The End of an Era

"Xavi se despide del Barça por la puerta grande"

I always figured this moment would come sooner than I would hope.  The day my favorite athlete, my favorite footballer, would stop playing for my favorite club.  He's not retiring, but he is pretty close.  He's moving to another country, to another league, but thankfully for all the right reasons.  It's something to be optimistic about, anyway.

I've posted about my feelings before.  And to be honest, it's not something that I feel adequate to talk about right now.  I'm going through a lot right now on a personal level and I've stopped writing like I used to.  My thoughts don't flow as smoothly, my mind is a mess, and nothing makes as much sense.  But I feel like I somehow owe him something in his departure.  I feel like I need to say something about this man, because of so much he's given me.  And it feels so weird to say.  Awkward, even.  I've never met him.  I doubt he even knows I exist.  I'd be shocked if he did, really.  And to be honest, I don't even really care that much.  But none of that matters in the end.  What matters is that this man, this footballer, has given me so much.  He's brought me back to a place I never thought I'd be in, he introduced me to a whole new world, a whole new culture, to the extent that I honestly do feel like I know him.

The sad part is that the last couple years I've been so busy trying to take care of my life, trying to make something of it that I let things fall by the wayside.  I ignored the things I loved thinking that one day I'd come back to them, only to be chewed up and spit out by the very life I thought I wanted to live.

At the end of the day, the story is this: seven-and-a-half years ago I was planning my first trip back to Spain in almost four years.  I was getting back into football, if one could ever say that I was ever into it, and found a name that popped up on a roster for the Spanish National Team during a Eurocup qualifying match.  I recognized it from nearly nine years prior.  "That couldn't be the same guy...could it?"  It was.  What happened next sent me spiraling into a world that I'd only marginally known existed.  And what ended up happening was that I would end up taking a trip to Barcelona with some friends, sitting in the nosebleeds at Camp Nou, watching 90 minutes of beautiful football that would turn out to be a precursor to the legendary season that gave FC Barcelona their first treble.  And who would score the first goal in that match I saw on a May afternoon in Barcelona but the man who essentially forced himself into my life.

From that point on, I found myself immersing myself in Catalan culture.  In the language, history, and culture of a nation I barely knew and understood and would find myself defending.  I found myself within months being able to converse in it, and by the time I would return to Barcelona two years later I was told by native speakers, Barcelona locals, that they had no way of knowing I'd never lived a month in Catalunya.

So here I am, finding myself trying to figure out what's going to happen next.  It sounds trite, and bizarrely dependent on sports to find some kind of meaning in life.  But here's the truth.  And everyone who follows football knows this to be true.  Football is more than just a sport.  It's more than what American football and baseball and basketball and hockey purport to be.  Football is so much more than that.  I'm not even going to bother defining it.  It means something different for everyone, and that's what makes it the Beautiful Game.  But I honestly don't know what's going to happen now that Xavi no longer plays for FC Barcelona.  Oh, I'll still follow Barcelona.  That club has become such a huge part of my life I will never be able to let that go.  And I'll still plan my next trip to Barcelona, and I'll still speak Catalan, and I'll still support Catalan independence.  But it won't be the same.

I know he's off to a better place.  Not Qatar per se, but knowing why he's going there...to play the game at a level that Barça isn't letting him play at anymore.  To play a more managerial role so that he can segue into coaching, so that within the next five years we'll see him coaching at the Miniestadi and subsequently at Camp Nou.  So that, who knows, given the streak Barcelona's been on with 1st-year 1st team coaches winning trebles, he'll go on to win one himself.

So to this I say, in the language of his people:

Gràcies, Xavi.  Gràcies per tot.  Gràcies per tot el que ens has donat i pel que ens tornaràs a donar.  Ets tota la llegenda que mereix aquest club i tota la persona que necessitàvem.  Gràcies per ser la persona que has sigut.  Molta sort al teu futur.  Mai t'oblidarem.

The Story of a Jersey

This is my Xavi jersey.  I bought it in November 2008 from the FC Barcelona official online store.  It's women's cut, with shorter, cap sleeves and a deep v-neck, and is taken in at the waist, so it hugs my body nicely.

It is also the last Barcelona jersey that I bought.  I bought it thinking that I'd be buying one jersey a season, and oh how wrong I turned out to be.

