VIDEO: Gracias, Alfredo di Stefano

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Real Madrid i-a pregatit un moment omagiat exceptional celui mai mare fotbalist din istoria sa. Melodia interpretata de Frank Sinatra – “I did it my way” (cantecul preferat al marelui Di Stefano) si imaginile cu “La Saeta Rubia” fac astazi inconjurul lumii. Cea mai buna descriere a acestui clip a facut-o Fernandez Tapias, vicepresedintele clubului blanco: “Sinatra a facut aceasta melodie parca special pentru Alfredo. Fiecare vers se potriveste de minune cu cel care a fost Don Alfredo di Stefano”.

Clipul a fost prezentat in premiera aseara la conferinta de presa organizata de presedintele Florentino Perez, care in timp ce urmarea imaginile si asculta melodia inegalabilului Sinatra, nu si-a putut stapani lacrimile. In clipul prezentat, finalul este absolut impresionant: Alfredo di Stefano este intrebat daca despartirile sunt grele, iar legendarul fotbalist blanco paseste pe gazonul de pe Santiago Bernabeu si spune: “Intr-o zi, va veni ziua despartirii si doare. Pentru ca aici, am trait tot ce a fost mai bun in viata mea”


Gracias, Alfredo di Stefano!


Lacrimile presedintelui Florentino Perez–jYWRpA

  • Sylar

    🙁 si doare, draga Saeta…

  • sergium5

    Acesta este omul despre care ar trebui sa vorbim atunci cand aducem in discutie cuvintele “legenda”
    Odihneste-te in pace Don Alfredo.

  • motanu

    JUANITO !!!!

  • MihaiR
  • Alex

    Pasaje din “Fear and Loathing in La Liga” de Sid Lowe

    JUAN SANTISTEBAN gets up from his chair and walks towards the exit at the Santiago Bernabéu stadium. He’s been talking for over an hour, reminiscing about his time at Real Madrid, his seven years as a player and thirteen as a coach of the first team and Castilla. He has talked about the four European Cups he won, about twenty years managing Spain’s youth teams, about working with Cesc Fàbregas and Gerard Piqué – ‘good kids,’ he says – and even about his brief spell as a player in the United States with the Baltimore Bays. He has talked about a tough and sometimes miserable childhood, a very different era, and about how he found a family at Madrid, about Santiago Bernabéu, Ferenç Puskás, Paco Gento and Héctor Rial. He has had much to say but before he bids farewell there is something to add. He does so quietly, with an almost conspiratorial air. ‘Whatever people have told you about Alfredo Di Stéfano,’ he says, practically whispering, ‘ignore it.’ Ignore it?
    ‘It is not enough. However good they say he was, he was better.’ And the thing is that they do say he was good. Ask team-mates and opponents about Alfredo Di Stéfano and virtually every word drips with deference. Di Stéfano was denied the opportunity to exhibit his talent at the World Cup. In 1950 and 1954 , Argentina did not go; in 1958 his adopted Spain did not qualify and in 1962 a muscle injury prevented him from travelling. His absence is one of the tragedies of the game, meaning that recognition has not been universal. In England, Maradona and Pelé are followed by Best or Charlton; in France, by Platini or Zidane; in Holland , by Cruyff; in Brazil, by Garrincha; in Germany by Beckenbauer; across the world, by a combination of them all. Yet in Spain, where he played, it is not that Di Stéfano follows Pelé and Maradona, it is that he matches them. Exceeds them, even. Those who saw him, or played alongside him, invariably concur. ‘I coincided with both Pelé and Alfredo ,’ says Darcy Silveira dos Santos, ‘Canário’, the Brazilian who joined Real Madrid in 1959. ‘And they were the best. But Alfredo was more complete. He was the number one.’ Better than Pelé? There is no hesitation. ‘Yes.’

