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Kubala, the path to glory of Barcelona's most loved legend: A story of overcoming, adventures, crazy nights, majestic matches and of a good man who made everybody around him happy.

Nothing in Kubala's life was normal. Now that TV series about sportsmen are fashionable, the one that could be made about the adventures of Ladislao Kubala Stecz (Budapest, 1927) would raze through many seasons. In one season we could go deeper into his facet of legendary footballer, capable of changing the way of playing this sport, how he saved his life at the very last moment by not getting on the Torino plane that crashed in Superga, or how he was ten minutes away from signing for Real Madrid or enrolling in the Pirate League of Colombia, all of this in order to end being Barcelona's biggest icon... who ended playing for Espanyol.
We could add a season of adventures due to his incredible escape from communist Hungary. His journey through Italy with a football team, the Hungaria, of stateless people in which in addition to Hungarians also played Croats, Albanians, Romanians and Serbs who were looking for a life as good as they could get. One could also add to this the facet of the social phenomenon that dazzled a country during the dark years of Franco's regime by becoming a pop star, and end up with another season about the legends, real, invented or simply exaggerated, of his adventures in Barcelona's nightclubs.
Everything about Kubala is like a movie.

The legend of the escape.

Born in Budapest to a Hungarian man and a Slovakian woman, he always considered himself as both Hungarian and Slovakian, even when this republic was part of the now extinct Czechoslovakia. By the age of 20, Kubala was a football star known for his performances with Slovan Bratislava and Vasas Budapest. In fact, he had already been capped by Czechoslovakia and Hungary. Later, he would go on to play for Spain, and is still the only player to have been capped by three countries. But fed up with the system that was preventing him from developing his professional football career, he embarked on an escape proper of a movie to the West. He contacted a human trafficking organisation, a mafia that, in exchange for a large amount of money, facilitated a partial escape. As is now the case with criminals who gamble with the lives of people who want to cross the Mediterranean from Africa to Europe or pass to the United States through the southern border, the smugglers did not secure anything. The last part of the journey depended on the luck and expertise of the escapees and often ended tragically.
"I remember that when I escaped from Hungary I was just a kid. The traffickers left us in the middle of a mountain to do the last stretch on foot. We were a large group. The adults gathered the children and gave us palinka. A liquor similar to brandy to get us drunk and fall asleep. A child's cry could alert the border guards patrolling the mountain. And they had orders to shoot to kill. The group split in two. My group was lucky and we were able to win the Austrian border. Once we were safe, we learned that the other group that had travelled with us and took another road was discovered and killed." The chilling story is that of Zoltan Czibor, the son of the former Barça player who tells how he had to flee Hungary with his family to join his father in Italy. The odyssey of Kubala, six years earlier, was mirrored.
The traffickers disguised Kubala as a Russian soldier and put him in a truck that would leave the escapees at an undetermined point in the mountains so that they could cross the border into Austria on their own. Kubala remembered that this journey scared him to death because unlike his comrades, he was a national celebrity and any soldier who checked the military truck would recognize him. He was endangering his life and the lives of those who accompanied him.
When they were left in the mountain on January 27, 1949, Kubala walked, and crossing a river helped by a tire that carried him, managed to reach Innsbuck, Austria, without any documentation. He was a stateless man starting from scratch.
In Austria he managed to sign with Pro Patria, a team from Milan, but he could only play friendly matches. His escape provoked the anger of the Hungarian regime, which denounced him and blocked his registration. Kubala had married Anna Daucik two years earlier, sister of Fernando Daucik, a veteran player of the era who would later become a famous coach. When Kubala fled, he left behind his family, whom he was unable to reunite with until six months later, when Anna was able to cross the border and meet Ladislao in Udine. He arrived with one more member of the family. A baby, her firstborn, whom Kubala did not yet know.
While he is irregularly enrolled in the Pro Patria, he gets the chance to sign with Torino, Italy's dominant team at the time. He is offered a trial match. Nothing better than a friendly match that Il Grande Torino had in Lisbon as a tribute to Xico Ferreira. However, when the Turin team's plane is about to take off, the president of Torino prevents Kubala from boarding because he fears a federal sanction. On the return flight, on 4 May 1949, the Fiat G 212 of Avio Linee Italiana crashed into the retaining wall of the Basilica of Superga due to the wind, poor visibility and an error in the altimeter of the aircraft. At 180 kilometres per hour and with a visibility of 40 metres, the pilot saw the stone wall of the basilica too late when he thought the plane was at 2,000 metres and was actually at 690 metres above sea level. The 31 people who were travelling in that aircraft died. Kubala had saved his life again.

The legend of Hungaria.

With no possibility of playing in Italy because the back then very powerful Italian Communist Party was pressing to prevent people fleeing from countries in the orbit of the USSR from taking refuge in Italy, Kubala had no choice but to form a team of stateless people who hired their services throughout Europe to play friendly matches against whoever hired them.
The team was called Hungaria, was managed by his brother-in-law Fernando Daucik and was mainly made up of Hungarians, although there were also players of other nationalities. It was made up of: Kis, Marik, Torok, Mogoy, Lami, Rákosi, Hrotko, Majteny, Nagy, Kubala, Otto, Licker, Turbeky, Monsider (Croatian), De Lorenzi (Albanian), Szegedi (Romanian) and Arangelovic (Serbian).
They played their first match against Italy's B team, but again pressure from the PCI forced them to play outside Italy. And that is how they arrived in Spain, hired by Santiago Bernabéu. On June 5, 1950, they faced Real Madrid in Chamartin, losing 4-2, but with a stellar performance by Kubala, who scored both of his team's goals. Three days later, they beat the Spanish team that was preparing for the World Cup in Brazil, where they came in fourth, 1-2 again with a great performance by Kubala, who received an offer from Real Madrid to be signed.
Kubala requires that to join the team, Madrid must also hire Daucik as a coach, something that Bernabéu does not agree to. The Madrid coach at that time was the Briton Keeping, a great connoisseur of WM tactics. Daucik is offered to train the Plus Ultra, a Madrid branch that plays in the third division. That negative and the federative problems that drags Kubala cause that Madrid becomes disinterested in his transfer, that was already agreed lacking of some fringes that turned out to be determinant.
The Hungaria moves two days later to Barcelona, where on June 10 plays against Espanyol losing 6-4 in a match with Pepe Samitier, the technical secretary of Barça, in the stands. It is necessary to emphasize that Hungaria had been playing three matches in five days with a very short team and without being able to make substitutions. Even so, Kubala amazes and Samitier does not mess around. Six days after that match, on 16 June 1950, at half past six in the evening, Kubala signed his three-year contract with Barça at the Pasaje Méndez Vigo. Obviously, with Fernando Daucik as coach. President Montal, Sr., signed him as an "amateur player" in order to avoid any trouble for the federation.
Real Madrid rages and is shocked. Pablo Hernández, general secretary of the white entity and Santiago Bernabéu's right hand, assures that Barça had broken a non-aggression pact between both teams and had hired a player with whom they were in talks. Samitier, who was unbeatable in the media, declares that he had been following Kubala for months and that the pact had not been broken because it referred only to players who played in Spanish teams. And Hungaria was not Spanish. In fact, it wasn't from anywhere.
But Kubala's problems didn't end there. He still didn't have a registration card or an international certificate. Vasas in Budapest and the Hungarian Federation had reported him to FIFA. Barça used the weak argument that since professionalism had been abolished in Hungary, any amateur player could choose his destiny. But the fight was not going to be so easy.
Barça, it is fair to say, had the total support of the regime and the Federation to carry out the transfer. At the level of anti-communist propaganda, Kubala was perfect. A young and extraordinary sportsman who fled from the red hell to take refuge in Franco's Spain was a candy too sweet to let go. Muñoz Calero, president of the Federation, rowed in favor of Barça as did Ricardo Cabot, secretary of the organization, who, in addition to his affection for the regime, was a well-known Barcelona supporter.
But the procedures were very slow and Kubala could only play friendly matches. He made his debut against Osasuna on 12 October, scoring two goals on the day the Barça fans knew instantly that they had just signed a star. Then he played against Zaragoza, Frankfurt twice, Girona and the Badalona. In six friendlies he scored 11 goals. The fans and the player himself were eager to meet in an official match. For all this, the Federation to play the role with FIFA fined Barça every time he lined up Kubala with the symbolic figure of 50 pesetas.
It is at this time that Kubala is about to leave everything and go away from Barça. He needed the money and wanted to play at the highest level and in Colombia he was offered the chance to do so. The South American country had organised the so-called Pirate League outside FIFA and many of the world's biggest stars joined, including Alfredo Di Stefano who went to Millonarios in Bogota. Kubala had a tempting offer from Atletico Bucaramanga. With the option of Kubala leaving, events accelerated. To begin with, Barça fixed his financial situation by means of a peculiar amateur contract in which they paid him 1,200 pesetas for "compensation" and 3,800 for "encouragement and overfeeding".
On April 2, 1951, he was granted the status of political refugee as a stateless person, which was a step towards granting him Spanish nationality. But for this step, Kubala first had to be converted to Catholicism through the sacrament of baptism. Every Spaniard had to be a Catholic. Kubala was baptized in Aguilas, Murcia, the birthplace of Muñoz Calero, president of the Federation. It is then when Barça, to avoid problems, settles its differences economically with Vasas, which despite being against capitalism accepts a payment of 300,000 pesetas to provide the transfer, while the Pro Patria, which also complained, is satisfied with 12 million lire.
The Kubala era could now really commence.

The legend on the field.

Kubala made his official debut with Barcelona in Sevilla in a cup match. The Sevillistas at that time were one of the best teams. Sevilla and Barça had developed in that period a great rivalry in the high places of the table. In 1946 Sevilla had stolen the possibility of winning the championship from Barça by drawing in Les Corts on the last day, in 1948 Barça beat the Sevillians in the final of the Eva Perón Cup (which would be the current Supercup) and in that campaign a Barça without Kubala had lost all its options to win La Liga after losing 4-0 in Nervión three days before the end of the season.
The Cup, by that time was played once the regular season was over and in those circumstances the official debut of Kubala took place. On April 29th in Nervion, Barça arrived to play against Sevilla in the middle of a difficult atmosphere. The Andalusians had lost the league in a dramatic outcome when they drew at home in the last match against Atletico Madrid with a refereeing performance that the locals judged scandalous. For further concern, the Federation allowed Kubala to line up with Barça in the first round of the Cup, which in Sevilla was taken as a surprise.
With the stadium full to the flag, Barcelona defeated Sevilla in an exhibition of Kubala. He wasn't just the best of the match but he showed Spain a way of playing football unthinkable until that time: chest controls, shots with curve, millimetric changes of play of 40 meters, protection of the ball with his back, use of the body in the shot and touches with the heel.
Domenech, Sevilla's attacker who was the direct protagonist of that match, explained years later how he remembered that day.
"It was something never seen before. Ramallets kicked it and he would receive her with his chest, or with either of his legs. If you tackled him he would dribble you in a brick. He'd put the ball where he wanted her. Besides, from time to time he changed with César, he'd be a center forward and César would be a midfielder. They drove us crazy. The anger of the people became clamours. We were witnessing something extraordinary. It was like going from black and white cinema to colour," explained the former Sevilla player. The Sevilla crowd, who had welcomed Barça and its new superstar with anger, ended up giving Kubala a standing ovation for every action as if they were watching a glorious bullfighting performance.
Kubala's actions on the field change football forever. Since there was no television, his exploits are reported orally. There is no other way to see it than to go to the field of Les Corts, which is packed for every game Barça plays as a local. It is a very common argument to say that Kubala forced Barça to build the Camp Nou because the old Les Corts was not enough to accommodate all the people who wanted to admire him. Maybe he had an influence, but as the journalist Frederic Porta, author of an interesting biography of Kubala (Kubala, l'heroi que va canviar la història del Barça. Ed. Saldonar) explains, "the truth is that Barça had already bought the land to build the Camp Nou two years before and the idea of making a bigger field already existed, but Kubala advanced everything and justified the change".
Blessed with brutal technique, a sensational strike of the ball and an unusual physical strength, Kubala changed football. He would throw free-kicks over the wall with curve or by making the ball bounce in front of the goalkeeper, he would take penalties (he was practically infallible) with what was later called paradinha and was credited with the Brazilians although he was the first in Europe to do so. Physically he was a bull. In his youth he had practiced boxing and if he didn't become a recognized fighter with a great career it was because he had short arms. His lower body was sensational. He had a butt and legs that allowed him to protect the ball like no one else. Frederic Porta says that "in his time of splendour they measured his thighs and each one had a circumference of 69 centimetres, which would be the waist of one of his companions". He was also capable of running the 100 metres in less than 11 seconds. A total athlete with a very refined technique.
However, that physical strength and the confidence he had in her, for he never avoided a collision, were his downfall. Kubala became the target of a hunt by rival defenders. He never went into hiding and that's why in eleven years at Barcelona he suffered up to eleven injuries of some seriousness. With matches without television, the harshness that bordered on violence was the order of the day. He was being kicked to death.
But Barça was living its most golden period to date. Moreover, the club revolved around Kubala. Frederic Porta compares it with the present time: "Now they say that Messi commands the club and surely he commands, but nothing to do with the influence that Kubala had. Kubala was the boss and even the one who decided the transfers. And no one was surprised. That Barça adopted the socks with the horizontal stripes blaugrana is his imposition. He saw them on the rugby team, liked them and incorporated them into the football team by decree. In fact, it is he who insists on signing Luis Suarez when he impresses him in a match against Deportivo. Kubala was Suarez's first fan, but what happened in the stands, which was divided between Suaristas and Kubalistas, is another matter.
Suarez was eight years younger than Kubala. He arrived at Barcelona at the age of 19, Kubala was 27 and his physique was very punished by his injuries and the life he was living, as he did not deprive himself of anything. If he held out, it was because of privileged genetics.
Therefore, there never was a real competition between them, but there was a lot of influence here from the figure of Helenio Herrera, the Barça manager, who saw Kubala as older and slower and was looking forward to a quick change by the young Galician as the leader of the team. The debate reached the stands and the media. It was an absurd debate, because they didn't play in the same position, with whom Kubala really had a certain rivalry with Eulogio Martínez, who was the one with whom he alternated the position.
Kubala's physical problems were not only due to injuries. He had the whole of Spain in suspense when he suffered a tuberculosis that could have cost him his life. There are apocryphal versions that explain that this tuberculosis was actually a stab wound he suffered in a fight in a cheap pub in the fifth district (Barcelona's Chinatown) and he has to retire to Montseny to recover. Nobody is betting on his return to the pitch if he survives a "hole in the lung the size of a silver bullet" according to the chronicles of the time. But once again, Kubala's ability to survive prevails. He returns to the pitches, but already heavily punished and slowed down.
It is against this backdrop that the 1961 European Cup final arrives, with Kubala arriving at the age of 34 with a herniated disc that barely allows him to walk, but he wants to play. He knows that the club is going through a critical situation despite having reached the final of the maximum trophy for the first time: the club is bankrupt because of the construction of the Camp Nou, the fights in the board of directors are chaotic, Luis Suarez has signed for Inter (the one in Bern will be his last game with Barça), which was where Helenio Herrera had left the team in the hands of Enrique Orizaola.
Kubala tells Orizaola to line him up, that like all the Portuguese will go for him and he can barely move because of the back pain and will play with painkillers, it will give more opportunities to his teammates. But the match is a pile of misfortunes for Barcelona. Ramallets scores an own goal, Barça shoots three times to the damn square posts of the goals (from then on they would change their shape) even Kubala kicked a ball that hit a post, went through the goal line until it hit the other post and came out repelled. Barça lost and Kubala's time at Barcelona came to an end.

