“This is what love does: It makes you want to rewrite the world. It makes you want to choose the characters, build the scenery, guide the plot. The person you love sits across from you, and you want to do everything in your power to make it possible, endlessly possible. And when it’s just the two of you, alone in a room, you can pretend that this is how it is, this is how it will be.”
Love flies across half a country, an ocean, and a bit of Europe. Love leads you to a small university in a huge city. Love exposes you to a feeling of home like you’ve never known it previously. Love has you swimming through the rivers of Spanish that are the Madrid streets.
All that but about: Football. It’s not soccer. You play the sport with your feet and a ball, not your hands and an egg. Football.
When it’s just you and the hum of thousands of yelling fans and a few guys on the pitch. The intimacy of love and the loudness of a crowd, the thrilling of a lover’s touch (the same as watching the perfect pass made between players you know by name). The rush of being amongst those that understand.
With a low-alcohol-content drink in your hand.
Sheer nirvana.
These little boys (orange vest, white sweater, blue vest) were SO invested in a match I attended. It was the last regular season match against Grenada- a subpar team- and the boys were living for it. They new all the players on sight (from up in the bleachers), could talk about what kind of season each player had had, what you could expect of them, what they were like as members of the team. The eldest was 7, max.
It made my heart ten million kinds of glad to have these wee commentators sitting behind me. Also, my ovaries were like I WANT.
Football is a Huge deal in Spain. Hell, football is a huge deal in EVERYwhere that isn’t the US of A. If you’re going to be in Spain, the home of beautiful people playing The Beautiful Game, you should know a thing or two.
I chose Madrid as my study abroad home specifically because of Real Madrid, one of two major teams in the city. The other major team is Atletico Madrid.
There is another smaller team called Rayo Vallecano. The city of Getafe is also incredibly close to Madrid, and they too have a professional team.
Sure, fine art is great, but let’s be real: sporting events are where its at.
Love provides. Love soothes. Love had me using bar hopping money on match tickets. Love had me screaming at the top of my lungs when your team is playing a team that they’re already stomping, but every point matters.
This is the Sanitago Bernabeu, the stadium that El Real plays in. This is home to a lot of football fans. A bit of a pilgrimage for fans of the team that live abroad.
This photo is from the day I bought my first tickets to a live match from their ticket windows. I felt high and happy.
Real Madrid have won 11 Champions League trophies, a great feat. Most recently in the spring of 2016. This creates a lot of buzz about the city, and the parades to celebrate huge trophy wins like this are WILD.
If it’s El Real bringing home the hardware, the parade ends at the fountain in Cibeles.
(Traditionally the team wears all white kits (uniforms), thus earning them the nickname Los Blancos.)
Love lifts you up where you belong. Love gives you wings (or something like that). Love leaves you awake in bed thinking about how you could never end up with a Barçelona fan.
Real Madrid’s major rival is Barçelona FC and a couple of times a season the have matches referred to as El Clasico.
The rivalry is bitter and the tempers flare around the game, a scary but alluring example of the flame of love football burns.
A few years ago, there was a dead body found in the river that runs through the city– the Manzanares– after a Real v Atletico match.
Football is not to be fucked with in Spain.
As we all know, love sometimes makes us do stupid things.
Love heals. Love repairs. Love joins in on the fun. Love shares the sorrows. Love recognizes parts of us and says, “me, too.” Love sees unfamiliar things and seeks to understand.
So here’s some of the team those little boys love…
Cristiano Ronaldo– Arguably the best player in the world right now (I sure as hell think so), won the Euro Cup this past summer with his home country Portugal.
A figure that causes a lot of debate, incredibly high-scoring, models underwear.
A forward, which means his position is closest to the opposing team’s goal. The only position closer is a striker (Karim Benzema on RM’s team).
Sergio Ramos– The love of my life and the theme of most of my security passwords.
Used to have long, luxurious hair, now keeps it cropped.
Regularly made fun of for taking bad penalty kicks, team captain, famously dropped a trophy off the roof of a bus.
Defender, the position closest to his team’s own goal. Works in conjunction with the goal keeper to block shots.
James Rodriguez– Cutie pie from Colombia, lead Colombia deep into the World Cup tournament 2014 which is where he stated he’d like to play for Real. They fulfilled his wish.
Young and will hopefully serve the team well for years.
An attacking midfielder, which Ahem is a position in the middle of the field, who tries to score points/push the ball towards the other team’s goal.
Zinadine Zidane- Used to play for the team, now he coaches them. He was a beloved player in his time at the club, and now he has the opportunity to be the kind of coach people light candles TO not FOR in the city’s cathedrals.
(Catholic joke)
Real has had more than their share of coaches that required candle lighting for.
Love may not be a drug, but it can certainly get you high. High off the thrill, the drama, the suspense, the reward.
Fall in love in Madrid.
“Far from the world we know/ where the clear wind blows.” #VamosBlancos
Get Lost 