FC BARCELONA vs MANCHESTER CITY

I arrived in Barcelona staunch in my opposition of soccer as a credible sport. Many times in the past I had tried to watch “the most popular sport in the world” with little enjoyment. After shaking my head in dismay when players would dive, when games would end in 0-0 draws and teams would “purchase” silverware whilst other less wealthy clubs had to settle for a life lost in the sea of mediocrity, I was content not being a soccer fan. I was unaware I would leave Spain 11 days later a hopeless convert, forced to swallow my words whilst proudly sporting my “Messi” jersey striped in burgundy and blue.


An exhibition match between FC Barcelona and Manchester City happened to coincide with our stay and at first I was reluctant to buy a ticket. In fact, I think my exact words were “It’s 50 euro for a ticket and I’m not really a soccer fan.” However, our hostel had pre-purchased some tickets and were selling them for 29 euro, everyone was going, so I decided to get on board. As the week progressed, everything from news outlets to peoples’ conversation was saturated with talk about the football (that word for anything other than AFL still doesn’t roll off the tongue easily). FC Barcelona hysteria was mounting, as I assume it does before every match in this football mad city, and I was slowly but surely succumbing to the hype. After Fearny and I purchased team jerseys on a whim and did our homework about the club on the internet, we were becoming very excited….. Perhaps I was even becoming a soccer fan?


Game night arrived and we gathered in a big group to have some beers and head in to the game together. We were wearing our team jerseys, sporting the colours of FC Barcelona, as was almost every man and his dog in some form or another. We arrived at the Camp Nou stadium to find the game was almost sold out. There were almost 100,000 people inside the stadium and the atmosphere was electric, the whole place had a heartbeat you could almost hear. We were lucky enough to be sitting in the front row and we could almost smell the grass 5 metres away. They made a big procession of introducing the players, the ground shrouded in darkness other than a spotlight concentrated on the player being mentioned. Suddenly the floodlights exploded and the field was as bright as day. Within moments, the opening kick-off happened and the game was underway. We were screaming and sighing in exasperation each time a shot would be fired and missed by the narrowest of margins. One may say we had an unusual amount of team pride for 3-days-young supporters.


The game ended with Manchester City winning 1-0. We were disappointed with the match but the experience was priceless. I had a buzz for a few days to follow and now feel I am one of the many fans of this successful football club. We even left the table at dinner a few nights later when there was another FC Barcelona match on TV. We talked about the team with the waiters whilst we watched as if we had been following their progress for years.




Australian Football will always be dearest to my heart when it comes to kicking a ball. However, I now have an appreciation for the universal code of football and definitely consider myself a fan, perhaps even a supporter.