Everton FC have always been the football love of my life, but ever since my late teens I’ve had a poco bit on the side with Barcelona.

The reasons for this are many and various but include an over-romanticised relationship with the city that formed the backdrop to ‘Homage to Catalonia’; a brief but innocent holiday romance over 20 years ago which for a short period convinced me I’d be happy to abandon Merseyside for the slightly more obvious charms of Las Ramblas; the link with Gary Lineker before he sold his soul to Walkers Crisps and Match of the Day pundrity; and last, but not least, the allure of the club itself – prouder and seemingly more principled than their counterparts in Serie A or much of the Premier League.
So it’s with a bit of regret that I found  myself nodding in agreement with much of Barney Ronay’s article in the Guardian today. Messi et al may constitute one of the best teams to ever grace the Nou Camp, but I can’t help yearning for the more flawed genius of Stoichkov and De la Pena. The unremitting rise of both the Champions League and the Primera Liga has left me – and I suspect many others – cold; this is football for TV, not football with real passion. Getting the odd glimpse of Barca on the telly, supplemented by the sheer joy of seeing them take to the pitch for real ( albeit against Extremadura), beats the relentless exposure that the ‘big’ clubs in Europe now enjoy.
I appreciate that 38 may seem late in the day for to emerge from my football age of innocence, but emerge I have…