Just people getting on with each other and their dogs.
What’s come over me?
I get some strange looks when I talk to old friends about football and Barça. It’s not as if I have ever been a sporty person – at school I was more often found in the girls loos smoking tipped singles than racing round a hockey pitch in the wind and the rain.
And football – isn’t that a man’s thing? Weren’t you a feminist once?
When Scotland played in the World Cup I watched the games out of national loyalty, but in a half hearted ironic sort of way.
In general I hated football fans, the beer guzzling, the macho posturing, the reverence shown for a group of boys running around after a ball, watched by other men and sometimes their girlfriends. I resented how much time and space football takes up on the TV and the newspapers.
So I totally understand why people glaze over when I tell them I am watching Barça play. When I say I am staying at home to watch a match. When I am excited after they win. When I write about it here or on Facebook. I must have been taken over by an alien, or worse….I have become one of those pathetic girlfriends who mindlessly support their boyfriends team!
My explanation of this new me
1. I always wanted Scotland to win – it was to do with wanting my small and colonised country to do something great. And this feeling was stronger if it meant beating England. However, with Scotland you have to get used to losing. It is a triumph of hope over experience.
With Barça this isn’t a problem – they are symbolic of Catalunya, another small colonised country, and they win, again and again and again. I like winning for a change.
2. I like them. I wouldn’t support them just for being Catalan and for being the best. What matters to me is that they are different. The players don’t seem like the arrogant, macho yobs you find in British teams. They have kind intelligent faces. Their coach is sensitive, gracious and humane and he speaks several languages. They seem like normal humans.
3. The ethos of the club is something I can agree with.
4. The fans are ordinary people. I have tried to go shopping when the tide of Tottenham fans pass by and it is not a pleasant experience. However walking towards Camp Nou before a game is relaxing. There are families, people are chatting normally, I didn’t see any beer cans or shaved heads.
5. And the football is wonderful – I don’t understand the rules of off-side or know what a penalty is but I love watching Messi dribbling the ball, magically dodging the opposition, knowing exactly the moment to kick and the balls seems to be drawn to the goal. It is like a dance, it seems effortless, it is a privilege to witness this skill.
6. I like that they play as a team, they support each other. They are famous for their football and not for drunken rampages in night clubs.
What’s Behind It?
I read somewhere that the desire to root for a team comes from our longing for a family, for a group where we belong. This too is a powerful part of supporting Barça. I resisted it at first but actually it is very lovely to feel part of such a huge population of fans. I am happy to be part of this group. It is about living in Catalunya and feeling part of the culture.
I read that we also like to bask in reflected glory. And what glory there is to bask in with Barça! I feel myself bursting with pride when they score a goal. It’s a weird feeling and not at all rational, but very very nice.
Studies show that people who support teams are more happy and less depressed. Even when they are on the losing side! Supporting a team has some of the elements of myth and legend. The battle between good and evil, the players are our mythical warriors and we want them to win the ultimate battle. In this story Barça has it all – they symbolise the small and oppressed nation of Catalunya, they seem to be good people and in the battle against the baddies, they WIN!
Men and Women
A friend wrote to me after the last game that there is ‘nothing so concentrated as a convert’ and it made me realise I do feel a little embarrassed by my new affiliation. Am I giving something up? How is it possible to be a woman who likes football which in the end is still just two lots of boys chasing a ball up and down a field? Backed up by lots of money and camouflaging a hidden world of dirty deals and corruption.
But of course I have conflicting feelings about it.
While we are watching the football – what are we not doing?
Some other friends studiously ignore all my comments about the game and my interest in it. They politely tilt their heads and smile and change the subject as if there is a bad smell in the room.
For now though, while continuing to check myself for signs of madness, I’m going to carry on supporting ‘that terrible football club‘
So here I am in Cornwall waiting to watch Barça play Manchester United in the final of the Champions.
Guess who I am supporting? Well, I am Scottish so it was never a hard choice!
To get ready I am listening to the Barça anthem – here it is.
I will watch with a friend who is a Chelsea fan so he too is supporting Barça.
The fire is lit
The curry is arriving
Here we go – BARÇA!!! Good luck.
In Catalan
Tot el camp
és un clam
som la gent blaugrana
Tant se val d’on venim
si del sud o del nord
ara estem d’acord, ara estem d’acord,
una bandera ens agermana.
Blaugrana al vent
un crit valent
tenim un nom el sap tothom:
Barça, Barça, Baaarça!