The man of the year.

Kubala's significance goes beyond the playing field. According to a vote made for Radio Barcelona by journalist Joaquín Soler Serrano in the mid-50s, the Catalans most loved by their fellow citizens were Doctor Barraquer and Ladislao Kubala.
"He was literally the most famous person in the city, people really venerated him, and even Messi's influence cannot be compared to that of Kubala in those years," explains Porta.
His life off the field was notorious. An unrepentant night owl, it was common to see him in Barcelona's fashionable coffee shops and nightclubs. He was a man who stood out. Alfredo Relaño defines him in some of his articles as "a demigod. Tall, strong, blond with blue eyes and an overflowing personality. He aroused the admiration of men and women alike. An idol". Frederic Porta sums it up with the argument that "he would be the sum of Messi and Beckham and on top of that, he would go out every night".
Faced with Kubala's disorganised life, the Barcelona management decided to set up a private detective agency to follow him at night. The reports of the detectives are still in the Centre de Documentació del FC Barcelona and Frederic Porta published them in the history magazine 'Sàpiens'. In them, he gives a detailed account of the nocturnal wanderings of "Mr. K.", the code name of the Blaugrana star in an exercise in absurd discretion. There is also a letter from a Sabadell businessman in the club's archives, expressing concern that Kubala and Czibor had been "found in a Sabadell establishment after 2.30 in the morning accompanied by some of those ladies who were once gentlemen, I don't know if you understand". What the businessman doesn't explain in the letter is what he was doing in the same place.
Kubala's fondness for drinking was no secret. Helenio Herrera explains in a television interview that "one day at an airport in customs they asked Kubala if he had anything to declare and he said two bottles of whisky. The official asked him to show them to him and he, laughing, touched his belly and said: 'X-ray, I have them inside'. On another occasion, in the same situation, but carrying the bottle in the bag, he was told to leave it at the airport because no alcoholic drinks were allowed to be taken on board. Neither shy nor lazy, he drank it in front of the astonished official.
The legends about the occasions when the night was made longer and he did not arrive at training sessions or matches were recurrent. In that case, he called on the services of Angel Mur Sr., the team masseur who knew where to find him. He would start a pilgrimage through the usual places or floors until he found him, took him to the changing room, gave him a cold shower, a coffee with salt, a massage and played. The fans forgave him everything and were aware that their star was a man of joyful life. But he never failed on the field. Among the crowd at the time there were comments about the Kubala ritual in those games that followed a busy night. "He started off badly, and vaguely, but the signal was when, ten minutes into the game, he rolled up his sleeves as if to say 'I'm here, let's start, I've already cleared off', and the machine started to work.
You can't find anyone in the world who speaks ill of Kubala. Absolutely no one. Everyone highlights his huge heart and that despite being by far the highest paid player of the time (he earned six times more than his teammates) he didn't have a no for anyone. His detachment from money was legendary.
As proof, the anecdote explained by his biographer Porta: "one day he arrived at the dressing room and commented that his car had been stolen and that in the glove compartment he was carrying an envelope with 200,000 pesetas, which was a fortune for the time (a good apartment could cost 130,000 pesetas). When his colleagues tried to encourage him, he simply said: someone who needs it more than I do must have taken it".
It was also usual for him to take off his coat and give it to a poor man who begged in Barcelona's winter, or to take in any Hungarian who came to Barcelona asking for help in his house in Carrer Duquesa d'Orleans. Kubala, remembering his times as a stateless refugee without papers, asked nothing. He would take them home and pay them a boat ticket to America. The motto among the refugees fleeing the Iron Curtain was that "if you get to Barcelona, look for Kubala, he will help you". He never failed.
Later, now retired, he set up a bar next to Czibor in Capitan Arenas Street, the mythical Kep Duna (blue Danube in Hungarian) that became an unofficial refugee reception centre that was monitored by the secret services of the United States, the USSR and the Spanish police. Something like the Rick's Café in the film Casablanca, but in the upper area of Barcelona.
He was the great character of Barcelona loved by all, but there was a moment when this was almost broken, strange as it may seem. It coincided with the defeat in Bern, when a part of the press came to write that "Barça must be de-Kubalized as the Soviet Union must be de-Stalinized" and, especially, when he signed for Espanyol. The earthquake was a huge one.

From the bench to Sarrià.

After the defeat in Bern's final, Kubala announced his retirement from the fields. He had taken the coaching course and was ranked number one in his class. He made a pact with the president Llaudet, who was also an interesting character as we will see, that in principle he would take charge of the footballers' school of the club and that in a couple of years he would be in charge of the first team.
Meanwhile, Barcelona is directed by Lluís Miró who faces a team in disarray. Suarez has been transferred to Inter in the worst decision in the club's history and myths such as Ramallets, Tejada and Czibor were in the decline of their careers. The season starts badly and after losing at Mestalla to Valencia by a humiliating 6-2 that forces the resignation of Miro. It was time for Kubala, who was promoted to the first team in front of the joy of the fans. And the project results from the beginning. The Barça of the second part of season 61-62 recovers in La Liga and finishes second (the distance with the white ones when Kubala arrived was almost insurmountable) and avenges the 6-2 of Mestalla beating Valencia in the Camp Nou 4-0.
Facing the next season, the 62-63, Kubala can make his team by giving painful drops of some of his former teammates as it is the case of Eulogio Martinez or Evaristo. One of Llaudet's reluctances to give Kubala the job of coach was that he would have to manage some of his former teammates.
The positive expectations about Kubala's first full project were frustrated at first when the Blaugrana team had to play the final of the Copa de Ferias against Valencia, the team that caused the fall of Miró and the promotion of Kubala. And the history, by rare that it seems, repeats: Valencia returns to him to put 6-2 to the Barça. The fans explode against the team. In the return match, obviously, there is nothing to do, but Llaudet's ability to self-flagellation has no limits. As Alfredo Relaño writes, the Blaugrana president calls a dinner with the press the day before the game and makes this statement that if it happened today would open all the news.
Llaudet, in front of the press and accompanied by the coach Kubala and Gràcia as captain, asks the fans to forgive him and announces changes in the protocol of the start of the second leg. "Valencia will go out first to receive the applause, then Barcelona, to receive the whistles. Then Kubala will come out, so he can get the thunders. And finally me, so that all the whistles fall on my person, because I am the barcelonist who loves the club the most and who is destined to die on the pitch, if necessary...". He ends his speech crying. As we can see, Gaspart didn't invent anything.
The match ended in a draw and Kubala's project as Barça's coach was doomed. The manager is fired in the middle of the season and then a bomb explodes in Barcelona. Kubala accepts the offer to return to the pitch, but not as a coach, will be as a player and nothing more and nothing less than in Espanyol, Barça's eternal rival.
On 3 September 1963 Espanyol, then Español, announced that Kubala would be hired as a player. At 36 years of age, he was capable of being competitive.
His decision divides the public opinion. On the one hand, Federico Gallo and Juan José Castillo support his decision, on the other hand, Carlos Pardo or Ibáñez Escofet shoot at him. They call him a "Jew who sells himself for a plate of beans", a "traitor" and they see political interests in his decision.
Kubala explains that he wanted to continue playing and that he saw himself capable of doing so, although he accepted that he was not at Barcelona's level. He had received offers from important clubs, including River Plate and Juventus, but he doesn't want to leave Barcelona, where he feels like another Barcelonian. The Espanyol meets his expectations.
His start of the season is not bad, on the contrary, he scores in his first two games, but the team doesn't work out. The coexistence between the veteran newcomer Kubala and the team's symbol, Argilés, is not easy. Scopelli is dismissed as coach and de facto command of the team is given to the two team leaders despite their differences. The crisis erupts when the Spaniard visits the Camp Nou. The periquitos lose by 5-0 in a match in which the Barcelona crowd booed Kubala who they are eager to humiliate with his new team. Even so, at the end of the match, Kubala has a gesture to his former team that shows that he does not hold any grudge against what he has heard from the stands. At the end of the match, he organizes his teammates to make the corridor to Barça applauding the rival in recognition of the exhibition made. That gesture feels bad among the Espanyol fans and among some of his teammates. Argilés does not make the corridor and goes straight to the changing rooms.
The following year, Kubala becomes a manager-player and among the departures that he causes, there is the one of Argilés, but by contrast, Di Stéfano arrives, also hurt by his bad exit from Madrid fighting against Bernabéu.
Di Stefano and Kubala are like brothers. Even though they haven't officially played together, they have a special chemistry. A friendship that is forged when the Argentinian is about to sign for Barcelona.
When Di Stéfano arrives in Barcelona to sign for Español, he stays first at the Avenida Palace Hotel, but after a month he is living in Kubala's house as one of the family. The children of both always maintained a relationship as if they were brothers.
One of the players under Kubala's command was Jose Maria Rodilla, one of the players who would soon form the famous 'Dolphins' forward line. At 80 years of age, Rodilla remembers Kubala.
"I have a wonderful memory of Kubala, I always had a special affection for him. Not in vain, he was the one who signed me for Espanyol", he remembers when answering the call of this newspaper to which he confesses that* "normally I do not make declarations, but to speak about Kubala I do whatever is needed"*.
Rodilla, former teammate at Espanyol, has clear that "he was the best player in the world in terms of technique. Di Stéfano was the best footballer, but he didn't have his technique. Alfredo was more intense and more player of the whole field, but he could not do things that Kubala did"
Those who had the privilege of playing with both of them remember that "for example, Di Stefano wouldn't leave you alone for a minute, he was all over you and the fights were intense, but he always set an example, he never asked you for anything that he didn't do. Kubala was more paternalistic and tolerant. For example, he would ask us to do as he did in training, and while sitting down he would be able to make 3,000 touches on the ball without dropping it. Only he could do that."
Rodilla adds a story that explains Kubala's quality as a player-coach at the age of 38: "We went to play a friendly at Amposta and they called a foul on the edge of the box. Kubala takes the ball and whacks it into the corner. The referee made him repeat it because someone had moved or I don't know what. Kubala takes the ball and wham, back to the square. And the referee tells him that he has to repeat. That day Kubala got angry and left the field."
Rodilla recalls that Kubala's move from Barça to Espanyol created controversy in the city, but that he was oblivious to it. "He was still a magnificent person, I never heard him say a bad word against anyone. He never got into an argument, he was goodness personified, he was unlucky in his time as a coach, but as a coach he is one of the best I've ever had, with a great love for young players and always trying to help you improve."

