Imagine, if you will, a warm day at Ciudad Real Madrid in Valdebebas. The players are out on the field, participating in their standard rondos during practice. Laughter can be heard echoing across the pitch as players tease one another for missing that ball or passing right to the player in the middle. Suddenly, a ball whips across the field, cruising just a hair too close past the nose of Sergio Ramos. The atmosphere changes. Everyone holds their breath as they see Marcelo with an incredibly sheepish look on his face.
The rondo has split into two sides with Asensio and Vasquez hyping up Ramos as much as they can. Toni Kroos steps up and starts beat-boxing. (If you’re curious as to how this might sound, I imagine it would be close to the beat of “Mythos” by Bushido.) Ramos takes a second, catches the beat, and –
You know your hair looks like you stuck your finger in a socket,
Funny how many forwards keep you in their pocket.
You like to joga bonito on the flank up and down,
but you leave your backside open like a hospital gown.
We conceded? Damn! Where’s our commanders?
Marcelo’s further left than old Bernie Sanders.
See, Ramos loves the bullfight, we know it’s a thing.
He swings that cape around like a matador in a ring.
Don’t show him a red, because we know that he’ll bitch.
It happens when the ref shows him one on the pitch.
Hey Sergio, we get it – but leave the red to the bulls.
I don’t want to see how many minutes Regui pulls.
Now, look, Marcelo, here’s a thing that I’ve got.
It’s called a World Cup win and it’s something that you’ve sought.
You’ve tried for sixteen years and yet it’s all for naught
But don’t get too upset, at least you gave it a shot.
Brazil hasn’t won since 2002,
Maybe it’s time for they look for someone new.
You make fun of my personal starless kit
But have you looked in the mirror at your outfit?
Now this is my first time tryin’ to spit
What’s your excuse poser – you got a new hit?
Don’t step to me if you don’t wanna get lit.
Your music is like your defense, heh, it’s bullshit
As Ramos and Marcelo continue, Vinicius Junior hears what’s happening and decides it’s his turn to call out Bale. He catches Varane’s attention and signals him to start a beat. (Varane would definitely take some inspiration from songs by Bigflo et Oli. Look to the song “Dommage.”)
Listen up, old man, it’s time for you to take a seat
I’m quick, I can shoot, bruh -- I’ve got you beat
Always on the bench due to some injury
How you stay on the first team is a mystery
You tried to text Solari but he left you on read,
Vini, vidi, vici – man I’ll leave you for dead.
Bale smiles a knowing smile, nods, and begins:
Look kid you tried to drop the mic, but maybe put down your phone.
While I was scoring bike kicks, mamá was calling you home.
You tried to drag me for my injuries
But your face is causing me miseries
Go back to your practice - eres muy pesado
Watch your back kid, better ten cuidado.
The rondo stopped and slowly turned. Did...did Gareth just speak Spanish?
In all of the hubbub, Solari and Pintus stood watching the team, trying to figure out what happened. A commotion arose from the rondo on the left. Apparently Casemiro had had enough and decided to lay in to Asensio. Mixed in with Casemiro’s shouts of “Ausencio!” and his comments about Marco’s mother, could be heard the rest of the team trying to pull him back and calm him down. Echoes of “We cool, we cool” rattle around the field. The moments had passed and it was time to get back to work.
As we leave the day behind us, you can almost hear Ray Hudson in the background. “Marcelo, Marcelo, Marcelo. The Brazilians were on one today, Phil.”