Jugadors, seguidors,
tots units fem força.
Son molt anys plens d’afanys,
son molts gols que hem cridat
i s’ha demostrat, i s’ha demostrat,
que mai ningu no ens podrà torcer.
Blaugrana al vent
un crit valent
tenim un nom el sap tothom:
Barça, Barça, Baaarça!
In English
The whole stadium
loudly cheers
We’re the blue and claret supporters
It matters not where we hail from
Whether it’s the south or the north
Now we all agree, we all agree,
One flag unites us in brotherhood.
Blue and claret blowing in the wind
One valiant cry
We’ve got a name that everyone knows:
Barça, Barça, Baaarça!
Players, Supporters
United we are strong.
We’ve achieved much over the years,
We’ve shouted many goals
And we have shown, we have shown,
That no one can ever break us.
Blue and claret blowing in the wind
One valiant cry
We’ve got a name that everyone knows:
Barça, Barça, Baaarça!
I still get a thrill from words like Costa Brava, Mediterranean, Barcelona…..I have to pinch myself that I am here. Must be all those years living in rainy cold climates huffing with asthma and being buffetted by sharp winds. By the way, do you see those small beginnings of muscles on my arms? That’s the gym starting to work……more on that later.
So, when I see a vegetable market I HAVE to look round the stalls
And after shopping, I HAVE to have a coffee on the terrace of a cafe.
The sight of a pastisseria makes me HAVE to eat a cake
and when I find a beach with sparkling blue green Mediterranean waves, I HAVE to swim
The taste of Orxata makes me swoon although I could have it every day if I wanted
Duna came too and enjoyed the sea, drinking it by the bucket after a long hot walk with the inevitable consequences later that night
Talking of markets and my excitement when I see one – I took these photos in Granollers last Thursday. I love this one of the men’s arms stretching across a sea of fruit and vegetables
These aubergines looked like a painting
Talking of arms…….I don’t know what to do about Golds Gym. I had a really good session last week and also a more tense one. Depending on who is in charge there is music on Flashfm or a combination of videos and music on CD. If there are videos you get the opportunity to study at close range some of the fantasies of the men in the room. I don’t think you really want to know about this in detail. Perhaps another day I’ll tell you more. But sometimes I am so glad that I am probably the only person in the room who understands the words of the songs!
After one of these not-so-nice sessions I girded my loins to return on Thursday – only the promise that ‘running will make the weight drop off you’ makes me go on days like these. When I arrived the place was almost empty. No videos, no pumping muscles, no stern unsmiling faces to greet me at the door. I did my running – more than 20 minutes straight through. When you get on a roll it feels like you could go on for ever. Like you get into a groove and it carries you along.
No sign yet of ‘the weight dropping off’ me though.
Then, for the first time ever, another woman, who wasn’t Tiffany, walked in. Ok she didn’t look at me or smile and she was young beautiful and slim and dark. But somehow I felt the presence of more oestrogen in the room and it made me relax. I ran another 15 minutes before leaving with more of a strut than my usual scuttle to the door.
When you arrive in the gym this picture greets you
– after that it is all sweat and iron, noise and boys.
Hope to see you next week. We might have to make it a virtual gin and tonic? Not sure where to get vermut in Penzance.
Then we looked at the roses – 5 euros each and all wrapped in what seemed identical plastic covers. They looked nice but I did begin to wonder why some enterprising seller doesn’t start to do it in a different way? Perhaps with a pretty paper wrapping?
We had our usual conversation about the commercialism of most of the main festes here and I do begin to see what he means. Everything ends up being marketed and sold at an inflated price and without much creative imagination. Oh dear – I am feeling a bit jaded perhaps.
The sardanes in front of the Ajuntament were good to watch and I even saw a couple of young men – 17 years old? – dancing with spiky hair and smiley faces. The average age of dancers is around 65 I would say. The music lets you know when to raise and drop the arms! Everyone does little tiny pointy steps without moving very far and then suddenly it all gets faster – but still tiny – and then it slows down. It’s very subtle and because it was banned during times of repression of Catalan culture it is full of more emotion and significance than is obvious on the surface. Something further away from a flamenco you cannot imagine!
The shops are full of Mones de Pasqua – the cakes that are traditionally eaten on Easter Monday and which symbolise the end of the abstinence of Lent
On the way home we got some take-away orxata – the drink that when I first tasted it in Barcelona seemed like nectar from heaven. By this time the clouds were returning and it was too chilly to drink it on the street.
