football

Barça-Celtic

~ Kate Wilson ~ 3 Comments

I was quite surprised when the Resident Adolescent agreed to accompany me to see this match in Camp Nou. It was us alone – just us – noone else to help or hinder us. It’s not like we are great friends. We’re not big enemies either but you know how it is with a 17 year old especially if they are not your own son?  The step mother/son relationship is not always easy and has a huge heavy weight of baggage attached to it. Too many unexpressed emotions and not enough shared experience to carry you over the humps. Then there is the teenage  refusal to communicate.  How on earth are you supposed to make friendly contact when you are creatures from different planets?  And we had never been out together alone before.

Well, perhaps going to see Barça play at Camp Nou might bring us together.

Amazingly, we had a great time. We travelled by train and metro and foot and stopped off for a drink and something to eat. You have to talk a little when you are sharing a patatas bravas!  We chatted.  I overcame my shyness enough to ask relevant questions about discos and DJs and exams and football and he overcame his enough to answer and even smile.
I didn’t retreat behind my Kindle and nor did he behind his mobile phone.
Success!
We had great seats, right behind the corner so we could see Messi and Xavi close up

We were surrounded by kindly good-natured Barça fans except for two feisty Glasgow wifies sitting behind us who bravely chirped “Cel-tic  Cel-tic” every time that the crowd bellowed “BARÇA BARÇA”

The only false move I made was to scream and shout when Celtic got the first goal.
‘Sorry! I know I embarrassed you. But I couldn’t help it’.  He was mortified but too polite to complain.
For a few golden minutes Celtic was in the lead at Camp Nou

Afterwards as we walked away from the stadium it was me who felt embarrassed. Somehow the loud drunken chanting and bravado of the defeated Scottish fans, although harmless, seemed immature in comparison to the quiet chat of the Barça crowd.  It’s not that they are quiet during the game – our neighbours kept up a constant steam of oathes whenever it seemed that Barça was doing badly.
I learnt some new swear words although in the main it was the usual, puta mierda, collons, Ostia, cony. But after the game – friendliness and calm.

In the bar before the match one green and white clad Glaswegian fan insisted on shaking hands with all the men at this table of Catalans. ‘Good luck to you all’ he said as he pumped each arm.

So it’s not lack of good will that makes the Scottish fans seem edgy and pugnacious but perhaps an excess of alcohol?  Or is it just a different football culture?  Or insecurity?  Or that strange inferiority complex that can afflict us?   It feels like an anger that can easily bubble to the surface – something in the tone even of the chants.  I can’t imagine ever wanting to go to a football match in the UK – the seam of aggression that lies below the surface would scare me but I don’t feel that fear at Camp Nou.  As I have said before, Scotland and Catalunya – not really that similar.

Barça – Glasgow Celtic

~ Kate Wilson ~ 2 Comments

Look at this!

I went up to Barcelona today to get the tickets and to check on the route. We had paid on the internet but ‘for security reasons’ you can’t print out the tickets at home. Tomorrow I need to accompany the Resident Adolescent to hospital for a check up and it leaves us very little time to arrive at Camp Nou, let alone have to collect the tickets so I decided to go up to town and get them first.  The football game will be our first outing together – just us two as his father is working!

From Granollers I took the train to Sants then a metro to Badal and a 10 minute walk to the stadium.
There were lots of Scottish people around, wearing green jerseys and looking at home.  Normally in the UK I’d run a million miles to escape football supporters but somehow here in Camp Nou they seemed more human and friendly.
I don’t fancy meeting them after they get a few drinks inside though.

I picked up the tickets after a fair bit of faffing around in the wrong queues and at the wrong gate. The place to pick up pre-ordered tickets is just inside Gate 14 and there are no signs leading you there.
Afterwards I did the journey in reverse, noting down times and deciding that if we catch the 7.30 train tomorrow we can just make it to see the opening of the match.  I took the metro from Collblanc on the way home which I think is slightly closer.

Now to decide what to wear to the match.  And who am I supporting?  It feels really interesting to have this match now – with all the Scottish Catalan connections around independence.

Should be interesting.

PS After I got home the hospital rang and cancelled the appointment – so we can leave early and catch the beginning of the game. Yippee!

Three Golden Balls

~ Kate Wilson ~ 3 Comments

Congratulations to Lionel Messi for winning his third Balon D’Or which names him the top footballer of the year.  True to character he said in his acceptance speech that he would like to share it with Xavi, his team mate from Barcelona FC.
He’s not only the best but the most easy to like footballer that I know. Watch him speak and see him smile and you know he is intelligent as well as funny and charming. He’s only 24!

If you are like me and don’t know what the Balon D’Or is then here is the explanation.
If you’d just like to see him in action then try here.  I love watching him run with the ball – and look at his long hair!

Football Crazy

~ Kate Wilson ~ 3 Comments

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‘