V.6 REAL MADRID 09/10.

neo10191 escribió:pero ahora en que consiste la historia?....en sacar los colores al real madrid?....para contribuir un poco en la otra direccion voy a decir unas cuantas del siempre europeo y educado superbarca.
1.- Luis Enrique llama mono a R.carlos
2.- LLuvia de objetos a Figo (sin sancion...o al menos sin cumplimiento)
3.- Me voy de la copa del Rey que no me mola jugar hoy!!!
4.- Me lio a ostias en una final de copa con el bilbao y doy patadas en la cabeza delante de Juancar I!
5.- Me llamo Risto y no me apellido mejide....voy a pisarle un pie al arbitro
6.- Soy Giovanni ...voy a hacer 3 cortes de manga al publico
7.- Penalty y expulsion!!!
8.- Soy Messi....soy semiacondroplasico pero gracias a las hormonas que me han proporcionado estos señores ....he crecido y ahora soy mas fuerte!!
9.- POr ultimo....Soy Joan....incluso me podeis llamar Jan...que es mas europeo....he ganado 3 titulos....pero lejos de estar tritranquilo, me quejo y solo hablo del dinero que se gasta el madrid....por cierto he ganado 1-0 y me voy a tirar una botella de champan (frances!!!) por la cabeza....cada dia estoy mas gordo....todo aquel que me critique es un bastardo fascista opresor de mi pueblo , que tanto ha luchado por su libertad!!!

PRFOREVER escribió:

neo10191 escribió:pero ahora en que consiste la historia?....en sacar los colores al real madrid?....para contribuir un poco en la otra direccion voy a decir unas cuantas del siempre europeo y educado superbarca.
1.- Luis Enrique llama mono a R.carlos
2.- LLuvia de objetos a Figo (sin sancion...o al menos sin cumplimiento)
3.- Me voy de la copa del Rey que no me mola jugar hoy!!!
4.- Me lio a ostias en una final de copa con el bilbao y doy patadas en la cabeza delante de Juancar I!
5.- Me llamo Risto y no me apellido mejide....voy a pisarle un pie al arbitro
6.- Soy Giovanni ...voy a hacer 3 cortes de manga al publico
7.- Penalty y expulsion!!!
8.- Soy Messi....soy semiacondroplasico pero gracias a las hormonas que me han proporcionado estos señores ....he crecido y ahora soy mas fuerte!!
9.- POr ultimo....Soy Joan....incluso me podeis llamar Jan...que es mas europeo....he ganado 3 titulos....pero lejos de estar tritranquilo, me quejo y solo hablo del dinero que se gasta el madrid....por cierto he ganado 1-0 y me voy a tirar una botella de champan (frances!!!) por la cabeza....cada dia estoy mas gordo....todo aquel que me critique es un bastardo fascista opresor de mi pueblo , que tanto ha luchado por su libertad!!!

Falta el mecherazo a Roberto Carlos en el Camp Nou, que si es a alguno de los azulgranas en Madrid nos ponen a parir en todos lados.

neo10191 escribió:

madvic escribió:Ostia, hasta el ultimo comentario creia que me habia equivocado de post y me habeis hecho salir 4 veces y creer que el ordenador mio iba solo....

ay amigo esta tarde estoy de acuerdo contigo en todo jeje

madvic escribió:

neo10191 escribió:

madvic escribió:Ostia, hasta el ultimo comentario creia que me habia equivocado de post y me habeis hecho salir 4 veces y creer que el ordenador mio iba solo....

ay amigo esta tarde estoy de acuerdo contigo en todo jeje

¿¿Debo asustarme??

Legend escribió:Que bueno es la Araña, como le echamos de menos el año pasado

Paulo escribió:¿Quereis tener cuidado y no poner enlaces de descarga de partidos?

GRACIAS.

SeccionTridente escribió:Por cierto se me olvido preguntar que le pasaba a Kaukenas. Supongo que sera alguna lesion pero sabemos si es grave ?!?

fj83 escribió:

SeccionTridente escribió:Por cierto se me olvido preguntar que le pasaba a Kaukenas. Supongo que sera alguna lesion pero sabemos si es grave ?!?