It's probably my favorite article of clothing that I own.  My favorite team, my favorite player.  It looks good on me, it feels good on me, and I've had so many memories made while wearing this shirt.  When I bought it, I had no idea that this would be the season we'd win a treble.  I bought it during a time we weren't doing that hot in the league, we hadn't even played Real Madrid yet, and even Xavi was still far more underrated than he is now (you could argue he's not underrated at all, but I guess that depends on the circles you run in).  He hadn't even been nominated for a Ballon d'Or/FIFA World Player yet.

With this jersey, I've seen Barcelona beat Real Madrid 2-6 and 5-0.  I've seen them sneak past Chelsea to score a goal in the 87th minute to qualify for the Champions League final.  I saw them win a treble in this shirt.  I met up with a guy I had a massive crush on while in this shirt and we talked about football for a couple hours.  I visited Camp Nou in this shirt, and got cat-called to cries of "Visca el Barça!" and "Visca el Xavi!" in this shirt.  I've been on delayed and cancelled flights in this shirt, and I've been in three different countries in this shirt.  I wore it when I went to Manhattan to meet up with my best friend in person for the first time to watch the 2010 Champions League final as she donned her Real Madrid jersey.  I wore it to watch Barcelona games at a bar in Toronto and felt like I gave Xavi an extra stroke of luck whenever I wore it because he scored in three out of five matches I went to watch in this shirt.  Hell, 95% of the Catalan I know I learned while owning this jersey, not to mention that I spoke with some of my favorite radio people in Catalan while wearing this jersey.

I'll be honest.  I still want to get another Barcelona shirt when I have the money.  But whenever I look at this one, and think of all the things I've done and seen while wearing it, I can't help but wonder if this is the only jersey I need.

I love this man

I just need to dedicate a post to this man.  The man who should win the FIFA Ballon d'Or even though the player who keeps beating him out for it is inarguably the best player in the world.  The man who makes the best player in the world so great.  The man who makes the best team in the world so great.

The man who makes this sport so great.

(I know I'm like a week late with this, but eh.  Who cares.)

In which I ramble pointlessly about sports

I've always had a love-hate relationship with American football.  That sport that hardly anyone outside North America follows unless they're American, drawing ridicule from hardcore rugby fans and Association Football fans who can't figure out why it's called "football" when it's not even played with feet (hint: it's because the "ball" is a foot long), much less a ball.  And rugby fans think it's a wussy version of their sport, simply because the players actually wear padding.  Being a big fan of Association Football myself, it almost feels like the two sports have to mutually exclusive, as per the whole "football" vs. "soccer" nonsense (FYI, both are valid: "soccer" is a shortened form of "association football", and the term was coined in, yup, England).

Silly people...

I found this on my Tumblr dashboard earlier today:

When I Hear the Name "Barcelona"...

I think of every single player on that team
Heart Rate Speeds up.
Light Headed.
MESSI.
Red and Blue.
In Love.
Greatest thing on this planet.
Greatest thing that has ever happened to me.
THE GREATEST TEAM.
There’s no definition for the love i have for Barca.

Okay so.  Let me begin by saying no one is wrong here.  I feel like I should make that disclaimer because, well, I like to say people are wrong a lot (sorry in advance...and in retrograde).  But that's not what I want to talk about here.

Because I'm just going to say this, I am a culé.  I do support FC Barcelona as my football/soccer team of choice.  I do.  But here's the thing.  Barcelona is a city, not a football club.  Sure, it has a world-class football club and a world-class football stadium that is amazing and enormous and beautiful and everything else.  It also has another football club, which may not have the renown as their cross-town rivals Barça, they have a very loyal fanbase and a legitimate claim to the city (yes, I'm talking about Espanyol).

Here's the thing though.  When I hear "Barcelona", or when I see it written on bags and elsewhere in print, I think of the Passeig de Gràcia, the Torre de Collserola, the Passeig de Sant Joan.  I think of the metro station at the Estació de Sants.  I think of the Palau de la Música Catalana, the Liceu, Casa Batlló, the Sagrada Família.  I think of Sants (featured at the top of this post), I think of Poblenou, of the lower Dreta de l'Eixample.  I think of the time I got lost on the tram and ended up in Sant Adrià de Besòs and ended up not caring because I was lost in Barcelona.

This is the city I first fell in love with in 2004 when I saw the Sagrada Família for the first time in my life, when my family walked down the Passeig de Sant Joan till we got to the Arc de Triomf...and then walked back to the Sagrada Família where we'd parked our car.  It's the city I fell in love with again in 2008 when two friends and I spent five days there, and again in 2010 when I spent six days there by myself.

