so much do we hear of pep guardiola's supposed killing of the game. rarely do we hear of josep's game being killed.
it was the eighteenth of may of 1994 in the athens olympic stadium when patrons and fans alike witnessed fc barcelona, but most importantly, pep guardiola, be brutally mowed down in the uefa champions league final. one demetrio albertini was the primary triggerman of the offense. he diced through the most dominant midfield in the world, and he rarely touched the ball. pep guardiola will never forget the pristine italian cheekbones that propped up one of the only minds smart enough to outwit the future greatest manager of all time.
you can watch it. on youtube. see albertini traipse around, not a sense of urgency detected, as a mostly-bald (at 23) guardiola hastily follows his shadow. nobody had taken control of a night in athens like this since athena. this was the sophia loren of football. young, italian, and with unattainable class.
watch some more youtube. 2019 prime dangmattsmith classics or binge w2s pack openings.
click on hugofilmz's "19-year old justin janssen bossing the midfield" and you will think you are watching the same video from 20 minutes ago. that is demetrio. you scratch your eyes but the illusion remains. justin janssen is a memory embalmed.
the top comment on the video reads: "it's amazing to see your grandson playing football like frenkie de jong from barcelona!! grandpa and grandma are incredibly proud!!" to mr. and mrs. janssen, with respect. that is not frenkie.
justin janssen is very inconsiderate in his play. he knows your future is doomed but he could never feel sorry for you. leave your cards on the table, go and press him. he'll look you dead in the eye and walk through you like a remorseless psychic. he'll leave you beside yourself and behind him.
janssen is completely and utterly untouchable in first-phase build-up. on multiple occasions have we seen him deadstop the ball with his sole and imperturbably weave past a few opponents inside his own box. nutmegs, cruyff turns in traffic, la croquetas between two defenders, the full works — all in the comfort of his own half.
his passing talent is absurd to the level of comical. the ever-correct instinct of what pass to make and when to make it, the pure serenity when under pressure. janssen likes to open up his own space via one-two and first-time a zippy 60 yarder to his winger of choice with that formidable left foot of his. he has the talent to amaze us but he rarely has to use it — every play made on the field was silently directed by him. he breaks the line before it's a line.
the teenager routinely makes vets look like they've got the spatial awareness of an action movie goon. he knows exactly when to come for the ball and when to drop into space. he never picks the wrong channel when on or off the ball. his capacity to tease and drag defenders into the wrong areas deserves a documentary. whether you manmark him or stay in your zone, it's the wrong option.
this penchant is what brings us back to albertini. whoever gave him the moniker il metronomo understood something. in the 90s football climate of middle-pitch barbarity and wantonness, where shoulders were almost as important as feet, the italian was all guile. this is humphrey bogart in a world where everyone else thinks they're john wayne.
he would duck under neanderthalithic midfielders, making his smaller frame take up the entire pitch. every game of his is an unending barrage of clearances and headers until he comes to the ball, and suddenly the game gets quiet again. touch, pass, touch, look, pass. he got lost under the ever-orbiting ball. terrestrial genius in an aerial world.
janssen is the world catching up to the genius. nordsjælland games run through the ground, more notably through janssen. on astroturf in a bright orange kit, we see what albertini would have been had he been born three generations later. a cunning deep-lying midfielder, permanently looping around the pitch, always in the only patch of grass his opponents can't find. demetrio albertini got lost in negative space. justin was raised in it.
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