Grave, grave, depende.... tenía gastroenteritis.

THIS GAME'S THE BEST (George Kark, 1997):

I really enjoyed my time and the people I met in Spain. There were crazy experiences and situations, but they were filled with passionate, good people I will never forget.

Clearly, one of the most emotional periods of my life was the three days following the death of our star player Fernando Martín. His death will be as vivid a memory to me as anything I have ever gone through.

Fernando died in a car accident on his way to a game on a Sunday. But when we showed up at the arena and learned of Fernando's accident, we canceled the game. It felt like a national day of mourning. Fernando was the Spanish basketball equivalent of Michael Jordan, in terms of his popularity within the country. As a person, he was one of the most powerful people I've ever been around.

He was a big man, about six-eight, two fifty. Shoulders wide, waist thin. Women thought he was gorgeous. He always wore a little beard. Dark eyes, black hair, a really attractive man. We'd walk into a room, and everybody would pay attention to Fernando. He had movie-star looks and the reverence of Julius Erving.

His power was in his eyes and the way he carried himself, his demeanor. He appeared fearless. For all that, he was not a great basketball player. But he was a great winner. He loved doing the dirty work. He had played in the NBA for a year in Portland. He was the best player in Spain and Portland brought him over, but it did not work out, and he missed Spain so he went back.

Well, on Monday morning after the accident his coffin was laid out in our stadium. The stadium, called the City of Sport, seats probably eight thousand. We as a team were the first people to view his body. It wasn't pretty because the accident was brutal. It was the first time I met Fernando's mother, who sat there and spoke Spanish to me for quite a while. I guess she did not know that I did not understand Spanish. Fernando's brother, Antonio, was interpreting, telling me that Fernando loved me and thought I was the most exciting coach he'd ever played for. Antonio also was on our team. It was just an incredibly emotional moment. She looked at me and said, "My son is your son."

That night they opened the stadium for the viewing of the body. The mass was around eight o'clock. It took forty-five minutes for the service. The building was packed. After the mass, the crowd stood and gave Fernando a forty-five-minute standing ovation. They stood there and clapped for forty-five minutes straight. It gave me goose bumps.

Then came the public viewing. People filed by the casket until six o'clock in the morning. I was told by the players that Fernando was compared to a James Dean-type figure. He was a rebel in real life, and when he died everybody related to him and respected him.

There were twenty buses of people headed to the cemetery for his funeral, including the Real Madrid soccer team, the Spanish football association, the basketball association, and three or four teams that brought their players and clubs to honor Fernando. The day began with a little religious ceremony in which his body was christened, and then the body had to be taken out to the hearse. But no one had arranged to carry out the casket. And so it was carried out of the building on the shoulders of our players, and it was weird, because they carried it up above their heads, as if they were lifting him up to a higher being.

The buses made about a ten-mile procession to the cemetery. The entire route was lined with people waving, screaming, holding signs. When we got to the cemetery, the entrance had an arch that the buses could not get through. By the time twenty busloads of people had walked from the entrance to the grave site, the casket was already in the ground. I said to Cathy that Fernando was just sitting up there in heaven laughing at all of us wandering through the mud in this huge cemetery looking for his grave site. It was the only thing that was funny about that day.

I told the team to meet after the ceremony at the hotel. I remember sitting with Chechu Biriukov, who was one of Fernando's good friends, and Quique Villalobos and Jose Llorente, who both spoke very good English. The four of us just sat there. They were all crying and telling stories, and Chechu was cussing out Fernando, saying, "Stubborn SOB . . . you shouldn't have been driving so fast." The police said Fernando was going over a hundred miles an hour when he wrecked; his car flipped seven times.

We had a game that night, and I said to the team, "If you do not want to play, you do not have to play." The players said, "If we did not play, Fernando would think we were a bunch of pussies. We've got to play."

For all the bravado, no one felt like playing. We had no preparation because we had been at the funeral.

