How La Roja Made Me Love Fútbol Again

My first experience with Spanish fútbol was a Fútbol Club Sevilla game in September 2007. My grandma and I melted like butter in the sun and got seats high in the grada, next to a man who spilled over his seat and shouted COÑO every time the rojiblancos lost possession of the ball.

Helen asked how I liked it, and I pined for Hawkeye Football.

For me, fútbol was little more than an excuse to get some friends together to drink beer and casually comment on a game. I had played as a kid for years, hanging up my shin guards to focus on school and gymnastics in 2000, years before Spain’s national team was even on my radar.

In the summer of 2008, however, I spent my months missing Spain and working at Banana Republic Factory Store. My boss, Erik, approached me one July morning with a proposition: Work my 90 minutes of break simultaneously and call with updates. What updates?

The Euro Cup tournament had begun, and my boss assumed I’d be interested in watching it.  I obliged, and found it was me who was then yelling COÑO and TIRA, COÑO and ME CAGO EN LA MÁ! as Spain battled Germany in the finals. After 90 grueling minutes, la Furia Roja came out on top, a taste of what to expect in South Africa two years later. I was impassioned.

Xabi. Iker. Piqué. All part of my vocabulary. I played Wave Your Flag for my students Friday on the opening day of  the 2012 Euro Cup and tears pricked my eyes as I remember watching countless games and scheduling my social calendar around them during the World Cup – US, Mexico, Germany and Spain made up the countries of nationalities of la familia, and we ate guacamole at Juan and Marco’s while cheering on Mexico, found a beach bar to watch Spain-Uruguay and convinced Kirsten to not wear any black, thus giving away her German heritage before they lost to Spain in the semis. I once even watched a game by myself, back against the wall, just to not risk missing the first ten minutes to return home after work.

When I walk into Plaza María Pita in La Coruña, I remember the excitement leading up to the final. Carrying a plastic bag full of cold beers, we waited hours for the square to fill while Waka Waka was played on repeat. With the crowd ebbing and flowing with every corner, card and kick, we all found ourselves at different points of the plaza. At minute 82, I told Lauren I would rather pee my pants than miss the last few minutes of a tied game. As I squatted over a toilet where I didn’t even bother to turn on the light, an eruption occurred. I rushed out to see if someone had scored, pants still unbuttoned.

In the end, an extra 30 minutes was tacked onto the game. Nerves were tense as people around us hugged us in close. No one spoke. Tikitaki. Back and forth went the ball. Iniesta in from the right side. Strikes. Past the goalie’s hand. straight into the net. As Reina put it, “He wrote the script for our success.” Spain had brought faith to a country in the midst of its worst economic crisis, had united a nation in the name of balompié. I felt like I was a part of the greater picture, swept up in the craze and into numerous hugs and high fives from strangers (including the defeated Dutch).

Two years later, I’m with Inma cheering on La Roja as they play a friendly with China. The game isn’t especially interesting, but it was the last time they’d play before their debut in the Cup this evening with Italy. I cheer the chants loudly enough to lose my voice, straining my neck around someone in front of me with a goofy hat to see the corner kicks. Explain to Inma what fuera de juego means and why cards are given.

Finally, after five years, I have found a way to move past my need for tailgating and Gary Dolphin, and I feel that La Roja is my Spanish team to believe in.

Euro Cup FAQs:

The Who, What, Where: During the month of June, 16 qualifying teams from across Europe will go head to head to determine the continent’s best football club, with the final on July 1st. Poland and Ukraine are sharing the hosting duties this time around.

Spain’s Desafío: Be the first team in history to win back-to-back-to-back Eurocup (2008), World Cup (2010) and Eurocup (2012). Apart from being a team of depth, La Roja’s players don’t play with their egos to feed as they do in the national league. Spain is grouped with Italy, Ireland and Croatia and plays their first game tomorrow at 8:45 pm against the azzurra from our Mediterranean neighbor. Teams to watch are the usual heavy hitters: England, France, Holland and Germany, two of whom were teams Spain beat during their World Cup run.

Spain’s Schedule: Spain plays its fellow group members in the first round: Italy today at 8:45 pm, Ireland the 14th at the same time and Croatia on the 18th. The two tops teams of the division will duke it out in the quarterfinals on June 23rd. The winner will be decided on July 1st at 8:45 pm.