Boys well, optimal morale.

He extended his playing career for a couple more years by playing for Zurich and even trying out the American adventure at the Toronto Falcons, where he coincides with Branko and Daucik's son. At the age of 40 he played 19 games and scored 5 goals.
In 1968 he returned to Spain and trained the Córdoba team for a short period of time until he was called up to the national team. Kubala will manage the Spanish team until 1980, when he signs for Barcelona again as a coach.
Kubala's debut with Spain was, once again, a propaganda match for the regime. It was played in the Estadio de la Línea de la Concepción against Finland and Spain beat their rivals 6-0 in a match that was no longer useful. Spain had missed out on qualifying for the Mexico '70 World Cup, but the idea of that game was to showcase a great field that could be seen from Gibraltar as if to give jealousy to those in the Rock for the sports culture of Spain. Dictatorship things.
It's true that at that time Spain was struggling more than anything else on the international scene. It did not qualify for the 1974 World Cup because of Katalinski's goal in the play-off match in Frankfurt, and in both the 1978 World Cup and the 1980 European Championship the team fell in the first round, but there is still no one from that era who will make a judgement against Kubala.
"Kubala, one ahead of his time. No doubt he had a lot to do with his past as a footballer. And not just like any other player, like the best! I remember him always saying to me: 'Ruben, you have to get out of the way on the other side of the ball. Look for the space, not the ball. The goal I scored in Yugoslavia has to do with everything he taught me," he told Fermin de la Calle in an interview with AS Ruben Cano, the hero of the famous 'Battle of Belgrade' in the match that took Spain to the World Cup in Argentina. Yes, the one with the goal by Cardeñosa that could have changed Kubala's record with the national team.
He did a lot to improve Spanish football and his idea regarding the incorporation of foreigners to improve the level of Spanish football was key in the future development of the Spanish competitive level.
His players remember him as a didactic person, tactically bold and very close. At a time when fury was the hallmark of the game, Kubala never forgot that he was the heir to the Magyar tradition of the Honved and the Hungary who, by moving the ball, shocked the world the day they destroyed England at Wembley 3-6.
For the average football fan, Kubala may have been a half-hearted coach who embodied an era of the national team in which nothing was won, as has been the case most of the time, and he became popular for his expressions that would now be meme material on social networks. The national team was known as the 'Kubala boys' and the coach's catchphrase before the matches saying "boys well, optimal morale" was the fashionable phrase in the coffee shops of the 70s in Spain.
But among his colleagues, Kubala still deserved reverential respect. "The first goal was authentically Latin, cunningly scored and perfectly studied. I can only congratulate Kubala on his previous tactical work," said German boss Helmut Schön after facing and losing to Spain in a friendly in which the recent world semi-finalist and next world champion fell to the Kubala boys at the Sanchez Pizjuan with two strategic goals from Arieta. Yes, Arieta against Müller. Seeler, Beckembauer, Maier, Netzer and company.
He left the national team in 1980 to join Barça as the coach of Núñez's second project in an operation that was the prelude to what would happen in the World Cup in Russia with Lopetegui. Kubala committed to Barça while he was coach and tried to alternate functions, but Porta refused. Finally, on 8 June 1980, four days before the start of the European Championship, Kubala signed for the Blaugrana team, which he would join after the European Championship.
His second spell at the head of Barça did not go well either and he was dismissed mid-season. He continued his adventure on the bench as coach of Saudi Arabia (in that he was also a pioneer), training Malaga and the Paraguayan national team before retiring from football on the bench of Elche.
He spent his final years in Barcelona as active as ever. Playing with Barça veterans, helping his teammates, not having a no for anyone and playing tennis every day or going for a run or cycling routes exhibiting an enviable physical condition.
Until the light of genius and the glory faded away 18 years ago. A degenerative brain disease put an end to the adventure, but not to the legend of a world football myth. An icon that changed the lives of so many people that they wouldn't fit even in a stadium.
The coffin with the mortal remains of Kubala was carried on shoulders, amidst the applause of the fans who gathered at the doors of the church of Santa Tecla, by Alfredo Di Stéfano, Gustau Biosca, Eduardo Manchón, Estanislao Basora, Joan Segarra, Josep Bartomeu, Luis Suárez, Antoni Ramallets and Gonzalvo III.
He rests in the cemetery of Les Corts, next to the Camp Nou because that is what he left written in his will, while Serrat sang to him about how...
...Pelé was Pelé and Maradona was the one and that's it. Di Stéfano was a pit of mischief. Honour and glory to those who made the sun shine on our football. Everyone has his merits; to each his own, but for me none is like Kubala. Respectable silence is requested, for those who haven't enjoyed him, I'll say four things: he stops it with his head, he drops it on with his chest, he sleeps it off with his left, crosses the pitch with the ball attached to the boot, leaves the midfield and enters the box showing the ball, hides it with his body, pushes with his ass and gets in with his heels. He pisses on the centerback with a dedicated piece. and touches her gently to put her on the path to glory.

by Santi Gimenez for AS.com (2020)

submitted by HippoBigga to Barca [link] [comments]

Kubala, the path to glory of Barcelona's most loved legend: A story of overcoming, adventures, crazy nights, majestic matches and of a good man who made everybody around him happy.

Nothing in Kubala's life was normal. Now that TV series about sportsmen are fashionable, the one that could be made about the adventures of Ladislao Kubala Stecz (Budapest, 1927) would raze through many seasons. In one season we could go deeper into his facet of legendary footballer, capable of changing the way of playing this sport, how he saved his life at the very last moment by not getting on the Torino plane that crashed in Superga, or how he was ten minutes away from signing for Real Madrid or enrolling in the Pirate League of Colombia, all of this in order to end being Barcelona's biggest icon... who ended playing for Espanyol.
We could add a season of adventures due to his incredible escape from communist Hungary. His journey through Italy with a football team, the Hungaria, of stateless people in which in addition to Hungarians also played Croats, Albanians, Romanians and Serbs who were looking for a life as good as they could get. One could also add to this the facet of the social phenomenon that dazzled a country during the dark years of Franco's regime by becoming a pop star, and end up with another season about the legends, real, invented or simply exaggerated, of his adventures in Barcelona's nightclubs.
Everything about Kubala is like a movie.

The legend of the escape.

Born in Budapest to a Hungarian man and a Slovakian woman, he always considered himself as both Hungarian and Slovakian, even when this republic was part of the now extinct Czechoslovakia. By the age of 20, Kubala was a football star known for his performances with Slovan Bratislava and Vasas Budapest. In fact, he had already been capped by Czechoslovakia and Hungary. Later, he would go on to play for Spain, and is still the only player to have been capped by three countries. But fed up with the system that was preventing him from developing his professional football career, he embarked on an escape proper of a movie to the West. He contacted a human trafficking organisation, a mafia that, in exchange for a large amount of money, facilitated a partial escape. As is now the case with criminals who gamble with the lives of people who want to cross the Mediterranean from Africa to Europe or pass to the United States through the southern border, the smugglers did not secure anything. The last part of the journey depended on the luck and expertise of the escapees and often ended tragically.
"I remember that when I escaped from Hungary I was just a kid. The traffickers left us in the middle of a mountain to do the last stretch on foot. We were a large group. The adults gathered the children and gave us palinka. A liquor similar to brandy to get us drunk and fall asleep. A child's cry could alert the border guards patrolling the mountain. And they had orders to shoot to kill. The group split in two. My group was lucky and we were able to win the Austrian border. Once we were safe, we learned that the other group that had travelled with us and took another road was discovered and killed." The chilling story is that of Zoltan Czibor, the son of the former Barça player who tells how he had to flee Hungary with his family to join his father in Italy. The odyssey of Kubala, six years earlier, was mirrored.
The traffickers disguised Kubala as a Russian soldier and put him in a truck that would leave the escapees at an undetermined point in the mountains so that they could cross the border into Austria on their own. Kubala remembered that this journey scared him to death because unlike his comrades, he was a national celebrity and any soldier who checked the military truck would recognize him. He was endangering his life and the lives of those who accompanied him.
When they were left in the mountain on January 27, 1949, Kubala walked, and crossing a river helped by a tire that carried him, managed to reach Innsbuck, Austria, without any documentation. He was a stateless man starting from scratch.
In Austria he managed to sign with Pro Patria, a team from Milan, but he could only play friendly matches. His escape provoked the anger of the Hungarian regime, which denounced him and blocked his registration. Kubala had married Anna Daucik two years earlier, sister of Fernando Daucik, a veteran player of the era who would later become a famous coach. When Kubala fled, he left behind his family, whom he was unable to reunite with until six months later, when Anna was able to cross the border and meet Ladislao in Udine. He arrived with one more member of the family. A baby, her firstborn, whom Kubala did not yet know.
While he is irregularly enrolled in the Pro Patria, he gets the chance to sign with Torino, Italy's dominant team at the time. He is offered a trial match. Nothing better than a friendly match that Il Grande Torino had in Lisbon as a tribute to Xico Ferreira. However, when the Turin team's plane is about to take off, the president of Torino prevents Kubala from boarding because he fears a federal sanction. On the return flight, on 4 May 1949, the Fiat G 212 of Avio Linee Italiana crashed into the retaining wall of the Basilica of Superga due to the wind, poor visibility and an error in the altimeter of the aircraft. At 180 kilometres per hour and with a visibility of 40 metres, the pilot saw the stone wall of the basilica too late when he thought the plane was at 2,000 metres and was actually at 690 metres above sea level. The 31 people who were travelling in that aircraft died. Kubala had saved his life again.

The legend of Hungaria.