So here we were getting ready to play a European Cup game, and two hours before the game, we're all crying and wiped out. So we all went up and took a quick nap before going to the game. We were losing by twenty-two points at halftime, just getting whipped. As you might suspect, we had no energy; we weren't even running. We did not know if Antonio was going to play, but when he showed we had to play him. He was horrible. He had no business playing that night, but he felt as if he had to because his brother would've wanted him to.

I went into the locker room, and because I knew so little Spanish I did not say much. On the way out one of the players said, "Let's do it for Fernando."

We won the game by twenty-two. We had a forty-four-point turnaround in the second half. I mean, it was over quick too. We made up the twenty-two points we were behind in the first five minutes of the second half. We went up by two a minute later, and the rout was on. Unbelievable. It was the biggest comeback I've ever been associated with.

But the win wasn't the most eerie part. That came before the game. The players put Fernando's jersey on the bench, draping it over a chair. They put his shorts on the seat of the chair and his shoes underneath it. Before the game the opposing team ran down and threw roses at the feet of this empty chair. I was stunned. And I had to coach the entire game with his empty chair there.

We went into the locker room after the game, and Antonio was bawling, Chechu was bawling, everybody was bawling. In Europe, if the crowd wants the team to come back, they chant. Almost like a rock concert. The crowd that night was chanting as loud as I'd ever heard them. What the fans were chanting was "Fernando está aquí," which means "Fernando is here, Fernando is here."

They wouldn't stop chanting "Fernando está aquí, Fernando está aquí." Fernando's mother was in the president's box, crying, waving, and throwing kisses to the crowd. I was just shaking my head. I was so taken by the power of the moment that I didn't leave the court. The players walked off the court a second time, but the crowd kept chanting, "Fernando está aquí."

Then the players all came running back onto the court again, only this time they ran up the aisle to the president's box to give a hug to Fernando's mother. Wow!

It was powerful.

miguelkas escribió:

THIS GAME'S THE BEST (George Kark, 1997):

I really enjoyed my time and the people I met in Spain. There were crazy experiences and situations, but they were filled with passionate, good people I will never forget.

Clearly, one of the most emotional periods of my life was the three days following the death of our star player Fernando Martín. His death will be as vivid a memory to me as anything I have ever gone through.

Fernando died in a car accident on his way to a game on a Sunday. But when we showed up at the arena and learned of Fernando's accident, we canceled the game. It felt like a national day of mourning. Fernando was the Spanish basketball equivalent of Michael Jordan, in terms of his popularity within the country. As a person, he was one of the most powerful people I've ever been around.

He was a big man, about six-eight, two fifty. Shoulders wide, waist thin. Women thought he was gorgeous. He always wore a little beard. Dark eyes, black hair, a really attractive man. We'd walk into a room, and everybody would pay attention to Fernando. He had movie-star looks and the reverence of Julius Erving.

His power was in his eyes and the way he carried himself, his demeanor. He appeared fearless. For all that, he was not a great basketball player. But he was a great winner. He loved doing the dirty work. He had played in the NBA for a year in Portland. He was the best player in Spain and Portland brought him over, but it did not work out, and he missed Spain so he went back.

Well, on Monday morning after the accident his coffin was laid out in our stadium. The stadium, called the City of Sport, seats probably eight thousand. We as a team were the first people to view his body. It wasn't pretty because the accident was brutal. It was the first time I met Fernando's mother, who sat there and spoke Spanish to me for quite a while. I guess she did not know that I did not understand Spanish. Fernando's brother, Antonio, was interpreting, telling me that Fernando loved me and thought I was the most exciting coach he'd ever played for. Antonio also was on our team. It was just an incredibly emotional moment. She looked at me and said, "My son is your son."

That night they opened the stadium for the viewing of the body. The mass was around eight o'clock. It took forty-five minutes for the service. The building was packed. After the mass, the crowd stood and gave Fernando a forty-five-minute standing ovation. They stood there and clapped for forty-five minutes straight. It gave me goose bumps.

Then came the public viewing. People filed by the casket until six o'clock in the morning. I was told by the players that Fernando was compared to a James Dean-type figure. He was a rebel in real life, and when he died everybody related to him and respected him.

