Barcelona

Final score: RCD Espanyol 3, Villarreal 1.

I have been fortunate to attend a number of soccer matches, including the World Cup (1994) at the old Stanford Stadium, where I saw Brazil overpower Russia, and more recently, a spirited Irish League of Premier Division match between Galway United F.C. and Drogheda United F.C., on a rainy (surprise!) night at Eamonn Deacy Park in Galway last July.   Add to this one or two (albeit rather somnolent) MLS games, at various venues in Northern California, and I thought, in the aggregate, I would be prepared for the atmosphere in Cornella El-Prat, about 10 kilometers from Barcelona city center.

Candidly, and perhaps as to be expected, knowing that I would be traveling to Spain an FC Barcelona match was my first choice.   Unfortunately, as I was planning my itinerary, it was impossible to fit a Barca match, and a visit to the prodigious Camp Nou, into it.  In fact, while in Barcelona, Barca would be playing in Valencia, ironically my next destination, in a 10-day whirlwind tour of Spain that would ultimately end in Madrid.  Matches are typically on Saturdays and Sundays, further limiting my options.  Thus, scouring the La Liga schedule, and my itinerary, I triangulated on Espanyol and Villarreal, conveniently not more than hour by metro and foot from my apartment rental near Las Ramblas.  At that time, RCD and Villarreal were numbers 7 and 13 (out of 20) in La Liga’s Premier Division, but it was early in the season, all but a few of the teams were bunched together, and a win (3 points) could move a team 5 or 6 spots in the standings.  Put otherwise, this, like most La Liga matches, would be competitive and close.

Purchasing the tickets was the first part of my adventure.  Ultimately, I opted for seats at the midfield line, three rows up from the pitch.  Seats a little higher would have probably afforded a more expansive view, but, based on experience from other sporting events, namely the outer courts of Wimbledon, it is almost impossible to appreciate the speed and skill of any professional game, without being courtside (or really close to the pitch).

After an uneventful metro ride to Cornella Centre, we followed a mass of fans for about twenty minutes through a maze of streets until, turning the corner, RCDE Stadium appeared, like the Emerald City in the Wizard of Oz.  Bars teemed with RCD (and perhaps a few, brave Villarreal) fans, making final preparations for the game.  After intermittent rains in the morning, the October skies had cleared, for a perfect Sunday evening on the pitch, light winds, temperature in the mid-60s, with hues of purple and streaks of orange in the darkening firmament.

Our first stop at the stadium was the gift shop, where we purchased RCD gear, namely a jersey and a scarf.  Regrettably, I did not buy anything for myself, but perhaps there will be another visit (or at least a visit to the online gift store).

We found our seats, as the teams were completing their warm ups.  While the 40,000-person stadium was not full (likely only games with the cross-town rival, Barca, accomplish that), ours, and other sections, were.   As the match commenced, so did the cheering, encouragement, and helpful suggestions.  Based on my rudimentary Spanish, not all were positive, but this was as expected and part of the experience.  As a former (recreational) player, and (AYSO) coach, likewise, I could not contain myself after witnessing a seemingly obvious flop called as a penalty, a questionable off-sides call, or the shots on goal that missed, but by the smallest of margins.  While my language was less colorful, the excitement and emotions were all the same, transcending national boundaries and cultural differences.  A bad call is a bad call, and a tremendous save is a tremendous save, anywhere in the world.  While 6,000 miles from home, at that moment the world seemed small (and manageable).

While, as intimated above, not a soccer neophyte, I was still astonished by the speed and precision of the game, the creativity and artistry, as RCD scored the first goal, and Villarreal evened the score right before the end of the first half.  Crisp passes, down and across the field, touch passes, breakaways, pure flow, culminating in a shot on goal, a near miss, a collective gasp, another shot, on target, and then GOAL!  Jubilation, invariably ephemeral, ensued. A friend, who had seen a professional soccer match in Rome earlier this year, compared it to the opera.  I agree.  Both are performances of the highest caliber, continuous but for intermission or half time.  While some may disagree, the Spanish style of football is perhaps even more fluid and artistic.

With the go-ahead goal in the 79th minute, RCD’s odds of winning increased greatly.  A final goal, in stoppage time, capped the victory.  The teams shook hands, and we took our time leaving our seats and exiting the stadium, savoring the experience and planning our next La Liga match.

Comments welcomed.