With no possibility of playing in Italy because the back then very powerful Italian Communist Party was pressing to prevent people fleeing from countries in the orbit of the USSR from taking refuge in Italy, Kubala had no choice but to form a team of stateless people who hired their services throughout Europe to play friendly matches against whoever hired them.
The team was called Hungaria, was managed by his brother-in-law Fernando Daucik and was mainly made up of Hungarians, although there were also players of other nationalities. It was made up of: Kis, Marik, Torok, Mogoy, Lami, Rákosi, Hrotko, Majteny, Nagy, Kubala, Otto, Licker, Turbeky, Monsider (Croatian), De Lorenzi (Albanian), Szegedi (Romanian) and Arangelovic (Serbian).
They played their first match against Italy's B team, but again pressure from the PCI forced them to play outside Italy. And that is how they arrived in Spain, hired by Santiago Bernabéu. On June 5, 1950, they faced Real Madrid in Chamartin, losing 4-2, but with a stellar performance by Kubala, who scored both of his team's goals. Three days later, they beat the Spanish team that was preparing for the World Cup in Brazil, where they came in fourth, 1-2 again with a great performance by Kubala, who received an offer from Real Madrid to be signed.
Kubala requires that to join the team, Madrid must also hire Daucik as a coach, something that Bernabéu does not agree to. The Madrid coach at that time was the Briton Keeping, a great connoisseur of WM tactics. Daucik is offered to train the Plus Ultra, a Madrid branch that plays in the third division. That negative and the federative problems that drags Kubala cause that Madrid becomes disinterested in his transfer, that was already agreed lacking of some fringes that turned out to be determinant.
The Hungaria moves two days later to Barcelona, where on June 10 plays against Espanyol losing 6-4 in a match with Pepe Samitier, the technical secretary of Barça, in the stands. It is necessary to emphasize that Hungaria had been playing three matches in five days with a very short team and without being able to make substitutions. Even so, Kubala amazes and Samitier does not mess around. Six days after that match, on 16 June 1950, at half past six in the evening, Kubala signed his three-year contract with Barça at the Pasaje Méndez Vigo. Obviously, with Fernando Daucik as coach. President Montal, Sr., signed him as an "amateur player" in order to avoid any trouble for the federation.
Real Madrid rages and is shocked. Pablo Hernández, general secretary of the white entity and Santiago Bernabéu's right hand, assures that Barça had broken a non-aggression pact between both teams and had hired a player with whom they were in talks. Samitier, who was unbeatable in the media, declares that he had been following Kubala for months and that the pact had not been broken because it referred only to players who played in Spanish teams. And Hungaria was not Spanish. In fact, it wasn't from anywhere.
But Kubala's problems didn't end there. He still didn't have a registration card or an international certificate. Vasas in Budapest and the Hungarian Federation had reported him to FIFA. Barça used the weak argument that since professionalism had been abolished in Hungary, any amateur player could choose his destiny. But the fight was not going to be so easy.
Barça, it is fair to say, had the total support of the regime and the Federation to carry out the transfer. At the level of anti-communist propaganda, Kubala was perfect. A young and extraordinary sportsman who fled from the red hell to take refuge in Franco's Spain was a candy too sweet to let go. Muñoz Calero, president of the Federation, rowed in favor of Barça as did Ricardo Cabot, secretary of the organization, who, in addition to his affection for the regime, was a well-known Barcelona supporter.
But the procedures were very slow and Kubala could only play friendly matches. He made his debut against Osasuna on 12 October, scoring two goals on the day the Barça fans knew instantly that they had just signed a star. Then he played against Zaragoza, Frankfurt twice, Girona and the Badalona. In six friendlies he scored 11 goals. The fans and the player himself were eager to meet in an official match. For all this, the Federation to play the role with FIFA fined Barça every time he lined up Kubala with the symbolic figure of 50 pesetas.
It is at this time that Kubala is about to leave everything and go away from Barça. He needed the money and wanted to play at the highest level and in Colombia he was offered the chance to do so. The South American country had organised the so-called Pirate League outside FIFA and many of the world's biggest stars joined, including Alfredo Di Stefano who went to Millonarios in Bogota. Kubala had a tempting offer from Atletico Bucaramanga. With the option of Kubala leaving, events accelerated. To begin with, Barça fixed his financial situation by means of a peculiar amateur contract in which they paid him 1,200 pesetas for "compensation" and 3,800 for "encouragement and overfeeding".
On April 2, 1951, he was granted the status of political refugee as a stateless person, which was a step towards granting him Spanish nationality. But for this step, Kubala first had to be converted to Catholicism through the sacrament of baptism. Every Spaniard had to be a Catholic. Kubala was baptized in Aguilas, Murcia, the birthplace of Muñoz Calero, president of the Federation. It is then when Barça, to avoid problems, settles its differences economically with Vasas, which despite being against capitalism accepts a payment of 300,000 pesetas to provide the transfer, while the Pro Patria, which also complained, is satisfied with 12 million lire.
The Kubala era could now really commence.

The legend on the field.

Kubala made his official debut with Barcelona in Sevilla in a cup match. The Sevillistas at that time were one of the best teams. Sevilla and Barça had developed in that period a great rivalry in the high places of the table. In 1946 Sevilla had stolen the possibility of winning the championship from Barça by drawing in Les Corts on the last day, in 1948 Barça beat the Sevillians in the final of the Eva Perón Cup (which would be the current Supercup) and in that campaign a Barça without Kubala had lost all its options to win La Liga after losing 4-0 in Nervión three days before the end of the season.
The Cup, by that time was played once the regular season was over and in those circumstances the official debut of Kubala took place. On April 29th in Nervion, Barça arrived to play against Sevilla in the middle of a difficult atmosphere. The Andalusians had lost the league in a dramatic outcome when they drew at home in the last match against Atletico Madrid with a refereeing performance that the locals judged scandalous. For further concern, the Federation allowed Kubala to line up with Barça in the first round of the Cup, which in Sevilla was taken as a surprise.
With the stadium full to the flag, Barcelona defeated Sevilla in an exhibition of Kubala. He wasn't just the best of the match but he showed Spain a way of playing football unthinkable until that time: chest controls, shots with curve, millimetric changes of play of 40 meters, protection of the ball with his back, use of the body in the shot and touches with the heel.
Domenech, Sevilla's attacker who was the direct protagonist of that match, explained years later how he remembered that day.
"It was something never seen before. Ramallets kicked it and he would receive her with his chest, or with either of his legs. If you tackled him he would dribble you in a brick. He'd put the ball where he wanted her. Besides, from time to time he changed with César, he'd be a center forward and César would be a midfielder. They drove us crazy. The anger of the people became clamours. We were witnessing something extraordinary. It was like going from black and white cinema to colour," explained the former Sevilla player. The Sevilla crowd, who had welcomed Barça and its new superstar with anger, ended up giving Kubala a standing ovation for every action as if they were watching a glorious bullfighting performance.
Kubala's actions on the field change football forever. Since there was no television, his exploits are reported orally. There is no other way to see it than to go to the field of Les Corts, which is packed for every game Barça plays as a local. It is a very common argument to say that Kubala forced Barça to build the Camp Nou because the old Les Corts was not enough to accommodate all the people who wanted to admire him. Maybe he had an influence, but as the journalist Frederic Porta, author of an interesting biography of Kubala (Kubala, l'heroi que va canviar la història del Barça. Ed. Saldonar) explains, "the truth is that Barça had already bought the land to build the Camp Nou two years before and the idea of making a bigger field already existed, but Kubala advanced everything and justified the change".
Blessed with brutal technique, a sensational strike of the ball and an unusual physical strength, Kubala changed football. He would throw free-kicks over the wall with curve or by making the ball bounce in front of the goalkeeper, he would take penalties (he was practically infallible) with what was later called paradinha and was credited with the Brazilians although he was the first in Europe to do so. Physically he was a bull. In his youth he had practiced boxing and if he didn't become a recognized fighter with a great career it was because he had short arms. His lower body was sensational. He had a butt and legs that allowed him to protect the ball like no one else. Frederic Porta says that "in his time of splendour they measured his thighs and each one had a circumference of 69 centimetres, which would be the waist of one of his companions". He was also capable of running the 100 metres in less than 11 seconds. A total athlete with a very refined technique.
However, that physical strength and the confidence he had in her, for he never avoided a collision, were his downfall. Kubala became the target of a hunt by rival defenders. He never went into hiding and that's why in eleven years at Barcelona he suffered up to eleven injuries of some seriousness. With matches without television, the harshness that bordered on violence was the order of the day. He was being kicked to death.
But Barça was living its most golden period to date. Moreover, the club revolved around Kubala. Frederic Porta compares it with the present time: "Now they say that Messi commands the club and surely he commands, but nothing to do with the influence that Kubala had. Kubala was the boss and even the one who decided the transfers. And no one was surprised. That Barça adopted the socks with the horizontal stripes blaugrana is his imposition. He saw them on the rugby team, liked them and incorporated them into the football team by decree. In fact, it is he who insists on signing Luis Suarez when he impresses him in a match against Deportivo. Kubala was Suarez's first fan, but what happened in the stands, which was divided between Suaristas and Kubalistas, is another matter.
Suarez was eight years younger than Kubala. He arrived at Barcelona at the age of 19, Kubala was 27 and his physique was very punished by his injuries and the life he was living, as he did not deprive himself of anything. If he held out, it was because of privileged genetics.
Therefore, there never was a real competition between them, but there was a lot of influence here from the figure of Helenio Herrera, the Barça manager, who saw Kubala as older and slower and was looking forward to a quick change by the young Galician as the leader of the team. The debate reached the stands and the media. It was an absurd debate, because they didn't play in the same position, with whom Kubala really had a certain rivalry with Eulogio Martínez, who was the one with whom he alternated the position.
Kubala's physical problems were not only due to injuries. He had the whole of Spain in suspense when he suffered a tuberculosis that could have cost him his life. There are apocryphal versions that explain that this tuberculosis was actually a stab wound he suffered in a fight in a cheap pub in the fifth district (Barcelona's Chinatown) and he has to retire to Montseny to recover. Nobody is betting on his return to the pitch if he survives a "hole in the lung the size of a silver bullet" according to the chronicles of the time. But once again, Kubala's ability to survive prevails. He returns to the pitches, but already heavily punished and slowed down.
It is against this backdrop that the 1961 European Cup final arrives, with Kubala arriving at the age of 34 with a herniated disc that barely allows him to walk, but he wants to play. He knows that the club is going through a critical situation despite having reached the final of the maximum trophy for the first time: the club is bankrupt because of the construction of the Camp Nou, the fights in the board of directors are chaotic, Luis Suarez has signed for Inter (the one in Bern will be his last game with Barça), which was where Helenio Herrera had left the team in the hands of Enrique Orizaola.
Kubala tells Orizaola to line him up, that like all the Portuguese will go for him and he can barely move because of the back pain and will play with painkillers, it will give more opportunities to his teammates. But the match is a pile of misfortunes for Barcelona. Ramallets scores an own goal, Barça shoots three times to the damn square posts of the goals (from then on they would change their shape) even Kubala kicked a ball that hit a post, went through the goal line until it hit the other post and came out repelled. Barça lost and Kubala's time at Barcelona came to an end.

The man of the year.

Kubala's significance goes beyond the playing field. According to a vote made for Radio Barcelona by journalist Joaquín Soler Serrano in the mid-50s, the Catalans most loved by their fellow citizens were Doctor Barraquer and Ladislao Kubala.
"He was literally the most famous person in the city, people really venerated him, and even Messi's influence cannot be compared to that of Kubala in those years," explains Porta.
His life off the field was notorious. An unrepentant night owl, it was common to see him in Barcelona's fashionable coffee shops and nightclubs. He was a man who stood out. Alfredo Relaño defines him in some of his articles as "a demigod. Tall, strong, blond with blue eyes and an overflowing personality. He aroused the admiration of men and women alike. An idol". Frederic Porta sums it up with the argument that "he would be the sum of Messi and Beckham and on top of that, he would go out every night".
Faced with Kubala's disorganised life, the Barcelona management decided to set up a private detective agency to follow him at night. The reports of the detectives are still in the Centre de Documentació del FC Barcelona and Frederic Porta published them in the history magazine 'Sàpiens'. In them, he gives a detailed account of the nocturnal wanderings of "Mr. K.", the code name of the Blaugrana star in an exercise in absurd discretion. There is also a letter from a Sabadell businessman in the club's archives, expressing concern that Kubala and Czibor had been "found in a Sabadell establishment after 2.30 in the morning accompanied by some of those ladies who were once gentlemen, I don't know if you understand". What the businessman doesn't explain in the letter is what he was doing in the same place.
Kubala's fondness for drinking was no secret. Helenio Herrera explains in a television interview that "one day at an airport in customs they asked Kubala if he had anything to declare and he said two bottles of whisky. The official asked him to show them to him and he, laughing, touched his belly and said: 'X-ray, I have them inside'. On another occasion, in the same situation, but carrying the bottle in the bag, he was told to leave it at the airport because no alcoholic drinks were allowed to be taken on board. Neither shy nor lazy, he drank it in front of the astonished official.
The legends about the occasions when the night was made longer and he did not arrive at training sessions or matches were recurrent. In that case, he called on the services of Angel Mur Sr., the team masseur who knew where to find him. He would start a pilgrimage through the usual places or floors until he found him, took him to the changing room, gave him a cold shower, a coffee with salt, a massage and played. The fans forgave him everything and were aware that their star was a man of joyful life. But he never failed on the field. Among the crowd at the time there were comments about the Kubala ritual in those games that followed a busy night. "He started off badly, and vaguely, but the signal was when, ten minutes into the game, he rolled up his sleeves as if to say 'I'm here, let's start, I've already cleared off', and the machine started to work.
You can't find anyone in the world who speaks ill of Kubala. Absolutely no one. Everyone highlights his huge heart and that despite being by far the highest paid player of the time (he earned six times more than his teammates) he didn't have a no for anyone. His detachment from money was legendary.
As proof, the anecdote explained by his biographer Porta: "one day he arrived at the dressing room and commented that his car had been stolen and that in the glove compartment he was carrying an envelope with 200,000 pesetas, which was a fortune for the time (a good apartment could cost 130,000 pesetas). When his colleagues tried to encourage him, he simply said: someone who needs it more than I do must have taken it".
It was also usual for him to take off his coat and give it to a poor man who begged in Barcelona's winter, or to take in any Hungarian who came to Barcelona asking for help in his house in Carrer Duquesa d'Orleans. Kubala, remembering his times as a stateless refugee without papers, asked nothing. He would take them home and pay them a boat ticket to America. The motto among the refugees fleeing the Iron Curtain was that "if you get to Barcelona, look for Kubala, he will help you". He never failed.
Later, now retired, he set up a bar next to Czibor in Capitan Arenas Street, the mythical Kep Duna (blue Danube in Hungarian) that became an unofficial refugee reception centre that was monitored by the secret services of the United States, the USSR and the Spanish police. Something like the Rick's Café in the film Casablanca, but in the upper area of Barcelona.
He was the great character of Barcelona loved by all, but there was a moment when this was almost broken, strange as it may seem. It coincided with the defeat in Bern, when a part of the press came to write that "Barça must be de-Kubalized as the Soviet Union must be de-Stalinized" and, especially, when he signed for Espanyol. The earthquake was a huge one.

