Tangos of the classic

With his feet on Montjuïc and his head on Maracanã, Ancelotti experienced the last Spanish club classic of his life. He'll never forget it, both for its finality and its madness. A duel filled with goals, even those disallowed, and with frustrated opportunities that showed the strengths and weaknesses of both teams throughout the season. An impressive offensive flow and excessive defensive permeability. For Barça, this was a result of the system. For Madrid, this was a consequence of the deficiencies caused largely by injuries on the line.

Ancelotti's next Clásico will be an American one, between national teams and against Argentina, which for a century has exported its two star products to the world: football and tango. And, from 2013 to 2025, a football-loving Pope with an Italian surname, like those of footballers. Many Argentine footballers have Italian surnames. Without going any further, Ancelotti, born in Reggiolo, could have been born in Tucumán. Solari , his temporary successor until Xabi arrives, was born in Rosario. He could have been born in Pescara.

"Nostalgia," sang Carlitos (Carletto) Gardel in 1935. Barça, which had Maradona and Messi , lacks Argentines in its squad. A current rarity, but not a historical one: the club has generally imported little from there. Madrid, which had Di Stéfano , is the same. A historical anomaly for someone who has looked too much towards the Río de la Plata. Now Barça tends to turn towards Europe and relies on La Masía. Madrid fishes everywhere except at home.

In 1935, Carlitos sang "Por una cabeza," one of his most famous tangos. In horse racing, you often win or lose by a single head. In Gardel's tango, "se perdía" (the loss), a horse-racing metaphor for those defeats in life that, precisely because they are close—that is, avoidable, more the result of bad luck than bad practice—leave an even more indelible mark.

By the minimum

A few days ago, on a Tuesday of tango fatalism, Barça lost the Champions League semifinal by one goal. And, by one point, they lost their place in the Final Four of basketball. Sport is often a task of maximums resolved with an outcome of minimums. You lose or win by a head, by a goal, by a point, by a goal, by a goal, by a centimeter, by a hundredth.

Ancelotti, who owns a stable of racehorses, knows what it's like to win and lose by a single head. Among them is his own, which had already been beaten before the match. A few weeks ago, he sang his own tango: "Goodbye, lads," although he'll be reunited with some of them in Brazil. And with Raphinha . Football is a small thing.

In a crucial match without any Argentinian players (almost everyone at Atleti is there, sipping mate and singing "Arrabal Amargo" in unison), Barça clinched the league title and left Madrid withered and dejected. The forced substitution of Vinicius for Víctor Muñoz epitomized Madrid's impossibility of winning. They didn't give up the game (in fact, the kid almost tied it), but they sent a message of metaphysical impotence. Fans of both teams can sing the same tango: "Tonight I'm getting drunk."

Barça fans are celebrating. Madrid fans are trying to forget.