There were twenty buses of people headed to the cemetery for his funeral, including the Real Madrid soccer team, the Spanish football association, the basketball association, and three or four teams that brought their players and clubs to honor Fernando. The day began with a little religious ceremony in which his body was christened, and then the body had to be taken out to the hearse. But no one had arranged to carry out the casket. And so it was carried out of the building on the shoulders of our players, and it was weird, because they carried it up above their heads, as if they were lifting him up to a higher being.

The buses made about a ten-mile procession to the cemetery. The entire route was lined with people waving, screaming, holding signs. When we got to the cemetery, the entrance had an arch that the buses could not get through. By the time twenty busloads of people had walked from the entrance to the grave site, the casket was already in the ground. I said to Cathy that Fernando was just sitting up there in heaven laughing at all of us wandering through the mud in this huge cemetery looking for his grave site. It was the only thing that was funny about that day.

I told the team to meet after the ceremony at the hotel. I remember sitting with Chechu Biriukov, who was one of Fernando's good friends, and Quique Villalobos and Jose Llorente, who both spoke very good English. The four of us just sat there. They were all crying and telling stories, and Chechu was cussing out Fernando, saying, "Stubborn SOB . . . you shouldn't have been driving so fast." The police said Fernando was going over a hundred miles an hour when he wrecked; his car flipped seven times.

We had a game that night, and I said to the team, "If you do not want to play, you do not have to play." The players said, "If we did not play, Fernando would think we were a bunch of pussies. We've got to play."

For all the bravado, no one felt like playing. We had no preparation because we had been at the funeral.

So here we were getting ready to play a European Cup game, and two hours before the game, we're all crying and wiped out. So we all went up and took a quick nap before going to the game. We were losing by twenty-two points at halftime, just getting whipped. As you might suspect, we had no energy; we weren't even running. We did not know if Antonio was going to play, but when he showed we had to play him. He was horrible. He had no business playing that night, but he felt as if he had to because his brother would've wanted him to.

I went into the locker room, and because I knew so little Spanish I did not say much. On the way out one of the players said, "Let's do it for Fernando."

We won the game by twenty-two. We had a forty-four-point turnaround in the second half. I mean, it was over quick too. We made up the twenty-two points we were behind in the first five minutes of the second half. We went up by two a minute later, and the rout was on. Unbelievable. It was the biggest comeback I've ever been associated with.

But the win wasn't the most eerie part. That came before the game. The players put Fernando's jersey on the bench, draping it over a chair. They put his shorts on the seat of the chair and his shoes underneath it. Before the game the opposing team ran down and threw roses at the feet of this empty chair. I was stunned. And I had to coach the entire game with his empty chair there.

We went into the locker room after the game, and Antonio was bawling, Chechu was bawling, everybody was bawling. In Europe, if the crowd wants the team to come back, they chant. Almost like a rock concert. The crowd that night was chanting as loud as I'd ever heard them. What the fans were chanting was "Fernando está aquí," which means "Fernando is here, Fernando is here."

They wouldn't stop chanting "Fernando está aquí, Fernando está aquí." Fernando's mother was in the president's box, crying, waving, and throwing kisses to the crowd. I was just shaking my head. I was so taken by the power of the moment that I didn't leave the court. The players walked off the court a second time, but the crowd kept chanting, "Fernando está aquí."

Then the players all came running back onto the court again, only this time they ran up the aisle to the president's box to give a hug to Fernando's mother. Wow!

It was powerful.

crown escribió:Blablabla

Sabonisthebest escribió:Alguien sabe si está en algun sitio el especial de Fernando Martin que pusieron ayer en Teledeporte?
Se que lo repiten mañana en TD, pero no tengo el dvd grabador (está en reparación)
Si hace falta, en MP

Gracias

crown escribió:

Sabonisthebest escribió:Alguien sabe si está en algun sitio el especial de Fernando Martin que pusieron ayer en Teledeporte?
Se que lo repiten mañana en TD, pero no tengo el dvd grabador (está en reparación)
Si hace falta, en MP

Gracias

no lo ha grabado nadie???? manda cojones..... kambala??????????

miquelius escribió:Menuda paliza del Barça al Frenbache

67-36 final tercer cuarto