From the bench to Sarrià.

After the defeat in Bern's final, Kubala announced his retirement from the fields. He had taken the coaching course and was ranked number one in his class. He made a pact with the president Llaudet, who was also an interesting character as we will see, that in principle he would take charge of the footballers' school of the club and that in a couple of years he would be in charge of the first team.
Meanwhile, Barcelona is directed by Lluís Miró who faces a team in disarray. Suarez has been transferred to Inter in the worst decision in the club's history and myths such as Ramallets, Tejada and Czibor were in the decline of their careers. The season starts badly and after losing at Mestalla to Valencia by a humiliating 6-2 that forces the resignation of Miro. It was time for Kubala, who was promoted to the first team in front of the joy of the fans. And the project results from the beginning. The Barça of the second part of season 61-62 recovers in La Liga and finishes second (the distance with the white ones when Kubala arrived was almost insurmountable) and avenges the 6-2 of Mestalla beating Valencia in the Camp Nou 4-0.
Facing the next season, the 62-63, Kubala can make his team by giving painful drops of some of his former teammates as it is the case of Eulogio Martinez or Evaristo. One of Llaudet's reluctances to give Kubala the job of coach was that he would have to manage some of his former teammates.
The positive expectations about Kubala's first full project were frustrated at first when the Blaugrana team had to play the final of the Copa de Ferias against Valencia, the team that caused the fall of Miró and the promotion of Kubala. And the history, by rare that it seems, repeats: Valencia returns to him to put 6-2 to the Barça. The fans explode against the team. In the return match, obviously, there is nothing to do, but Llaudet's ability to self-flagellation has no limits. As Alfredo Relaño writes, the Blaugrana president calls a dinner with the press the day before the game and makes this statement that if it happened today would open all the news.
Llaudet, in front of the press and accompanied by the coach Kubala and Gràcia as captain, asks the fans to forgive him and announces changes in the protocol of the start of the second leg. "Valencia will go out first to receive the applause, then Barcelona, to receive the whistles. Then Kubala will come out, so he can get the thunders. And finally me, so that all the whistles fall on my person, because I am the barcelonist who loves the club the most and who is destined to die on the pitch, if necessary...". He ends his speech crying. As we can see, Gaspart didn't invent anything.
The match ended in a draw and Kubala's project as Barça's coach was doomed. The manager is fired in the middle of the season and then a bomb explodes in Barcelona. Kubala accepts the offer to return to the pitch, but not as a coach, will be as a player and nothing more and nothing less than in Espanyol, Barça's eternal rival.
On 3 September 1963 Espanyol, then Español, announced that Kubala would be hired as a player. At 36 years of age, he was capable of being competitive.
His decision divides the public opinion. On the one hand, Federico Gallo and Juan José Castillo support his decision, on the other hand, Carlos Pardo or Ibáñez Escofet shoot at him. They call him a "Jew who sells himself for a plate of beans", a "traitor" and they see political interests in his decision.
Kubala explains that he wanted to continue playing and that he saw himself capable of doing so, although he accepted that he was not at Barcelona's level. He had received offers from important clubs, including River Plate and Juventus, but he doesn't want to leave Barcelona, where he feels like another Barcelonian. The Espanyol meets his expectations.
His start of the season is not bad, on the contrary, he scores in his first two games, but the team doesn't work out. The coexistence between the veteran newcomer Kubala and the team's symbol, Argilés, is not easy. Scopelli is dismissed as coach and de facto command of the team is given to the two team leaders despite their differences. The crisis erupts when the Spaniard visits the Camp Nou. The periquitos lose by 5-0 in a match in which the Barcelona crowd booed Kubala who they are eager to humiliate with his new team. Even so, at the end of the match, Kubala has a gesture to his former team that shows that he does not hold any grudge against what he has heard from the stands. At the end of the match, he organizes his teammates to make the corridor to Barça applauding the rival in recognition of the exhibition made. That gesture feels bad among the Espanyol fans and among some of his teammates. Argilés does not make the corridor and goes straight to the changing rooms.
The following year, Kubala becomes a manager-player and among the departures that he causes, there is the one of Argilés, but by contrast, Di Stéfano arrives, also hurt by his bad exit from Madrid fighting against Bernabéu.
Di Stefano and Kubala are like brothers. Even though they haven't officially played together, they have a special chemistry. A friendship that is forged when the Argentinian is about to sign for Barcelona.
When Di Stéfano arrives in Barcelona to sign for Español, he stays first at the Avenida Palace Hotel, but after a month he is living in Kubala's house as one of the family. The children of both always maintained a relationship as if they were brothers.
One of the players under Kubala's command was Jose Maria Rodilla, one of the players who would soon form the famous 'Dolphins' forward line. At 80 years of age, Rodilla remembers Kubala.
"I have a wonderful memory of Kubala, I always had a special affection for him. Not in vain, he was the one who signed me for Espanyol", he remembers when answering the call of this newspaper to which he confesses that* "normally I do not make declarations, but to speak about Kubala I do whatever is needed"*.
Rodilla, former teammate at Espanyol, has clear that "he was the best player in the world in terms of technique. Di Stéfano was the best footballer, but he didn't have his technique. Alfredo was more intense and more player of the whole field, but he could not do things that Kubala did"
Those who had the privilege of playing with both of them remember that "for example, Di Stefano wouldn't leave you alone for a minute, he was all over you and the fights were intense, but he always set an example, he never asked you for anything that he didn't do. Kubala was more paternalistic and tolerant. For example, he would ask us to do as he did in training, and while sitting down he would be able to make 3,000 touches on the ball without dropping it. Only he could do that."
Rodilla adds a story that explains Kubala's quality as a player-coach at the age of 38: "We went to play a friendly at Amposta and they called a foul on the edge of the box. Kubala takes the ball and whacks it into the corner. The referee made him repeat it because someone had moved or I don't know what. Kubala takes the ball and wham, back to the square. And the referee tells him that he has to repeat. That day Kubala got angry and left the field."
Rodilla recalls that Kubala's move from Barça to Espanyol created controversy in the city, but that he was oblivious to it. "He was still a magnificent person, I never heard him say a bad word against anyone. He never got into an argument, he was goodness personified, he was unlucky in his time as a coach, but as a coach he is one of the best I've ever had, with a great love for young players and always trying to help you improve."

Boys well, optimal morale.

He extended his playing career for a couple more years by playing for Zurich and even trying out the American adventure at the Toronto Falcons, where he coincides with Branko and Daucik's son. At the age of 40 he played 19 games and scored 5 goals.
In 1968 he returned to Spain and trained the Córdoba team for a short period of time until he was called up to the national team. Kubala will manage the Spanish team until 1980, when he signs for Barcelona again as a coach.
Kubala's debut with Spain was, once again, a propaganda match for the regime. It was played in the Estadio de la Línea de la Concepción against Finland and Spain beat their rivals 6-0 in a match that was no longer useful. Spain had missed out on qualifying for the Mexico '70 World Cup, but the idea of that game was to showcase a great field that could be seen from Gibraltar as if to give jealousy to those in the Rock for the sports culture of Spain. Dictatorship things.
It's true that at that time Spain was struggling more than anything else on the international scene. It did not qualify for the 1974 World Cup because of Katalinski's goal in the play-off match in Frankfurt, and in both the 1978 World Cup and the 1980 European Championship the team fell in the first round, but there is still no one from that era who will make a judgement against Kubala.
"Kubala, one ahead of his time. No doubt he had a lot to do with his past as a footballer. And not just like any other player, like the best! I remember him always saying to me: 'Ruben, you have to get out of the way on the other side of the ball. Look for the space, not the ball. The goal I scored in Yugoslavia has to do with everything he taught me," he told Fermin de la Calle in an interview with AS Ruben Cano, the hero of the famous 'Battle of Belgrade' in the match that took Spain to the World Cup in Argentina. Yes, the one with the goal by Cardeñosa that could have changed Kubala's record with the national team.
He did a lot to improve Spanish football and his idea regarding the incorporation of foreigners to improve the level of Spanish football was key in the future development of the Spanish competitive level.
His players remember him as a didactic person, tactically bold and very close. At a time when fury was the hallmark of the game, Kubala never forgot that he was the heir to the Magyar tradition of the Honved and the Hungary who, by moving the ball, shocked the world the day they destroyed England at Wembley 3-6.
For the average football fan, Kubala may have been a half-hearted coach who embodied an era of the national team in which nothing was won, as has been the case most of the time, and he became popular for his expressions that would now be meme material on social networks. The national team was known as the 'Kubala boys' and the coach's catchphrase before the matches saying "boys well, optimal morale" was the fashionable phrase in the coffee shops of the 70s in Spain.
But among his colleagues, Kubala still deserved reverential respect. "The first goal was authentically Latin, cunningly scored and perfectly studied. I can only congratulate Kubala on his previous tactical work," said German boss Helmut Schön after facing and losing to Spain in a friendly in which the recent world semi-finalist and next world champion fell to the Kubala boys at the Sanchez Pizjuan with two strategic goals from Arieta. Yes, Arieta against Müller. Seeler, Beckembauer, Maier, Netzer and company.
He left the national team in 1980 to join Barça as the coach of Núñez's second project in an operation that was the prelude to what would happen in the World Cup in Russia with Lopetegui. Kubala committed to Barça while he was coach and tried to alternate functions, but Porta refused. Finally, on 8 June 1980, four days before the start of the European Championship, Kubala signed for the Blaugrana team, which he would join after the European Championship.
His second spell at the head of Barça did not go well either and he was dismissed mid-season. He continued his adventure on the bench as coach of Saudi Arabia (in that he was also a pioneer), training Malaga and the Paraguayan national team before retiring from football on the bench of Elche.
He spent his final years in Barcelona as active as ever. Playing with Barça veterans, helping his teammates, not having a no for anyone and playing tennis every day or going for a run or cycling routes exhibiting an enviable physical condition.
Until the light of genius and the glory faded away 18 years ago. A degenerative brain disease put an end to the adventure, but not to the legend of a world football myth. An icon that changed the lives of so many people that they wouldn't fit even in a stadium.
The coffin with the mortal remains of Kubala was carried on shoulders, amidst the applause of the fans who gathered at the doors of the church of Santa Tecla, by Alfredo Di Stéfano, Gustau Biosca, Eduardo Manchón, Estanislao Basora, Joan Segarra, Josep Bartomeu, Luis Suárez, Antoni Ramallets and Gonzalvo III.
He rests in the cemetery of Les Corts, next to the Camp Nou because that is what he left written in his will, while Serrat sang to him about how...
...Pelé was Pelé and Maradona was the one and that's it. Di Stéfano was a pit of mischief. Honour and glory to those who made the sun shine on our football. Everyone has his merits; to each his own, but for me none is like Kubala. Respectable silence is requested, for those who haven't enjoyed him, I'll say four things: he stops it with his head, he drops it on with his chest, he sleeps it off with his left, crosses the pitch with the ball attached to the boot, leaves the midfield and enters the box showing the ball, hides it with his body, pushes with his ass and gets in with his heels. He pisses on the centerback with a dedicated piece. and touches her gently to put her on the path to glory.

by Santi Gimenez for AS.com (2020)

submitted by LordVelaryon to soccer [link] [comments]

I just found out that my (27f) boyfiend (29m) has a secret child (2f). Weve been together 5 years, have 2 children together, and are expecting our first daughter.

