The first time I went to a football stadium was in the season 98/99. Valencia had won La Copa del Rey and Mestalla opened that everyone could welcome the champions. The folkloric song of the moment “Probe Miguel’’ was sounding. I was 6. From that time I don’t have many more memories. My parents have never been football enthusiasts. Álex, my brother, is who inculcated me this passion.
In 2019, Valencia CF turned 100 years old. Against all odds, they arrived to the final of La Copa del Rey. It was disputed again in Seville, against the almighty FC Barcelona. The score was 1-2 for Valencia. 20 years later we did it again. 20 years later ‘’Probe Miguel’’ sounded again.
20 years later I was there.
Football, as life, are stages. Most of the times, grey stages. Maybe some black. But when you reach the light, that precise instant is capable to endure beyond time and space.
I’ve never been good at playing. Nor bad. But it’s not the best thing I do. I have a too scattered mind to store names of players, tactics or scores. But when I enter a stadium I understand what it mean for the thousands of supporters that surround me. Football is (sorry for the believers) like going to church on Sunday: you have been two hours there, but the message stays for all the week. And like in every good mass there are rituals.
I am capable to feel if I am in tune with a football field just after climbing the stairs that get me to the highest place of the stadium, where I most enjoy watching the games. And when that happens, I think that the best way to pay homage is in analog.