As I got closer and closer to the stadium, the blue and garnet builds. First on the platform, then on the subway itself, the team spirit rises with each stop on the L-5 as more and more fans clad in team colors boarded for the short journey west on the blue crosstown line.
Disembarking at Collblanc station, our little train full of the faithful pours into the street, everyone dressed the same, like a river meets the sea.
Now, the colors are everywhere—but not exactly how I pictured it. As a veteran of many NFL and college football games in America, I expected some sort of a tailgate party. Maybe not barbecues and corn hole, but a large pregame celebration of the team and the occasion. Instead, here, in true Spanish style, the “Culés” gathered all along Travessera de les Corts in tiny little bars. The roar from each of these tiny establishments rose as I made my way, block by block, closer to that famed stadium.
European Football in Barcelona
I was in Barcelona, ready to enter Camp Nou, a massive colosseum where almost 100,000 people cheer the home side. Futbol Club Barcelona was founded back in 1899, and since then has become one of the most legendary clubs in association football, or soccer. Over the years, it has won a total of 75 trophies, including 26 national La Liga titles, and beat the best teams on the continent with five triumphs in the UEFA Champions League.But it’s more than that—and I could see it on the backs of the team shirts as I entered the stadium. By far, Robert Lewandowski’s number “9” was the most pervasive; he, the team’s current star and one of the finest strikers alive, has scored more than 600 goals in his storied career. But other, older jerseys paid tribute to some of the greatest players of all time, all of them alums of the team, including the mercurial and unforgettable Diego Maradona, the Brazilian showman and playmaker Ronaldinho— who only needed one name—and Lionel Messi, who played on so many championship squads and brought the club some of its most memorable moments.
But beyond players, this team—its fight, its legacy—has become a point of pride for reasons that transcend sport. Taking my seat in a cramped, completely full row at the front of the stadium’s third deck, I saw the flag everywhere: nine alternating bars of yellow and red, with a five-pointed star on a blue chevron.
It’s the Estelada—the unofficial flag of the Catalan independence movement.
The official motto of Barça (as they’re always called by fans) is “Mes que un club,” or, “More than a club.” And indeed, for decades Catalans have poured their passion for independence into the team. During the Spanish Civil War (and beyond), Camp Nou was one of the few safe spaces for people to speak Catalan. Chants, including those of “Independencia!,” rise when the game clock hits 17:14—as in, the year 1714, when the troops of Philip IV defeated Catalan forces. Matches against Real Madrid Club de Fútbol, from the capital city and the heart of Castilian Spain, are particularly fierce.
Barça Victorious
The game was a good one—if you were cheering for Barça. Their opponent on this day was Villarreal Club de Fútbol, a top-tier team that’s having a poor season. Barça controlled the play from the start, keeping the ball almost exclusively in the offensive zone. The goals came in a flurry, a total of three in a short span, the first two notched by the standout number 9, Lewandowski. The first was something of a surprise, but the second was a thing of beauty, the striker sailing a long kick into the top of the net, the twine ballooning back almost in slow motion. It was an unforgettable moment, the stadium literally shaking as the Culés, as the supporters are known, raised a full-throated celebration.A 3-0 lead in soccer is basically a blowout, and at halftime, I had expected fans to stream for the exits. But they didn’t, despite the complete lack of a halftime show. It’s much different than the spectacles you’d see at an NFL game, here literally nothing happened on the field for those 15 minutes between the halves—the sprinklers came on for a bit, then a few players trotted onto the field and kicked the ball around, lazily.
As the second half wound down, almost everyone stayed in their seats. The chants continued, full-throated and unabated, from the supporter’s section behind the west-side goal, flags waving with the same enthusiasm as the first minute of the game. Yes, everyone knew that the home side was going to win this one. But it felt like this event meant more—it was a chance to be together, to feel the warmth of this communal spirit, to agree, to enjoy, and to celebrate, right to the final second. And nobody wanted it to end, just yet.
