All Graham Hunter Posts
I reckon that few of us who’ve holidayed on Spain’s Costa del Sol would place Marbella in the category of resorts which are “a quiet haven of restraint away from the madness”.
Sport is beautiful, but sport is cruel. To some extent it’s the law of the jungle – you survive, and emerge, if you’re the fittest, the toughest, the nastiest. The “best” doesn’t always cut it. And, eventually, everyone gets gobbled up.
Everybody’s talking about the beautiful thing which happened in Turin this week – Ronaldo’s goal.
Almost as iconic this week as the sight of Spain’s sixth goal fizzing past Willy Caballero to complete Isco’s hat-trick against the 2014 World Cup finalists was Leo Messi demonstrating that the pain of it all was too much.
Messi would vomit. Per Mertesacker would urgently visit the loo dozens of time a day before a match.
Sometimes stats just don’t matter.
Not many weeks go by without someone asking for my help in order to come and work in Spain.
The smug, obese man sat there sweating profusely.
As I was on my way to the Jose Mourinho press conference in Sevilla my mobile phone rang and I got a nice wee adrenaline buzz from the fact that it was one of my all-time favourite players.
In Spain there are many who call Cristiano Ronaldo “El Bicho”.
As a feisty, some have said chippy, Scot I can freely admit that, much though I love my adopted country, there are dozens of people around Spain who to this day don’t know how close I came to chinning them when i first arrived to live here all those years ago.
Basically, it’s the Christmas miracle which keeps on giving.
It goes without saying that were Madrid coached by anyone other than, say, Florentino Perez’s son then he’d be in the dole queue this morning.
Sevilla FC turned 128 on Thursday. So if you want to sing Happy Birthday in Spanish to the same tune we use in the UK and send it to them, go right ahead: “Cumpleaños feliz, cumpleaños feliz ...”
On the face of it, Ronaldinho conjured up the timing of a true showman when he chose to announce his retirement just as Coutinho arrived at Barcelona.
It has always intrigued me greatly that football, like ordinary life, has “sliding doors” moments.
On the face of it, the Coutinho operation should be nice and simple for FC Barcelona.
Sometimes you really need to understand the context in order to appreciate things properly.
It was perfect timing, just ahead of Madrid hosting Barça tomorrow lunchtime at their magnificent Santiago Bernabéu stadium ...
Alex Ferguson’s arrival at Old Trafford in November 1986 saw a gradual flood of fans flying from Aberdeen to Manchester every couple of weeks for United’s home games.
In theory this is the time when the Little Boss must come to Barcelona’s rescue. Again.
Read Graham Hunter's latest column here.
You only needed to take a look at the Barcelona bench away to Juventus to understand how much Valencia have got under the skin of La Liga’s leaders.
Since I moved to Spain I’ve been witness to some properly remarkable events while covering the greatest football the world’s ever seen.
Graham Hunter: It’s not the same Aviemore … delight at seeing the Auld Enemy gubbed seems a thing of the past now
It’s my adopted country, their football has given me almost unparalleled joy over the years, my kids have grown up here and I do love most things about Spain
Well, there’s a very strong chance that we’ve just suffered the weakest week of European football by Spanish clubs since I moved over to Iberia 15 years ago in my single-handed bid to make La Liga’s clubs Uefa-dominant.
Without a hint of vindictiveness or nastiness I’m obliged to tell you that when Gary Lineker opined on Karim Benzema the other night he was talking absolute, unadorned, ill-informed garbage.
You’d need to be obtuse beyond belief not to notice that something exciting is happening in English football. And, no, it’s not the return of the Premier League.
Apologies in advance but I’m going to put you under pressure this beautiful Friday.
I promise, scout’s honour, that this will be one of the very few occasions when the dirty word “politics” scars the sports pages of the Evening Express.