Bryan will be here shortly, in the meantime here’s Sid Lowe on Real’s season so far:
Andrés Iniesta was underneath the stand at the Camp Nou, protected by a metal bar as he slowed to halt and a crowd gathered in front of him, arms poking out of a pile of squashed bodies, brightly-coloured sponge thrust towards his face. “What Neymar does is ballet,” Luis Enrique was saying through the door to his right, while to his left Gerard Piqué was about to appear too. “Neymar is magic,” the defender would insist. The Brazilian had danced his way past Villarreal, he, Leo Messi and Luis Suárez all scoring together for the twentieth time to take them past one hundred goals for the third season in a row, and Barcelona were top. But it wasn’t just about them, they knew, and Madrid were playing down in Granada. “Do you have any hope that they might slip up tonight?” Iniesta was asked.
“Well,” he replied, “I think they’re 2-0 up already.”
Er, three, Andrés. The words were barely out of his mouth when 683km away Álvaro Morata’s shot thumped off the bar and into the net. They were doing it again. 3-0 up after 29 minutes at Eibar, 3-0 up after 23 minutes at Leganés, and 2-0 up after 14 minutes at Deportivo, Madrid were 3-0 up after 30 minutes in Granada. Five minutes later, it was four. For the fourth consecutive game away, they had played a “B Team”, for the fifth time in six trips Cristiano Ronaldo didn’t even travel, and yet here they were winning. Even curious case Fabio Coentrao was playing – and the man who sadly admitted that he is not good enough for Madrid, of whom Zidane had accidentally said “he has a thing that hurts … his rectum”, had even clipped in the cross for the second. It was 4-0 at half time; the only surprise was that was the way it stayed.
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