Copa del Rey
15 May 2009In getting to travel to different parts of the world, and experiencing sporting events along the way, I have had the good fortune to experience moments that bring goose bumps to my skin and open my eyes to the international sporting world. Recently, Barcelona played Atletico Bilbao in the finals of the Copa del Rey, which is a competition of Spanish teams from upper and lower levels all across Spain. The tournament allows for teams to fight for silverware that normally wouldn’t have a shot. Since it’s a competition with lower level teams, you would think Barcelona would always win it, and the fans wouldn’t fully appreciate the tournament.
Try telling that to the Barça supporters.
Several friends and I went to a watching party near Plaza Reial, off of the famed Las Ramblas, in the city center. As game time came near, the streets of Barcelona were empty and the air was quiet. I found this initially odd as I wondered where the fans were. But when the opening whistle blew, I knew what the reason was. Everyone was paying attention to the game at their homes or in Plaza Catalunya just north of Las Ramblas. The television showed thousands of fans crammed into Plaza Catalunya, waving flags, and singing songs. Chanting became so loud, that at one point we couldn’t hear the TV.
Barcelona went on to win the game 4-1, as diehard supporters poured into the streets to celebrate. That’s when I realized I wasn’t in the USA anymore. What followed, blew my mind.
After waiting some time to let the masses clear, we decided to leave and head toward Plaza Catalunya to catch the night bus. On the walk up Las Ramblas, we were shocked with the scene. Trash cans were turned over in the streets, potted plants were broken and thrown down, and people could be scene throwing trash and beer on the ground and screaming at the police that were trying to control the situation. As my roommate and I headed up Las Ramblas, a policeman stepped in front of her put his baton up to her face and harshly told her to turn around and go the other direction. “We need to get to Plaza Catalunya to catch the night bus,” she exclaimed. “How do we get there?” The policeman said, “You have to turn around and go a few streets over because we are not letting anyone go any further up Las Ramblas.”
We felt like we were in a war zone, with people running from the police and the police sirens blaring all over the city. Once we arrived at Plaza Catalunya, police were everywhere trying to control the situation. The plaza was ransacked with trash and there were fires in the street. At this point, the only thing on our mind was getting out of there. With the grave situation, the buses stopped running, and we were forced to flag down a taxi.
Once in the taxi, we still feared for our safety, as people could be seen throwing beer bottles and toppling trash cans in the street. In one intersection, the cab driver had to maneuver around two separate fires that were burning using trash. My roommate and I looked at each other, not saying anything.
“The people are crazy in the streets,” I said to the cabbie. “This is only the final of the Copa del Rey. What will happen if Barcelona wins the Champions League.”
“You don’t want to know,” he said.
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