    If FIFA did not know who to pick as the twentieth-century’s best player, they had no such doubt when it came to picking the best club : it could not be any one but Real Madrid. And without Di Stéfano it could not have been Madrid; he made them the greatest club in the world. Ramón Calderón likes to tell the apocryphal anecdote of a father and son strolling through a park and coming across a statue of Di Stéfano. ‘Daddy,’ says the boy, ‘was he a player?’ ‘No,’ says his father, ‘he was a team.’ In his debut season, Di Stéfano was Spain’s top scorer, as he would be four more times, finishing his career with 216 goals in 282 league games for Madrid, 418 in 510 overall. ‘Scoring goals is like making love,’ he once joked, ‘everyone knows how to do it but no one does it like me.’ Di Stéfano wore no. 9 but to call him a centre forward is woefully inadequate. Nicknamed the Blond Arrow, twice he won the European Footballer of the Year award and, watching videos, he is far more than a finisher. There is a smoothness and grace to his game; he almost seems to be floating. He is also everywhere. It is hard not to think of Leo Messi when he says: ‘I played differently to others, as a delantero atrasado, a withdrawn striker. I came back to look for the ball.’ L’Equipe dubbed him l’Omnipresente. ‘He played like three players put together,’ says his biographer. ‘He was a midfielder who won the ball and started the play, a no. 10 who controlled the game and delivered the final pass, and a striker who put the ball in the net. If you put together Redondo, Zidane and Ronaldo, you might just get close.’ ‘Pelé was amazing twenty metres from goal,’ says Santisteban, ‘Alfredo played in one hundred metres. I don’t think there is a player who has been born or will be born who can match him. Physically he was incredible. People compare him to Pelé but he played in every position. In. Every One. I saw him save a goal inside his own penalty area once – against Real Sociedad, I think – and in the same move end up at the other end and score. He was a beast. No one could stop him. You’ve never seen anyone like him and you never will either.’ Amancio adds: ‘He was a defender, a midfielder and a striker. He was a fucking robot! He did everything and he never, ever tired.’ Helenio Herrera famously claimed that if Pelé was the lead violinist, Di Stéfano was the entire orchestra, while Bobby Charlton, whose Manchester United team were knocked out of the European Cup by Real Madrid, remembers: ‘He totally controlled the game. Every time you looked , he had the ball. Everything happened around him. You looked at him and asked yourself: “how can I possibly stop him?”’ The answer, much of the time, was that you could not – and Di Stéfano knew it.

    Ten minutes into one game, he turned to Fidel Ugarte, a young defender, and said: ‘Are you going to follow me everywhere, sonny?’ Nervously, Ugarte replied: ‘Yes, my coach told me I have to.’ ‘OK,’ shrugged Di Stéfano, ‘sure, you can follow me about. You might even learn something.’ The remark reveals something else about Di Stéfano: he had a sharp, withering wit, absolute confidence in himself and a dismissiveness that could destroy. ‘He was not always very nice,’ as one former team-mate diplomatically puts it. Puskás recalled card games where he, Di Stéfano and Raymond Kopa cleaned up, noting: ‘Alfredo would rage if he lost at cards (and he would only bet the smallest Spanish currency he could find).’ He was, they say, a man in a permanent bad mood. As one contemporary chronicler put it: ‘He always seemed to be angry. He smoked naked in the dressing-room post-game, would let out a grunt and everyone saw it as some wise statement. He was serious, sombre and almost sad but he sprang into life on the pitch, where he had the ability to be ubiquitous and the dubious privilege of being allowed to have a go at his team-mates.’
    The word pesado – heavy going, hard work, difficult, relentless – comes up over and over again. ‘He was,’ says Pachín, ‘a born champion: he was obsessed with winning, winning, winning.’ He could not abide those that did not think the same way and he was frightening too, the undisputed leader. More than any coach: between Di Stéfano’s arrival in 1953 and the fifth European Cup in 1960, Madrid had five different coaches across seven spells. ‘There were always mistakes and Di Stéfano would have a list of them in his head, ’ recalled Puskás. Canário says: ‘He shouted and swore for ninety minutes, always trying to get the best out of you. The coach would give a team talk before the game but we had players who changed things once we were on the pitch and knew how to lead. Alfredo, above all.’ ‘He’d be at you all game: “Son of a bitch, run!”,’ says Santisteban. ‘And I’d respond: “Don Alfredo, if only I could run a quarter as much as you could”. That’s the thing: he never demanded you ran for him; he demanded you ran as much as him, but that was impossible. Nothing was ever enough for him – he always wanted more, in training sessions, in games. His demands were huge on himself and on his team.

  • Riley

    Mersi Alex pt ceea ce ai scris mai sus. e touching 🙁 Melodia este absolut fantastica,una dintre cele mai frumoase pe care le stiu. Iar asocierea cu imaginea lui Alfredo di Stefano face totul sa fie sublim. M-au napadit amintirile si lacrimile.

  • sanbk2002

    “He was a team”…completa propozitie.

  • psycho

    faza de final cu el salutand este dementiala.

  • Sorin Barbu

    Intr-adevar clipul este impresionant. La fel si lacrimile instantanee ale unui presedinte mereu diplomat, mereu atent la detalii, mereu retras

  • Dorian P

    no comment 🙁

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