Ree-ahl football

Of the four football clubs I know, one is in Madrid - the others being Arsenal and the Manchester teams. So while in Madrid, on a Saturday, I thought it would be cool to catch a Real Madrid game if it was cheap enough. Spanish fans are supposed to go nuts, and I was going to miss the UCLA-USC game (which I now know we lost, ending our streak at 1) and wanted to be around football fans - even if it was soccer.

The home team was set to play Real Racing Club de Santander (just Spanish league, not Champion's), so I checked up on them to see what color I should avoid wearing so as to not look like a Racing fan (which they say as Rah-seeng).

I got a bit worried looking at that Wikipedia page because my new (and now only) sweatshirt is grey with bright green stripes. Here is Racing's away jersey:

It's been cold enough to see your breath all day long in Madrid for the past few days, so even I need to bundle up for a game that starts at 8 pm. "I may get killed at a Real Madrid game tonight," I thought. But I'd die warm.

Friday night I had been chatting with a few Americans who are studying in Spain, visiting here for the weekend, and I mentioned my thoughts on the game. Their faces lit up, because they had been thinking about it all day and we decided right then that it was on.

The four of us (Kate opted out - too cold, uncertain and probably expensive) set off for Estadio Santiago Bernabeu to find that all 80,000+ seats were sold out. But everywhere there were shady guys offering us tickets. Luke was leary, having heard horror stories about fake World Cup tickets, but they looked legit enough to me.

¡¿€30?! (which is the sticker price) No, €10, Robert tells him in Spanish (they all spoke better Spanish than I did, so I just listened and chimed in every so often). The guy, rather indignantly in Spanish, tells us we can go watch the game on TV for €10. Es verdad, so we walk to one of the other dozens of guys frantically trying to sell tickets to a game that started 5 minutes ago.

Four for €80? Yeah, alright. As we hand over the cash, two Spaniards walk by and one laughs and says, in Spanish, "You won't be able to get in." We don't get too worried (Erica did a little) and head up to the gate. We have to go in Gate D, which is half way around the stadium. The guy who tells us this starts to close Gate B.

Oh. I get it now. The tickets are real, but they won't let us in this late. We sprint and despite losing a KitKat from my pocket (give me a break, pocket), make it in as they're closing up.

We find our seats (well not really, we gave up when we found our section and just sat on the steps in the isle with the three guys dressed as Santa) and as I look around worry leaves me. I'm in a sea of green (but there was no sky of blue or a yellow submarine). We were in the Racing section. I fit in. Was welcomed and hi-fived as I sat on the cold cement for most of the first, and all of the second half.

Unlike the Bruins in the Rose Bowl yesterday, the home team won. It was a shootout of sorts, 3-1, with a lot of saves by both goalies and I was not at all surprised how much more enjoyable it was live compared with on TV. The hits were harder, the passes more impressive, and the shots more nerve-racking. But that's every sport, which is why I did it here. That and, come on, when's the next time I can see a Real Madrid game?