Morata. It had to be him. Football has a novelists soul. Sadistic, but a novelists. Morata, the lad from the academy. The striker who was no use. When he left for Madrid there was no lack of people who imagined whats just happened. We all heard it, in the mouth of another, or in our own heads, though we paid it little attention. More than a prediction it was a premonition, a possibility we expressed to invalidate it, as we do so often, with so little success. As if, how could we meet him in the Champions League? As if, how could Alvarito knock Madrid out... Well it happened. Morata scored in Turin and he did it again in the Bernabu; there was no more important player in the tie, nobody at his level. It obviously hurt him and its easy to guess it still does. On being substituted in the 83rd minute lvaro left the field, clasping his hands together, pleading for divine forgiveness. He shouldnt worry, hes forgiven. If, moreover, he wants to be blessed and repatriated with a presentation in the Bernabu he only needs to bring Barcelona down in Berlin. The president could then say, without being wrong, that Morata was born to play for Madrid.
Source: http://www.theguardian.com/football/2015/may/14/juventus-real-madrid-evra-ballboy-iker-casillas-reaction-champions-league
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