the entire country of spain gets crazy today. real madrid v. FC barcelona. its like the yankees and red sox play twice a year, and the history between the two teams involves wars, fascism, riots, etc. so it's big here, mas grande as they say. here is a short diary of the match...
impossible to get a cab, the concierge waved his hand and said 'easy!' ... would like to give him a smack now. the cab line is 40 people long, and these poor bastards are going to miss whatever engagement their trying to get to. but i'm smart, so i walk past la rambla, past la placa de catalunya, to gran via del les corts where i hook a left and walk , trying to find a cab. my mission is to hit the stadium, and party with the good people of barcelona, who are in the midst of the closest thing they have to a holy war. i am walking. i am walking west, the map in my mind tells me this is the general direction of the stadium... walking... walking... im covering lots of blocks, i must have put 10 miles on my feet today, and i am extremely thirsty. the match starts, and i am in the street. i walk past a cafe, and realize this is how the spanish do it. they sit around, yell at each other, plow through the plates, drink a little.. they are way more interested in food than getting lit. i walk past a cafe when a huge noise erupts... it seems like some guy on FCB got tripped in the box, and he gets a free kick. people are going nuts, anticipating him punching it in... a good thirty seconds of close ups on his face, along with a nervous goalie. finally he approaches the ball, fakes left, and scores in the right side of the net. 1-0 FCB. people are going nuts now, screaming, singing ole ole ole or some such shit... i turn around and continue my trek to the pitch, horns are honking everywhere at the placa de la universitat . in the plaza i see a vague flash and have a 20 miliseconds to register that this means incoming mortar fire --- a loud explosion follows, and i realize that when the spanish light fireworks, you better watch your ass.
i contine to walk, hailing cabs, police cars, civilians, anything that seems remotely similar to a taxi. no luck.. i hear an angry spaniard scream something out his window -- he is not happy and im pretty sure he said "kfjskjdf ksjdkjsd puta skldjsjkd akjsd". i am confused and vaguely uncomfortable and 10 other barcelonans are screaming out their window now. one car honks... real madrid has tied the affair 1-1.
i find a cab, tell the man i want to go the stadium and he seems puzzled. he takes me there in the awkward silence that comes from having such a small intersecting word space. i ask him to drop me at a cerveceria near the stadium, of which he says there are many. we get there... silence. rows of police trucks looking like they just broke up something serious or are waiting for something serious to be breaken up. i walk more, no bars. ok, a few tight places where people are talking and not focusing on the game. they are wearing jerseys but are sitting down, intent on finishing the pig on their plate. no bars, in the anglo manner. no people pissing on the street. it's very quiet and dark. i expected wrigleyville and i got west rogers park. i approach the stadium in eerie silence. vague discomfort again washes over me, along with hard hitting isolation and sore feet. i realize that this is not what i expected, i come across the collblanc metro station and head back to la rambla, where i know of a couple places to stand and watch.
by the time i arrive there is like 3 minutes left in the match and it's still 1-1. i understand that i am intimately tied to this match; FCB will only score while i watch and i havent watched much , so they havent scored .
i am back at my hotel, remarkabely sober for my journey , so i spark one up (the australians were resourceful as well as friendly) and watch the game end in a draw.
a goddamn draw!!!! it's like the game never fucking happened.. are you kidding me? imagine the red sox and yankees playing to a draw .imagine getting so geared up for a game that you plan your month around it... and then, it just ends, unresolved, the equivalent of saying , "ahh , nevermind." calling this anti-climactic would be generous. anger, despondency, violence, joy, elation, hatred, tears -- these are emotional responses to some sort of event. how do you respond to a non-event. a shrug? a pat on the back? all i have to say is that i'm happy i didnt drop major euros to try to get into this game. cause these spanish would see the pressure drop ...