My boyfriend told me about 2 years ago, when i was expecting our second son, that his paternal brother, whom ive never met or heard of, had gotten a girl pregnant and couldnt take care of her as he was getting ready to ship off to the army. His brother asked him to step in and essentially adopt the child and help the childs mother with whatever she needed. He asked my opinion and i said it was an honorable thing to do. I wasnt really going to be involved and have never seen this child or her mom.
More back story: My boyfriends maternal sister died in infancy when he was about 4 years old and he has always wanted to have a daughter to carry his sisters name.
Im currently 36 weeks pregnant with our first daughter, which i had thought was his first. As such, i have been telling everyone she is to be named after her deceased aunt. Unfortunately, via very solid proof, not only did i learn about his true first daughter (the brother supposed kid), i also found out thay she had been named a varient of the aunts name and her middle name is after bfs grandmother. That is too much to be a coincidence and had to have been done intentionally.
So here i am, 9 months pregnant, in a 5 year relationship, finding out everything's been fucked up by my lying cheating, no good boyfriend.
Im left with some hard decisions here. I dont think its appropriate for me to name my child as planned and that it would be disrespectful to my bfs mom. I cant 'just get over' my boyfriends 2 year affair. And i honestly dont know how to proceed. Or maybe i know but its hard and scary.
If i change the name ill have to tell everyone why and explain all about this granddaughteniece they never knew existed.
Idk what to even say to my boyfriend but this is absolutely not ok. Its not fair to me, his bm, his daughter, his mom, or anyone. And after getting a first hand glimpse into how he helps his bm, im beyond disappointed that hes not taking care of his daughter responsibly. On top of that, ive also found out that money has been going out of my pocket to fund his love child. To the tune of at least $4k in the last year.
I hate that ive been lied to, swindled, stolen from, and cheated on all this time. Im seriously debating if i even want hin at the hospital when i go into labor. And trying to decide how i want to handle him- throw his ass to the curb, ship him back to his momma, feed him to the wolves... I dont think i can ever fully forgive him for this and have a healthy relationship with him. Ive literally been paying all his bills and taking care of our family by myself for 2 years and its so relieving to say, "F*** this shit!"
Edit: We are not married, not even common law, so i cant get a divorce.
Edit 2: His bm offered to do a dna test so he wouldnt doubt the paternity but he said he told her he absolutely believes this child to be his. He mentioned something in a round about way to me and in actuality he doesnt want to get stuck on child support- i dont think he signed the birth certificate. Also, she wants to start trying for another kid next month and hes agreed.
Edit 3: he broke his knee 2 years ago playing semi-pro football and hasnt been able to work since. Or rather, that's what he tells me is stopping him from getting a job. Instead, hes been playing videogames online and makes money from bets and tournaments. How much? I cant honestly say as its never been given to me or put in our bank account.
submitted by RidiculousSelf to relationship_advice [link] [comments]

Gambling

Dear All,
I have been reading this forum for the last week and really thought that it had thought me a lesson. I want to share my situation with all of you and put it out there that I will not be gambling online again and that this is day 1. I feel if I write this, it will give me a sense of accountability.
I am 21 years old. I began gambling at around 16 in the bookies and it was harmless, a few football accumulators here and there and betting on the likes of Cheltenham. However last year I found myself with a little more money and found myself gambling more and more online, but this time on everything and anything. I got paid fortnightly and lost the guts of two 500 euro paychecks over the each weekend after I was paid. I opened up to my parents and explained the situation and they were supportive. A while went by and I moved to Germany and was not betting online.

Fast forward to now I am home again and should have nearly 900 in my bank account. However I have lost most of it (I have 90 euro left and get paid 400 next week) while I will owe my friend a small amount of money he gave me. I have no debt as a result of gambling but I do have a 1200 euro fine that I should have been saving for and am worried my parents will find out I have been betting online again. I do not have the heart to tell them as I know it will break their hearts, especially my mother. While I know that my situation is very minor compared to a lot on this forum, I would just like for it to be out there as I feel it is me acknowledging the problem and maybe, just maybe I can start saving up money again without bringing further disappointment to my parents. The guilt I feel for lying to my mother is almost unbearable but I can't let her find out as she has enough to be dealing with. I do firmly believe I am at a stage where i can halt this, but my main issue is the money I should have been saving. It worries me.

Sorry for the length of the post and any advice is welcome.
submitted by kellc12334 to problemgambling [link] [comments]

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submitted by faizanh1 to u/faizanh1 [link] [comments]

And I responded, “MmmmMMmmmMmmm!” Recap of Before the 90 Days S04E04

Is everyone properly positioned in a fortress of toilet paper and hand sanitizer for nearly 90 minutes of hollow romance? Fuck yeah, quarantine!
As always, I’ll neglect to comment on 90DF’s hazmat-demanding human plague, other than to note that nipple tattoos are a sign of full-body asshole infection. It’s also my latest entry in the Douchepedia, right between ‘Naming Your Comb Because That’s Normal’ and ‘Not a Reason to Be Jealous, But I Planned This’.
Meanwhile, somewhere in Surface Hell, Nigeria, Lisa wakes up next to her ‘destiny’ after a long night of penis gobbling. She smashes her face into Usman’s, while he insists he wants to sleep until this isn’t a nightmare. But Lisa has jet lag, so he’s going to have to rise and start getting used to his world revolving around her. The afterglow couldn’t be dimmer.
Lisa summons her inner Laura, and says that sex is different in Nigeria, and she was shocked to discover an unexpected resistance to going truffle hunting in her 19-hour jeans-baked travel clam. Usman described the encounter as “70% good of what I expected, and that’s enough.” This gives her a low C for people who haven’t been in school for awhile, and 30% of Usman definitely needs to talk to someone.
While pawing through the drugstore she packed in her suitcase, Lisa unearths condoms for slut people, and they chuckle over the possibility of using them, because the best way to ward of STIs is to openly mock them. Lisa then asks how his first bareback ride went, and Usman’s face suggests he’s been to many, many rodeos, and Lisa was just his first old town road.
The doomed duo then ventures out to meet the yahoo boys for breakfast, and they mention Usman’s mom doesn’t like white folks, and thinks Lisa’s trying to make Usman her slave, because she is. Lisa is baffled to learn that Africans are distrustful of white folks; I mean, things got weird like 400 years ago, and since then Obama was elected and Miley Cyrus twerked without an ass, so isn’t there equality now? Lisa should be able to convince his mom of her pure intentions by either bullying or gloating, which are her only two routes of operation, and if those don’t work, she’ll remind us he’s a celebrity.
When Lisa insists they’ll be married with or without approval, Usman’s yahoo boys look at him in yahoo horror, and Usman walks it back to a decision that will arrive with a spontaneous fit of wisdom, that will just coincidentally be whatever his mom suggests. Nice. I’m using this. Usman confesses to the producers that he lied about being indifferent to his mom’s approval, or maybe wasn’t banking on it until he was feeling D+ devoted. Lisa flounces away, because she still hasn’t noticed she’s in a different country with different cultural norms, and that her yahoo boy is not flouncing after her. This is very on-brand for someone baffled that their likeness wasn’t projected onto the moon for Usman’s video shoot.
Back at the hotel Lisa is packing her hodgepodge suitcase of brown shoes and mullet dresses to travel to Usman’s modest apartment. As they get in the car his phone vibrates away, while Lisa furiously pets her teddy bear gift in hopes of rubbing it to life so she can stuff it with dynamite and send it on a suicide mission to destroy Usman’s female fans. “He has too many followers,” she tells the bear, newly named InstaGrammie. “His career will be a lot more successful if no one is listening to his music. I know things, InstaGrammie. I know.”
Finally they arrive at Usman’s Yahoo Hut of two rooms and a bucket shower, which is luxury to Nigerian bachelors and anyone working in San Francisco. Lisa is shocked to discover those 22K instagram followers didn’t heart-button a mansion into existence, and this is not what she expects from a celebrity trolling online communities for a middle-aged woman. “Thank God we’re staying at a hotel,” Lisa declares, since she’s used to living the high life of body waxing, sugary drinks, and last gasp suitcases. Meanwhile, Usman expresses his discomfort to his friends, and says that she’s even more controlling in person, and doesn’t seem likely to respect his career, which greatly decreases the likelihood of him convincing his mom she’s not looking for a slave.
If we’re going to go Paul, I don’t want Paul Lite, I want Paul 151, because he’s the only one who can be calmer than you are at the reunion after running into the jungle in flip flops with hair in his pocket and a producer hot on his trail. Instead, we’ve got Big Ed, aka Little Paul, prepping for the romantic interrogation of his dearly beloved. He asks for two beds in the hotel room so their genitals can be separated by space, time, logic, and a fortress of condoms and contraceptive foam. Sadly, this has nothing to do with respect; it’s about plans to humiliate her with an on-camera STI test, because he “wants to know he can trust her,” and chlamydia is a sign of betrayal, I guess. If I hadn’t had sex in 28 years, my concern would be whether I was capable of rocking out with my cock out now that the energy and libido of being 22 are but a distant memory, but Ed probably sees sex like a White Snake video, where he’s the car and Rose is the writhing redhead, who remains enthusiastic despite the fact that the engine isn’t even on.
Anyway, Rose mentions that she doesn’t speak English that well, but Ed keeps talking to her, and there’s only so many times she can smile and tilt her head, and wonder if he’s ever going to ask her any questions about herself that don’t sound like accusations. Spoiler alert: he’s not. Ed gives her a San Diego T-shirt to sleep in, and feels bad that she didn’t bring pajamas, and never thinks for a second that this is because she wasn’t anticipating staying at a hotel. Again: that requires asking questions.
Ed brushes his teeth, and opts to prolong his last mayo application by not showering. Apparently me, Jasmin, and Avery are the only people who want to break open a fire hydrant or walk through a human car wash after getting off the sky bullet of stank. Rose tells the producers she’s going to pretend to be asleep so Big Ed can fuck right off, and when he says “goodnight my queen” she responds with: “This is a snore.” Aced it.
The next day Ed wakes up and makes gerbil noises on Rose’s neck, before ordering room service and listening to Rose’s complaints that the room is too cold. I’m on Ed’s side here. Rose is wrong. Then Rose and Ed’s anxiety get into a taxi and head to a market, where Ed declares his intention to take her shopping, but not before he asks if she’s excited he’s in the “Phil-A-PEEEEENS!” This is officially a realistic first date.
At the market he spots some pajamas, and announces his presence to shop-owners with the official 90DF greeting: “Does anyone here speak English?” Rose takes it upon herself to pull the appropriate bills from Ed’s open wallet, likely in response to him saying, “I don’t even know how much that is.” Instead of seeing this as a speedy response to articulated confusion in an environment where a gaping wallet is a bad idea, he takes offense. After a few more purchases and a thoroughly soaked sweaty shirt, Ed whines that he’s hot and needs to be back in air conditioning.
“Have you considered an ice pack vest,” Paul interjects. “And yes, I have an entire basement full of TP in preparation for coronavirus. I’m not going to tell you how many weapons I have, because that could make me a target. In fact, this isn’t Paul. This camouflage means you can’t see me. What’s that over there?” (Running sound.)
Meanwhile, Avery has deplaned and is ready to meet single-ladies trafficker Ash, and she’s nervous about being a stinky hag for their intro. Lucky for her, I can smell the sandalwood on Ash through the tv screen, so between that and her aura of honeycomb and stardust they should be fine. They happily greet each other and declare their initial physical interaction “natural” (not gonna lie, it made me smile).
They head to their AirBnB, and in the car Ash reports that her hands are so “nurturing” which prompts a giggle from Avery, before she retorts that his hands are soft, and he says it’s because all he does it wack it and dunk it in the ocean. She laughs at this, but Ash presents no indication that he’s joking unless the punchline is his pants. Is this what she means by Ash knowing the right things to say? Because he’s at the front of my Douchepedia, under ‘Cult Leader for Vagina’.
Ash shares an apartment with his brother, but said brother doesn’t want Avery to stay there, because she might trip over Ash’s other girlfriends. This makes Avery reasonably suspicious, so she says the bed large enough for her to starfish is hers, and Ash can shove those two twin beds together and fuck the slot in between, until their spirits agree with their genitals. I’m really starting to like Avery. Ash is disappointed in this, but recovers immediately, because as a relationship coach he knows that women are all the same, and will fuck him eventually.
The long box he snagged from his favorite florist to have beers with contains long-stemmed black roses, which she loves because they remind her of how dead inside 90DF viewers are (so?), and he chases this with a fond token commemorating that time she ghosted him. Apparently he posted his-and-her ‘Avery Loves Ash’ bracelets on THE GRAM, and Avery thought that was so cringe that she grabbed Lisa’s InstaGrammie bear and screamed into its stomach. I’d have a similar reaction, but my concept of romance is my boyfriend rubbing a potato on my back to banish a lung disease, so yeah, I‘d better sit this one out. They talk about this, and how she wasn’t ready “accept his love,” but she’s seriously considering it now that she’s on a TV show.
Finally we meet MMmmMmmmmmMM David, the glorious human I’ve been eagerly anticipating since the first preview. David is on the brink of retiring after a successful tech career, and is RV shopping so he can travel the country with his kitty copilot, Mothra. He has to sell a lot of stuff to accommodate a nomadic existence, but intends to cling tightly to his collection of unicycles. Can this guy be my uncle? David, you’re my uncle now. Also, I’m setting you up with Yolanda, if I can recover her from Manchester, ASP.
The Ukrainian woman conning him is Lana, whom you might remember from the time she went by Maria, and they’ve been chatting online up to four hours a day for seven years. She’s stood him for every one of their in-person meetings, because like a lot of people on this show, emergencies and illnesses happen right before air travel. David explains that he’s had a Slavic-lady fetish since his prepubescent wanking to Boris and Natasha, and is okay with spending $100K talking to a fantasy online through an expensive translation site, because he doesn’t feel lonely, and that makes him think it’s a good investment. This might be the most honest answer in the history of this show.
He meets up with friends Dave and Victoria, who confirm David’s wealth by how they carry themselves and the way they express concern for his emotional well-being, but not his finances. Victoria is also Ukrainian, and met Dave on a dating site, but Victoria says that she paid for this herself, and that women over 25 still looking for a man in the Ukraine are hunting for suckers. David is not persuaded by this argument, and his bank account just doesn’t care, and I’m fully on board with David’s comfortable dismissal of logic and evidence.
The site and chat service he uses to communicate with Lana doesn’t allow video interaction unless he’s willing to surrender additional cash, at which point they’ll dust off Maria and have her smile and call him husband. He takes his laptop to a park to chat with her, and get the details of their upcoming meeting in Odessa. He asks how he’ll be able to identify her, and she says she’ll be wearing a blue dress, and hiding under her invisible train ticket. If David smells a rat he doesn’t much care, and is pleased when she sends him a devilish emoji, which he explains is code for THE SEX, a subject that often comes up when he wonders about train tickets. “And I responded MmmmMMmmMMM,” he narrates, and my favorite character since Jihoon has been Frankenstein’d to life.
Later he calls his friend Anya in Ukraine. He met her during his last round of perusing a Ukrainian wifey, and she was a little too shy for David, but they’ve remained good friends…and yet the reason he hasn’t met Lana is that she’s “too shy” for the airport? Okay then. Instead of seeing this as Cesar part 2, I’m going to craft a storyline where Anya is actually Lana, drawing David into a polyamory plot with her current husband. Instead, Anya think he’s naïve for thinking someone who refuses to meet with him after seven years is a solid romantic prospect, and our best bet is the potential for Anya to introduce him to a female friend in fleshy form.
In Yonkers, Stephanie arranges her dogs on her bed to call Erica and her lip injections. She confesses to Erica that she described her as a friend to her family, and Erica goes quiet but doesn’t question it. Erica reports Friday night plans to watch the football final, and Stephanie is jealous because she has no plans, except eating some cheese and watching a movie. This doesn’t inspire giggles or affirmation that this is a solid COVID-19 plan, and that bright light on the horizon is The Doom.
Later, Stephanie packs up, and shows her friend Heather the gifts she got Erica. Stephanie’s gift game is solid, and she reveals a pricey purse she scored that matches Erica’s style so well that I’ll refrain from predictable pumpkin spice commentary. Heather is concerned that Stephanie is all-in already, and Erica won’t be able to drop everything to accommodate Stephanie’s limited lifestyle. She suspects that Stephanie’s eagerness has to do with her mortality awareness, which is underscored by the pharmacy she’s cramming into a suitcase.
Once at the airport, Stephanie reveals that she’ll have to wear a mask to protect herself, and pulls out this sad, scratchy paper mask that she doesn’t really wear in the airport, or on the plane. I have questions, and want to send her a Vogmask as soon as they’re back in production so she can be on trend. Then she can look more like she got lost on the way to the rave, and less like a biohazard waiting to spill onto the runway.
Speaking of biohazards, Darcey, Stacey, and Raina all head to the spa, because that’s what the Kardashians would do. Darcey doesn’t know what the status of her relationship is, because Tom has expressed total indifference, but she hasn’t received any notarized paperwork in triplicate, so it’s all up in the air for Darcey. She calls Tom’s escort a “Darcey lookalike,” and oh honey, no. Instead of addressing the new hand-holster being paraded on THE GRAM directly, she lets all his messages go unanswered, because she needs that scene in New York to happen. Raina chimes in that this relationship is “fucking crazy” and something tells me she says that 30 times a day, and it usually has something to do with Darcey.
Next week Steph meets Erica, MayoMan asks for an STI test, a convicted felon pretends to not be collecting foreign-born spouses to beat, Yolanda wastes our time, Avery meets Ash’s strangely suspicious brother, who looks like a smoking hot villain, Lisa’s campaign of delusion reaches a music video apex, and David happily greets Anya at the airport (and we’re teased that this is Lana).
Thank you, generous Patreon supporters!
submitted by fractalfay to 90dayfianceuncensored [link] [comments]

