You can't get a ticket for the Clásico

Well, so I've been told many times during my six years here. And so I've repeated to anyone who's asked. But, I've recently discovered, there are Clásicos and there are Clásicos.

A Champions League encounter? Best to forget it. Unless you know someone. Really know them.

La Liga? Just as unlikely. Even if it's the first of the season and the awarding of titles and medals is a long season away.

Copa del Rey? Again, even a meeting in an 'earlier' round will undoubtedly be well and truly sold out.

Supercopa? What-a-copa?

The Supercopa de Eapaña de fútbol is the equivalent of the English 'Community Shield'. Winners of the cup (Copa del Rey) against the winners of the league (la Liga). So that will be Barcelona against Real Madrid, over two legs, at the fag-end of August just as the season is kicking off and just as many Spaniards are still on their holidays...

I trawl the FC Barcelona website and find that tickets are on sale! To members. My less-than-perfect Spanish is put to the extreme test and I discover that after a certain time, unsold tickets will be available to the great unwashed, the non-member, general public. That will be me. 

So, on the due date, I cross my fingers and toes and make sure my credit card is alive and kicking. There are hundreds of tickets available. Thousands. Tens of thousands. Barcelona offers its members the opportunity to return their season tickets for resale, if they cannot make any particular game. It seems that my hunch about a What-a-copa clásico at the tail-end of August is correct. I grab a couple of seats @ 65 euros apiece, near the corner flag at the front of the middle tier (there are three) and have trouble believing they will be kosher as they chug out of the printer in the back bedroom.

Camp Nou, Barcelona, without doubt one of the best club grounds in the world.

But my doubts are groundless. There is a huge crowd outside Camp Nou more than an hour before the 22.30 kick-off time. (Official attendance was nearly 92,000, capacity 98,000.) But although it is noisy and boisterous and there are a smattering of white shirts amongst a sea of scarlet and blue, it is peaceful and good natured. Nearly everyone seems to have a vuvuzela. (Did I mention it was noisy?)

VIDEO: Barca fans sing their hymn

The first half is cagey, although Barca dominate possession. The second half explodes. Ronaldo scores with a header from a corner. Pedro equalises within a minute. Messi puts Barca ahead from the penalty spot before Xavi scores a third after sublime work from Iniesta. Then Messi has an opportunity to bury the second leg by making it 4-1 but Casillas foils him brilliantly. At the other end, the Barca portero, Valdes, makes a pig's ear out of a simple clearance and Di María puts the second leg on a knife-edge, hauling Mardrid back to 3-2.

VIDEO: Messi puts Barca 2-1 up from the penalty spot 

Final score, now for the second leg. But on the telly.

Game on for the second leg at the Bernabeu next Wednesday 29th August. I zip along to the Real Madrid website. Just to see... But that late Di María strike seems to have made the second leg a 'must-see'. While there are still about 50 seats available, most of them are VIP and the cheapest is 275 euros. 

Think I'll watch this Clásico on the telly.

My tips for this season? Barca for La Liga. (And Madrid for la Copa del Rey!)

A P.S. Real won the second leg 2-1, making the final score 4-4 and giving the cup to them on away goals, 6-5.

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El Clásico

There's nowhere better to watch a clásico (unless you've got a ticket) than our local bar. We book a table. Not to do so would result in a strained neck from having to peer over all the heads in the bar or (worse) looking in through the door or the windows. (We've done this in the past.)

The build-up to a clásico can last months. A couple of years ago, when the TV channel Sexta had the rights, they ran a countdown strap-line on the bottom of the screen. 'Faltan 55 días' (only 55 days to go) it warned viewers. And on and on. Faltan 54 días. Must've been hell if you didn't like football.

It's an 8 o'clock kick-off so we head over at about 7:30. The park outside our flats is heaving in the evening sunshine. Mothers and toddlers, kids on the swings and slide, bicycles and rollerskates, and an enormous game of football. Count the shirts on display as a prediction for the match and it'll be 5-3 to Barca, although Chelsea will also score, as will Manchester United. (Giggs.)

In the bar, if it wasn't set up with huge long trestle tables, knives and forks, napkins, the lot, we'd think we'd come on the wrong night. 25 minutes to kick-off and it's almost empty. Still, the big-screen is on, showing the build-up so we settle in and order some tapas. 

This bar is an 'asador' which means it prides itself on cooking meat. There's a wood-fire on the go in the paella oven but it's being used tonight to barbecue a herd of cattle and a flock of sheep. There's always a leg of ham on the bar in various stages of carving. In the chiller-cabinet there are patatas bravas, queso Manchego, croquetas de jamon, bacalao (cod) and jalepeño peppers and every possible variety of tortilla (omelette). If you can't find anything to tickle your buds here then you'll be hard pushed to find it in any other Spanish bar. 

I nip back out to the park just before 8 and notice that while everyone else still seems to be there, the footballers have all gone. I wonder where?

We're nearly full by 8, but stragglers arrive even as late as 10 past. The atmosphere's good. The shirt count in the bar is 6-4 to Madrid, although seeing as there are settings for about a hundred, it's not as openly 'partisan' as you might have expected. In fact, the conversation around the tables continues (almost) unchecked by the action on the screen. While there are a fair number of 'die-hard' fans watching every kick, there are an equal number of 'fair-weather' followers who are eating and chatting and barely taking notice.

Until Khedira scores for Madrid and half the place erupts.

Half-time comes without further scoring and the bar practically empties (nicotine-break). Spain adopted strict anti-smoking laws 16 months ago and (despite what we predicted) they're fully respected. 

The place seems to get fuller and fuller as the second half progresses and people arrive to catch the last 20 minutes. Alexis equalises igniting the azulgrana ('blues and reds' in Catalán) half of the crowd but almost immediately Ronaldo puts the merengues (meringues in Castillano) back in front.

We're all up on our feet (and straining our necks) for the last few minutes as more and more people squeeze in for the finale. Barca press but Madrid survive. Seven points clear with four to play. Everyone agrees it's done and dusted. The Madrid fans sing a quick 'Campeones, campeones, olé, olé, olé,' but the culés are pretty mellow and take their medicine graciously.

An enormous firecracker goes off in the street outside. If you didn't know better you'd fear you'd been caught in an ETA attack. But no, this is Valencia, so a firecracker is par for the course on a night such as this. Still, I imagine it's pretty tame compared with what's probably going on in Madrid right now.

The bar is close to empty long before we head off home at 10:30 after coffee. As the lift doors open, three lads tumble out and head for the park. They're 8 or 9 years old. The tallest has a ball tucked under his arm. As they skid and skitter down the corridor in their football boots, I read the names on their backs. The short lad is Ramos, dressed in white; Messi (the tall one, with the ball) is in scarlet and blue; the third? Number eleven, dressed in red. Who else? 

Giggs.

They think it's all over?

If you like the blog why not read the eBook? Zen Kyu Maestro, An English Teacher's Spanish Adventure available from Amazon. 
For a free sample chapter, click HERE.