicente Calderón.
You have to admit that Carlos Bianchi was a skilled trainer. However, that was prior to its passing through Vicente Calderón.
It’s true that César Menotti was a genius. However, that was prior to its passing through Vicente Calderón.
You have never been in Radomir Antic. However, that was prior to its passing through Vicente Calderón.
Luis Aragones, ton Cruyff à toi, s’appelle.
You’ve always believed that Caminero was far stronger than Guardiola.
You discover that there is nothing to compare the association name/prefix of Resureccion Koke to Landon Donovan’s.
It’s me, Diego Ribas. Ton Diego à toi. And he plays at Wolfsburg.
You support Tottenham, Schalke, and Racing Avellaneda abroad. Des clubs de pertes comme il le possède.
You are a member of the exclusive audience of Liga.
All right, so this is a dirty rat named Indy.
It was the first surprise to watch your club destroy Chelsea in the European Supercup. Without a doubt, the best match of your life.
You have been a devotee of Milinko Pantic since 1996.
You have consistently questioned Guti’s sexual habits.
As Forlán stepped on it, you cried out, “UUUrrruuuguayyooooo.” Just to look at his chocolate tablets.
You treasure the shirt that came with the Spider-Man 2 movie.
We secretly hope for El Nino’s return after a long absence.
You believe everyone who wants to believe that Oliver the little will win three gold medals in a few years.
You eagerly await the ad campaign videos at the start of each new season.
You were somewhat confused when you saw the Courtois douanier chief for the first time. You could give up your life for him now.
You were wearing the Mono Burgos casquette.
You are not athletic, but rather athletic.
You don’t like football at all. Just the Atlete.