I'mma head out

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submitted by TastyUdders to OneWordBan [link] [comments]

I wonder HOW CS:GO has become ESPORT game.

Welcome,
The topic I want to bring out is rather interesting. Hypothesis: CS:GO has a Gamble mechanism implemented in CS:GO.
All people that played CS:GO must have experienced a situation where you are definitely sure that you have hit the player, but in fact the server doesn't register that hit and that often happens.
Valve explanation is that tere is major problem with ping vs interpolation vs sync vs antilagg etc. That cannot be resolved easily. When you record a demo and you replay it with sv_showimpact, you quickly realize that you indeed have hit the target, which was registered by the client, but was not registered by the server or the difference between client and the server is huge. It doesn't matter at which tickrate you play. The problem persist. Well i would not argue if that was the case for the ONLINE MATCHMAKING, but the problem persist even at local server which is hillarious.
Tick 128, local server = ping 0 (Realistically ping = latency between cpu/ram/drive processing).
Client registers the hit, but server does not or there is major deviation between those two.
As i recall, Volvo has explained that this deviation is anti cheat feature which is the funniest explanation I heard in years.\
It's not the problem of wrong model hitboxes, because the server does not even see that you have fired or as mentioned previously, there is major deviation of the impact point.
What does that mean? It means that x% of shots perish into the void.
And let's push to my hypothesis.
What I think is that this "feature" has been throughly planned in order to not allow the CS:GO scene to stagnate, because stagnation decreases popularity win the function of time.
When you see football scene, almost each year you can hear FC Barcelona vs Real Madrit. Those two clubs bring the best players. After certain amount of time this is boring, but cannot be prevented.
Of course some football clubs tried to set up matches, but that behaviour is clearly visible if you inspect the performance of the player. So basically, the same two teams are fighting each year.
What if the same thing happened in CSGO? If one team had enough money to bring the best players to keep the crown for years? I bet, the CS:GO scene would die/descend, because what people want to see is: even matches, uncertain matches that keep them on the edge and generate the highest amount of emotions. That would not happen if the scene was stagnated.
Las Vegas provide: Uncertanity, play on the edge, emotions and generates tons of money.
Yes, the gamble is money printing machine that goes brrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr.
What if CS:GO had an embeeded feature that would base on gamble mechanism and somehow prevented the teams from staying on the top for long perioid of time?
How would the do that?

"Hehe, lets implement our [AAAAANTI CHEAT] that messes with point of impact/server register no matter if you are playing on local/online server"
The net result is that this thing might impact CS:GO ESPORT scene aswell.
We don't have the "Source" code of the server. We have leaked CS:GO code, but not the server.
What if that server had a special "Function" that meddles with server register capability/point of impact.
For example the more you win, function will decrease the "factor", which will lead to the situation where hits of one team (or member of that team) are not registered more often than previously and will increase the "factor" for the other team.
The deviation doesn't have to be huge, a few % is enough. Remember: I car races 0.00x sec decides whenever you win or loose and the deviation between two racers can be 0.1sec at the highest level of skill. Engineers enhance their blueprints so that their cars are marginally (for normal person) better, but that small advantage is a huge advantage for the driver.
In fact, even a few % of hit registepoint of impact deviation between two CS:GO teams/players can easily change the outcome of the match/championship at the highest skill level.
Once again, that would not be a problem @ online matches which due to the "relative" nature of universe is unavoidable, but at LAN matches, the problem MUST NOT exist, but it exists aswell.
Of course it's not a problem for Valve, because the problem of not registers hit and deviation between point of impact prevents each team to wear the king crown for too long, increasing CS:GO popularity and preventing stagnation which directly relates to the "Money" that valve makes, but is "unfair" for the most skilled players, which in reality would be simply the best, but they are not, because the system doesn't allow them to be.

I Apperciate your comments.
submitted by plmnb2019 to csgo [link] [comments]

Championship Week: Past mistakes I won’t make again

Alright folks - it’s go time. We all know what’s on the line.
I’m older than you. And with that comes wisdom. Which doesn’t mean I’m smarter than you. On the contrary. It means I’ve taken advantage of all the extra opportunities I’ve had to screw up and I’ve somehow managed to learn from (some of) my mistakes.
So here are some of the mistakes I’ve made over the 20+ years of playing fantasy that I most definitely will not be making this year. I hope it will help you avoid them as well in the most crucial (and wonderful) time of the year.
1a. Start your studs. 1b. Don’t get cute.
  1. Matchups matter but don’t drop to a tier 3 player if you have a middle or above tier 2 or better option.
3a. Don’t ever risk kickers on injury report. So much variance and plenty of options out there.
3b. It’s perfectly ok to play the 9th ranked K for the week over the 5th ranked if weather could be a factor or if you are kicking in a dome.
  1. Volume is king. When having a hard time choosing between two players volume is perfect tiebreaker.
  2. If you need a tiebreaker on a tough call in your flex: RB over WR over TE
  3. Check your opponents roster and drop any players on your roster that you know they won’t start (or that you’d be happy that they started against you) and pickup any player / defense that you like better than who they have on their roster.
  4. Go with the sure thing. In Week 16 as we usually have Saturday games. Don’t risk waiting for an iffy play on Sunday (or Monday) if you have a comparable option who’s healthy and ready to go in a Saturday matchup.
  5. Go with your gut. YOU got you here. No one else. You were the only one that hit submit on your lineup the last 15 consecutive weeks.
  6. ENJOY THE MOMENT - you don’t get to play for a ring every year. Savor it. Touch yourself. Crack open that bottle of wine or imported 12 pack BEFORE the outcome is decided. You can’t control what happens next but you put yourself in position to be here. If I would’ve told you back in August that you’d be playing for a title in Week 16 with even a patchwork roster of free agent finds you almost certainly would’ve taken it.
  7. 24 Hour Rule is in effect if you lose. It sucks. But your opponent is pretty damn good at this too or they wouldn’t be here facing you. Tip your cap to them and then feel free to bitch and moan and finish off that bottle of wine or 12 pack but for the love of everything Holy - get your shit together shortly thereafter. No one cares about your fantasy team but you; don’t go covering the earth with your tales of woe if you come up short.
Bonus tip: 11. 24 Hour Rule is null and void if you win the damn thing. Buy yourself something nice. May I suggest another bottle of wine or imported 12 pack. Everybody (especially your wife who hates football and despises how much time you spend on your fantasy team each week) wants to hear about how you benched Kamara for some 3rd stringer on the Vikings named Boone and the way that Devante Parker really gelled with Fitzmagick only after you put him in your starting lineup in Week 11.
Edit - Double Bonus Tip I forgot to mention:
Vegas lines are your friend. You can find them online to include prop bets. You can literally see how many yards Vegas has on most major players. Including kickers and implied team point totals. USE THIS DATA. Use this as a data point in your decision making process. if trying to decide between a player in a game with a total of 39 or one with 51 go with the game (team) with the higher predicted point total.
Bonus edit - basic Vegas odds explained:
Totals (over / unders) are the lines Vegas sets for how many total points scored in a game.
So let’s go with Bills / Pats and Texans / Bucs this week as they provide an excellent dichotomy.
Bills / Pats total is 37.
37 / 2 = 18.5 points per team.
Pats favored in the game by 6. So implied total is pats 21-15 over Bills.
Texans / Bucs total is 51. Texans favored by 3. Implied team totals of 27-24.
Player props might have: Lockett 53.5 yards (if you bet over he needs to have 54 yards receiving)
If you are choosing between him and Perriman and Perriman is at 62.5 that helps you make a decision.
submitted by lance466 to fantasyfootball [link] [comments]