Who are you rooting for?

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Maria Pita: Hace Un Año

This is Plaza Maria Pita, the central square of La Coruña, the city I’m residing in this month.

When showing my teachers around the town today, we stopped in the plaza to marvel at the grandiose town hall, the colonnades and patrons the bars finishing their pulpo a la feira. A beautiful, open space that channels right out to the port on this seaside city.

But I remember it like this:

One year ago, I was with a crop of other teachers decked out in red and yellow, Spanish flags adorning our faces. I’ve always said that one thing I will do in my lifetime is see the Olympic Games in person (I shelled out 15 euros to see the Olympic Museum in Lausanne afterall!), but watching your resident country win the World Cup is an experience that can’t really be jotted down in a journal, pecked out on a blog. I got that feeling again today when visiting the square.

It’s amazing how sport brings people together. I spent hours in front of TVs in bar, watching matches and crossing my fingers that Pulpo Paul was right all along. My low expectations for America meant I was rooting for the other home team, along with the countries represented by the rest of the familia: Germany and Mexico.  We all came together for something greater than ourselves, something that was a bright spot in a few dark years for Spain.

It’s been a whole year since Iker hoisted the trophy above his head. In that time, I’ve become an official resident of a country that now feels like home, so I feel that my bliss in Spain’s W was merited. I still think back on that night, one in which I jumped in the iceberg-cold Cantábrico just because I was so happy.

I like to think of Maria Pita just like that.

Mucho Betis, eh!

They say there are three great fan clubs in the world of sports: Barcelona FC, Real Madrid and Real Betis Balompié. All Spanish football teams, though Betis is in the second tier of the league. Despite this, Er Betí is the team that people follow with devotion and continue to fill up their stadium.

José María is a socio, a season ticket holder, and he invited me to come as his guest to watch the Betis-Valladolid game. I had it clear that I would follow Betis, despite having lived in Valladolid for a short time in 2005. But whenever anyone asks what team I support, I can never really make a decision.

You have to understand that there are two teams in Sevilla. In one corner, in red and white, highly ranked Sevilla Fútbol Club in the Northern end. In the other, the verdiblanco of Real Betis. One has scored titles, cups and has a trademarked theme song. The other is full of cutres, frikis and very few pijos. I went with the underdogs this morning and met JM for the walk from our neighborhood.
Los verdiblancos were out in full force heading down to the stadium. There’s something like 95.000 socios throughout Spain and the stadium receives an average of 35.000 spectators per game. Once inside Estadio Ruíz de Lopera, a massive stone fortress named for the current president of the club, I got a glimpse of the afición bética: there wasn’t a single purple shirt in sight from the visiting team, young kids wore issued Betis get-ups and there were chants and claps echoed off every corner of the stadium. We sat in the 16th row, close enough to see the players sweat and curse at the ref under their breath.
At two minutes to 12, the rickety loudspeaker system announced Valladolid´s line up. Realistically, this game was supposed to be a top-tier game for the second division, as Valladolid has the highest number of points, followed by Betis. The eleven names were met with boos and whistles. When the verdiblancos took the field, the mascot, Palmera (name of the street the stadium is located on), took a lap around the field, provoked by olés after each players´s name. The fans on the south end of the field held up green and white flags and led the crowd in the hymn, various chants and hand clapping movements while the other fans twirled either their shirts or green and white scarves above their heads. Rolls of toilet paper fell around us as the kickoff started.
Now, Betis isn’t exactly a well-stacked team and didn’t play well in the first period, but the amount of noise made me think otherwise. The socios around me screamed SONOFABITCH every five seconds at the ref’s calls and stood up every time a ball rolled out-of-bounds or Betis was close to scoring. Zarzuelas sounded and every lull in play was met with a clamoring clapping sequence to animate the team.
Valladolid scored about 35 minutes into the first half, Betis soon after and again off a golazo header. I soon got bored with the game and decided it was more fun to watch a game in a bar with a beer in hand, but was impressed with the devotion to the team. Not a single person looked bored, not one didn’t let a commentary escape from their lips. I have yet to decide whether I prefer Sevilla to Betis or vice-versa, but for now, Viva el Betis manque pierda!!
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