European Football Weekends

I'd been in Seville for a week, and already fallen head over heels for Real Betis and their underdog ethos. I'd even been made an honorary Bético and featured on their websites HERE and THERE. But I wouldn't be doing my job if I didn't cover their hated city neighbours whilst I was in town, right? It was time to slip into disguise, clip a comedy moustache under my hooter and covertly enter the lion's den: Estadio Ramón Sánchez Pizjuán.

This is the only city in Spain with two teams of roughly equal standing. The local press here often trot out, possibly made up, statistics as to  the numbers of fans each team has - and blow me down if they don't just say it's 51% to 49% one way or the other, just to create a rise and get some debate going. It's a tactic that has served Talk Sport well down the years, no? My cockles had been well and truly warmed here by the fact kids playing in the street - until 2am - wore either Betis or Sevilla replica shirts. Not a Barca or Real Madrid item in sight. Refreshing.

The Thursday before the Sevilla v Real Sociedad match, I stepped out of my apartment on Calle de la Feria and into a street market full of chaps trading football stickers. I'd been told several times that I was in the best district of the town, 'La Macarana' - the working-class heart of the 'real' Seville (beats heart with clinched fist) - and this just about confirmed it. It was the sort of market where one could buy old Sevilla CF season tickets for 50p a pop, and giant Real Betis calculators. I filled my boots, obviously. And if you think this whole paragraph was written just as an excuse to wheel out a photograph I took of some of those Spanish football stickers, then you'd be absolutely correct...



Fast forward two days, and for this match I'd chosen to opt out of the press box and sit with the actual fans. Or to put it another way; the club had turned down my request for accreditation. They said I was welcome to have a press pass for the Valencia match a week later, but that was too late for EFW. Who said 'Sevillista el que no bote' eh? Actually, that was a few thousand Real Betis fans a while back. Actually, I didn't mind not having a pass, and no it wasn't me who had sprayed 'Betis Ole' on gate 32 of the Sevilla stadium, but I was slightly put out that they didn't sell Sevilla slippers in the club shop. 3-0 to Betis on that score by the way.

You do have to hand it to Sevilla when it comes to whacking great artistic mosaics outside the stadium. They've got two at the ground, and both are mightily impressive. Then again, you'd expect nothing less from a city with thousand beautiful buildings. So, if Sevilla can lay claim to the best mosaics at a football ground, then surely today's opponents, Real Sociedad are entitled to raise their hand when it comes to the 'best club badge' category. What's not to like about an old skool football wrapped in blue and white flag. Brilliant.




I paid €35 for my match ticket to sit in with the Sevilla ultras. Their season tickets start from €410 rising to a whopping €3000. They've got 39,000 abonados (season ticket holders) - but they don't always attend every  game because the average crowd last season was 36,489 (80.2% of the capacity). I'm telling you all this nonsense because I spent €6 on Marca's Guide to La Liga, which I charged to the @GTCMedia account, and they'll be wanting a return for that outlay.

The ultras at Sevilla like to think of themselves as 'lefties'. There were a few mandatory Che Guevara flags knocking about - but by and large the rest of the crowd wouldn't look out of place at Arsenal's Emirates Stadium; the sort who might tie a jumper over their shoulder. One of those chaps told me beforehand that Sevilla's new gaffer, Marcelino had booted out most of the dead wood during the summer, showing no less than 13 players out of the door. They were replaced by five shiny new stars, none of whom arrived with a big money tag, though. Real Sociedad's star player is Antoine Greiezmann. He's also their most wanted, and as such should be off by January.




This pre-match conversation took place in Cafe Bar San Pablo during which time we watched Barcelona absolutely destroy Osasuna, 8-0. There were collective shrugs of the shoulder each time Barca marauded forward and scored with ease. Those present in this bar were already resigned to to a race for third place in La Liga and this, just two games into the season. Sigh. That scoreline from the Camp Nou would have resulted in yet more steam pouring from the ears of the president of Sevilla, Jose del Nido; a chap that has described the Spanish league as "rubbish" - the greatest pile of junk in Europe. His outburst had nothing to do with the fact Sevilla are making €100m (€100m) less than both Barca and Real Madrid in the distribution of TV money this season. Honest.

After the relative doom and gloom in of San Pablo, I was spoilt for choice in choosing another bar surrounding the stadium. I opted for La Pitarra because it had been serving beers since 1900, but I could have chosen dozens of others. Or brought along a few litre bottles of Cruzcampo and downed them outside on the streets like hundreds of younger fans were doing.