And I responded, “MmmmMMmmmMMmm!” Recap of Before the 90 Days S04E4

Is everyone properly positioned in a fortress of toilet paper and hand sanitizer for nearly 90 minutes of hollow romance? Fuck yeah, quarantine!
As always, I’ll neglect to comment on 90DF’s hazmat-demanding human plague, other than to note that nipple tattoos are a sign of full-body asshole infection. It’s also my latest entry in the Douchepedia, right between ‘Naming Your Comb Because That’s Normal’ and ‘Not a Reason to Be Jealous, But I Planned This’.
Meanwhile, somewhere in Surface Hell, Nigeria, Lisa wakes up next to her ‘destiny’ after a long night of penis gobbling. She smashes her face into Usman’s, while he insists he wants to sleep until this isn’t a nightmare. But Lisa has jet lag, so he’s going to have to rise and start getting used to his world revolving around her. The afterglow couldn’t be dimmer.
Lisa summons her inner Laura, and says that sex is different in Nigeria, and she was shocked to discover an unexpected resistance to going truffle hunting in her 19-hour jeans-baked travel clam. Usman described the encounter as “70% good of what I expected, and that’s enough.” This gives her a low C for people who haven’t been in school for awhile, and 30% of Usman definitely needs to talk to someone.
While pawing through the drugstore she packed in her suitcase, Lisa unearths condoms for slut people, and they chuckle over the possibility of using them, because the best way to ward of STIs is to openly mock them. Lisa then asks how his first bareback ride went, and Usman’s face suggests he’s been to many, many rodeos, and Lisa was just his first old town road.
The doomed duo then ventures out to meet the yahoo boys for breakfast, and they mention Usman’s mom doesn’t like white folks, and thinks Lisa’s trying to make Usman her slave, because she is. Lisa is baffled to learn that Africans are distrustful of white folks; I mean, things got weird like 400 years ago, and since then Obama was elected and Miley Cyrus twerked without an ass, so isn’t there equality now? Lisa should be able to convince his mom of her pure intentions by either bullying or gloating, which are her only two routes of operation, and if those don’t work, she’ll remind us he’s a celebrity.
When Lisa insists they’ll be married with or without approval, Usman’s yahoo boys look at him in yahoo horror, and Usman walks it back to a decision that will arrive with a spontaneous fit of wisdom, that will just coincidentally be whatever his mom suggests. Nice. I’m using this. Usman confesses to the producers that he lied about being indifferent to his mom’s approval, or maybe wasn’t banking on it until he was feeling D+ devoted. Lisa flounces away, because she still hasn’t noticed she’s in a different country with different cultural norms, and that her yahoo boy is not flouncing after her. This is very on-brand for someone baffled that their likeness wasn’t projected onto the moon for Usman’s video shoot.
Back at the hotel Lisa is packing her hodgepodge suitcase of brown shoes and mullet dresses to travel to Usman’s modest apartment. As they get in the car his phone vibrates away, while Lisa furiously pets her teddy bear gift in hopes of rubbing it to life so she can stuff it with dynamite and send it on a suicide mission to destroy Usman’s female fans. “He has too many followers,” she tells the bear, newly named InstaGrammie. “His career will be a lot more successful if no one is listening to his music. I know things, InstaGrammie. I know.”
Finally they arrive at Usman’s Yahoo Hut of two rooms and a bucket shower, which is luxury to Nigerian bachelors and anyone working in San Francisco. Lisa is shocked to discover those 22K instagram followers didn’t heart-button a mansion into existence, and this is not what she expects from a celebrity trolling online communities for a middle-aged woman. “Thank God we’re staying at a hotel,” Lisa declares, since she’s used to living the high life of body waxing, sugary drinks, and last gasp suitcases. Meanwhile, Usman expresses his discomfort to his friends, and says that she’s even more controlling in person, and doesn’t seem likely to respect his career, which greatly decreases the likelihood of him convincing his mom she’s not looking for a slave.
If we’re going to go Paul, I don’t want Paul Lite, I want Paul 151, because he’s the only one who can be calmer than you are at the reunion after running into the jungle in flip flops with hair in his pocket and a producer hot on his trail. Instead, we’ve got Big Ed, aka Little Paul, prepping for the romantic interrogation of his dearly beloved. He asks for two beds in the hotel room so their genitals can be separated by space, time, logic, and a fortress of condoms and contraceptive foam. Sadly, this has nothing to do with respect; it’s about plans to humiliate her with an on-camera STI test, because he “wants to know he can trust her,” and chlamydia is a sign of betrayal, I guess. If I hadn’t had sex in 28 years, my concern would be whether I was capable of rocking out with my cock out now that the energy and libido of being 22 are but a distant memory, but Ed probably sees sex like a White Snake video, where he’s the car and Rose is the writhing redhead, who remains enthusiastic despite the fact that the engine isn’t even on.
Anyway, Rose mentions that she doesn’t speak English that well, but Ed keeps talking to her, and there’s only so many times she can smile and tilt her head, and wonder if he’s ever going to ask her any questions about herself that don’t sound like accusations. Spoiler alert: he’s not. Ed gives her a San Diego T-shirt to sleep in, and feels bad that she didn’t bring pajamas, and never thinks for a second that this is because she wasn’t anticipating staying at a hotel. Again: that requires asking questions.
Ed brushes his teeth, and opts to prolong his last mayo application by not showering. Apparently me, Jasmin, and Avery are the only people who want to break open a fire hydrant or walk through a human car wash after getting off the sky bullet of stank. Rose tells the producers she’s going to pretend to be asleep so Big Ed can fuck right off, and when he says “goodnight my queen” she responds with: “This is a snore.” Aced it.
The next day Ed wakes up and makes gerbil noises on Rose’s neck, before ordering room service and listening to Rose’s complaints that the room is too cold. I’m on Ed’s side here. Rose is wrong. Then Rose and Ed’s anxiety get into a taxi and head to a market, where Ed declares his intention to take her shopping, but not before he asks if she’s excited he’s in the “Phil-A-PEEEEENS!” This is officially a realistic first date.
At the market he spots some pajamas, and announces his presence to shop-owners with the official 90DF greeting: “Does anyone here speak English?” Rose takes it upon herself to pull the appropriate bills from Ed’s open wallet, likely in response to him saying, “I don’t even know how much that is.” Instead of seeing this as a speedy response to articulated confusion in an environment where a gaping wallet is a bad idea, he takes offense. After a few more purchases and a thoroughly soaked sweaty shirt, Ed whines that he’s hot and needs to be back in air conditioning.
“Have you considered an ice pack vest,” Paul interjects. “And yes, I have an entire basement full of TP in preparation for coronavirus. I’m not going to tell you how many weapons I have, because that could make me a target. In fact, this isn’t Paul. This camouflage means you can’t see me. What’s that over there?” (Running sound.)
Meanwhile, Avery has deplaned and is ready to meet single-ladies trafficker Ash, and she’s nervous about being a stinky hag for their intro. Lucky for her, I can smell the sandalwood on Ash through the tv screen, so between that and her aura of honeycomb and stardust they should be fine. They happily greet each other and declare their initial physical interaction “natural” (not gonna lie, it made me smile).
They head to their AirBnB, and in the car Ash reports that her hands are so “nurturing” which prompts a giggle from Avery, before she retorts that his hands are soft, and he says it’s because all he does it wack it and dunk it in the ocean. She laughs at this, but Ash presents no indication that he’s joking unless the punchline is his pants. Is this what she means by Ash knowing the right things to say? Because he’s at the front of my Douchepedia, under ‘Cult Leader for Vagina’.
Ash shares an apartment with his brother, but said brother doesn’t want Avery to stay there, because she might trip over Ash’s other girlfriends. This makes Avery reasonably suspicious, so she says the bed large enough for her to starfish is hers, and Ash can shove those two twin beds together and fuck the slot in between, until their spirits agree with their genitals. I’m really starting to like Avery. Ash is disappointed in this, but recovers immediately, because as a relationship coach he knows that women are all the same, and will fuck him eventually.
The long box he snagged from his favorite florist to have beers with contains long-stemmed black roses, which she loves because they remind her of how dead inside 90DF viewers are (so?), and he chases this with a fond token commemorating that time she ghosted him. Apparently he posted his-and-her ‘Avery Loves Ash’ bracelets on THE GRAM, and Avery thought that was so cringe that she grabbed Lisa’s InstaGrammie bear and screamed into its stomach. I’d have a similar reaction, but my concept of romance is my boyfriend rubbing a potato on my back to banish a lung disease, so yeah, I‘d better sit this one out. They talk about this, and how she wasn’t ready “accept his love,” but she’s seriously considering it now that she’s on a TV show.
Finally we meet MMmmMmmmmmMM David, the glorious human I’ve been eagerly anticipating since the first preview. David is on the brink of retiring after a successful tech career, and is RV shopping so he can travel the country with his kitty copilot, Mothra. He has to sell a lot of stuff to accommodate a nomadic existence, but intends to cling tightly to his collection of unicycles. Can this guy be my uncle? David, you’re my uncle now. Also, I’m setting you up with Yolanda, if I can recover her from Manchester, ASP.
The Ukrainian woman conning him is Lana, whom you might remember from the time she went by Maria, and they’ve been chatting online up to four hours a day for seven years. She’s stood him for every one of their in-person meetings, because like a lot of people on this show, emergencies and illnesses happen right before air travel. David explains that he’s had a Slavic-lady fetish since his prepubescent wanking to Boris and Natasha, and is okay with spending $100K talking to a fantasy online through an expensive translation site, because he doesn’t feel lonely, and that makes him think it’s a good investment. This might be the most honest answer in the history of this show.
He meets up with friends Dave and Victoria, who confirm David’s wealth by how they carry themselves and the way they express concern for his emotional well-being, but not his finances. Victoria is also Ukrainian, and met Dave on a dating site, but Victoria says that she paid for this herself, and that women over 25 still looking for a man in the Ukraine are hunting for suckers. David is not persuaded by this argument, and his bank account just doesn’t care, and I’m fully on board with David’s comfortable dismissal of logic and evidence.
The site and chat service he uses to communicate with Lana doesn’t allow video interaction unless he’s willing to surrender additional cash, at which point they’ll dust off Maria and have her smile and call him husband. He takes his laptop to a park to chat with her, and get the details of their upcoming meeting in Odessa. He asks how he’ll be able to identify her, and she says she’ll be wearing a blue dress, and hiding under her invisible train ticket. If David smells a rat he doesn’t much care, and is pleased when she sends him a devilish emoji, which he explains is code for THE SEX, a subject that often comes up when he wonders about train tickets. “And I responded MmmmMMmmMMM,” he narrates, and my favorite character since Jihoon has been Frankenstein’d to life.
Later he calls his friend Anya in Ukraine. He met her during his last round of perusing a Ukrainian wifey, and she was a little too shy for David, but they’ve remained good friends…and yet the reason he hasn’t met Lana is that she’s “too shy” for the airport? Okay then. Instead of seeing this as Cesar part 2, I’m going to craft a storyline where Anya is actually Lana, drawing David into a polyamory plot with her current husband. Instead, Anya think he’s naïve for thinking someone who refuses to meet with him after seven years is a solid romantic prospect, and our best bet is the potential for Anya to introduce him to a female friend in fleshy form.
In Yonkers, Stephanie arranges her dogs on her bed to call Erica and her lip injections. She confesses to Erica that she described her as a friend to her family, and Erica goes quiet but doesn’t question it. Erica reports Friday night plans to watch the football final, and Stephanie is jealous because she has no plans, except eating some cheese and watching a movie. This doesn’t inspire giggles or affirmation that this is a solid COVID-19 plan, and that bright light on the horizon is The Doom.
Later, Stephanie packs up, and shows her friend Heather the gifts she got Erica. Stephanie’s gift game is solid, and she reveals a pricey purse she scored that matches Erica’s style so well that I’ll refrain from predictable pumpkin spice commentary. Heather is concerned that Stephanie is all-in already, and Erica won’t be able to drop everything to accommodate Stephanie’s limited lifestyle. She suspects that Stephanie’s eagerness has to do with her mortality awareness, which is underscored by the pharmacy she’s cramming into a suitcase.
Once at the airport, Stephanie reveals that she’ll have to wear a mask to protect herself, and pulls out this sad, scratchy paper mask that she doesn’t really wear in the airport, or on the plane. I have questions, and want to send her a Vogmask as soon as they’re back in production so she can be on trend. Then she can look more like she got lost on the way to the rave, and less like a biohazard waiting to spill onto the runway.
Speaking of biohazards, Darcey, Stacey, and Raina all head to the spa, because that’s what the Kardashians would do. Darcey doesn’t know what the status of her relationship is, because Tom has expressed total indifference, but she hasn’t received any notarized paperwork in triplicate, so it’s all up in the air for Darcey. She calls Tom’s escort a “Darcey lookalike,” and oh honey, no. Instead of addressing the new hand-holster being paraded on THE GRAM directly, she lets all his messages go unanswered, because she needs that scene in New York to happen. Raina chimes in that this relationship is “fucking crazy” and something tells me she says that 30 times a day, and it usually has something to do with Darcey.
Next week Steph meets Erica, MayoMan asks for an STI test, a convicted felon pretends to not be collecting foreign-born spouses to beat, Yolanda wastes our time, Avery meets Ash’s strangely suspicious brother, who looks like a smoking hot villain, Lisa’s campaign of delusion reaches a music video apex, and David happily greets Anya at the airport (and we’re teased that this is Lana).
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