My seat really was bang in the middle of the ultras on the lower tier of the north stand. I had to stand on that seat the whole game, and inhale the waft of dodgy cigarettes which were constantly on the go. I was fairly high to be honest, but not as high as those 150 away fans that were gathered in the corner of the very top tier in the far opposite corner. A fair turn out from Real Sociedad given the distance and a 10pm kick off.




The atmosphere was ticking along nicely until, after 12 minutes, a chap grabbed a microphone and had his drunken foghorn voice pumped through speakers at the back of our stand. You're not singing loud enough he declared, and that was it; for the rest of the game he sang non-stop regardless of who would join in with his singing or not. It's probably the worst example of a football capo I'd ever seen or heard. And I love noise at football matches.

I recorded him (see below). Let me know what you think. Notice that nobody is joining in with him. He's singing songs along the lines of "We're followers of Sevilla, and we're out of control"

One needs to make the most of visits to the Estadio Vicente Calderón these days. Why? Well, in a year or two from now, the bulldozers are going to move in, flatten the place, and turn it into flats. The Club - whose owners previously stated they'd never leave - will then relocate to a soulless athletics stadium near to Madrid airport. You won't meet a single Atleti fan who thinks its a good idea. This is just the start of their myriad of problems.

Atletico Madrid is simply a madhouse. The two owners; Gil Marin and Enrique Cerezo - who, fraudulently, acquired the club in 1992 - can't stand each other. The fans hate the pair of them as well as a fair few of their players, who regularly leave through a revolving door, as do the managers - 9 in six years for Spain's third biggest club, in which time their trophy cabinet has remained bare.

Did I mention that they are also hopelessly in debt to the tune of €300m? Also (there's more - Ed?), recently, to appease fans who he'd previously tried to buy off, Gil wrote an open letter to them saying 'come along chaps, lets all be mates'. This resulted in a march of 7,000 fans calling for both his and Cerezo's noggins and riot police moving in to disperse those fans. Apart from that everything is tickety boo.

After a week in rural Spain (whereby I'd got myself into one or two 'Littlest Hobbo' type adventures eg cutting up two pigs from start to finish to make about 1000 chorizos) it was on to Madrid to resume normal service - futbol y cerveza. I stopped off in the city of Cuenca en route which is famed for its free tapas. First tapa served up with my opening beer of the day? A whole pigs tail. I oinked my approval, snorted down several more beers and then moved onto the capital.


After parting with the thick end of 50 quid for a ticket at the ground, I popped into the Sport Arena bar next to the clubs impressive museum. In an attempt to clear the clubs debts, they were cheekily charging €2.50 for a caña (less than half a pint) so it was only fleeting visit.

As luck would have it, there are a couple of bars opposite the stadium. The ultras were letting off bangers and fireworks outside the front of one of them 'El Parador' (and this was 3hrs before kick off!), so I opted to go in El Chiscon De La Ribera next door. In here they sold a 'mini' of beer for €6. Mini by name but size of a bus by nature. A mini equates to about a litres worth of strong beer - nice.


Inside and it was good to see that Sevilla had brought along 3000 away fans. They hadn't though had they. This is Spain. Despite the fact the AVE can get you from Sevilla to Madrid in two hours - they had the backing of 20 (twenty!) fans.

It was however rather splendid to see the booze ban being flaunted. Hip flasks were all the rage, as were the odd bota de vino and even a few cans of beer. Three young lads in front of me also had a couple of 'Camberwell carrots' on the go for the duration of the match.

Unlike at the Bernabau, sheets of noise emanate from the stands of the Calderón, mainly from the ultras in the "Fondo Sur" but quite often, everybody joins in and gives their vocal chords an airing.

As expected, Sevilla took the lead early doors with a looping Renato header from a corner on 17 minutes. It was a really soft goal and led to more calls for the board to leave. The score remained the same until a comedy moment just the other side of half time. Diego Forlan was sent racing through one on one with the keeper, who cleared his fairly weak effort, only for the ball to rebound off a Sevilla players hooter and head straight into the net. This resulted in me being swept of my feet by all those around me and a bout of high fiving ensued.

The usual flurry of yellow and red cards followed. Then, just as the referee was about to blow for full time up popped Antonio Lopez (of course Antonio Lopez) and with his noddle, he sent 35,000 into absolute ecstasy by heading in a 93rd minute winner. By now I'd been accepted as a new colchonero and the high fiving had turned to manly cuddles.

For a moment, the long suffering fans of Atleti who are famed for embracing a loser's role and are generally proudly pessimistic, packed up their troubles in their old kit bag, and for once - smiled, smiled, smiled. Not for long though. Afterwards, they headed around to the main stand to protest once more and let off a few more bangers in the direction of the board.

Its always great going to see Altetico Madrid. So good in fact that I'm returning in April for another game. See you there Los Colchoneros!