This city is magical, and not just because of the football club.  Yes, I'm a fan, but this city means so much more to me and the people who live here, who go through every single monotonous day in this city.  I feel like all this blog is a defense of Barcelona and how much I love it, but who cares.  This city has changed my entire life.  And yes, FC Barcelona is a great club.  But it pales in comparison to the greatness of the city that houses it.  Because that's what's really important here.  It's not the club, it's the city.  It's the great city of Barcelona.  Let's not forget that.

Oda al Pep

Let's just take a moment to appreciate this man right here on the left.  Josep (Pep) Guardiola i Sala.  Born in Santpedor, Barcelona in 1971.  Joined FC Barcelona as a "tween", and who has spent just about his entire life dedicated to this club.

On Saturday, he managed to become the youngest coach in football history to win two Champions League titles, but that's just the tip of the iceberg.  In 1992, he was a part of the Barcelona side that beat Italian team Sampdoria at the same arena, Wembley in London.  This was his third Champions League trophy in his life.

It’s a Great Time to be a Culé

*Note*  If you support Real Madrid, you may not want to read this.  Just saying.  Figured I should warn you in advance.

So just in case you’re not at all up to keeping up to date in the football (Association Football that is, aka “soccer”), these last three weeks have had as a protagonist the “classic” match-ups between Real Madrid and Barcelona, the biggest clubs in Spain, and probably one of the biggest sports rivalry on the planet.  Considering how big football is on every continent (with a slight exception of the countries of the USA and Canada), I wouldn’t be surprised if it were the biggest.  But moving on, these last three weeks, ending yesterday, featured not one but four of these match-ups.  One of the league match, held at the Santiago Bernabéu in Madrid, the second for the Copa del Rey final at the Mestalla in Valencia, and the final two for the Champions League semifinals in the respective stadiums of the two sides: first in Madrid at the Bernabéu, second in Barcelona at the Camp Nou.

 

A “Spanish” “National” Team?

I find it hilarious when people (clueless and naïve people mostly) claim to be offended whenever someone, anyone, makes a suggestion that “Catalonia is not Spain”.  Whether it’s someone simply speaking Catalan, like Andrés Iniesta is doing now on Facebook (the Spaniards who are upset about this make me laugh more than anything else; he can use as much English as he wants, but  he use Catalan which is a similar language to Spanish and therefore not that hard to decipher if you’re reading it on the internet), with the case I mentioned back in my “Visca Catalunya Lliure!” post in February with the coach who walked answer a question in a press conference because he refused to answer a question he was asked in Catalan in Spanish, or, more recently, with the comments that Gerard Piqué, a player for FC Barcelona, allegedly made after the clàssic two Saturdays ago at the Santiago Bernabéu in Madrid claiming that on Wednesday (last Wednesday) Barcelona was going to win “your King’s cup!”

I’ll concede that, if the statements were true (Piqué denied them over Twitter, and it was Madrid paper Marca which printed them, and they’re not known for being discerning when it comes to the content of their paper, but Piqué could have easily just made the post to save his own arse), they were certainly not made tactfully.  But at the same time, why are people offended?  Is it because of how he said it…or is it because of what he said (allegedly)?  Are people offended at the fact that he addressed the crowd at the Bernabéu telling them that Barcelona was going to win a title which they didn’t even believe in (Barcelona, as Catalunya as a whole, was on the side of the República during the Spanish Civil War and thus did not believe in instating any kind of monarchy), or is it because he was being an ass about it?  Maybe it was both?

A Case of the February Blues, Football-Style

So I guess I’ll talk about football (“soccer” for North Americans, just to clarify).  While I’ve been in Canada with my family I’ve had little opportunity to watch matches, mostly because internet service, for being Canada a so-called “developed” country, is pretty shabby up here, especially on weekends.  My computer freezes with the weak internet, and I’ve only been able to watch the few games I’ve either been able to leave the house for, such as the November 29th clásico (the Spanish term for “derby”, especially in reference to the match-up between Real Madrid and FC Barcelona, one of the biggest, if not the biggest, rivalry in the sport) and the last Champions League match in the round robin stage between Barcelona and Rubin Kazan.  So I regretfully haven’t been able to see much anymore.  Basically, I really only know what’s going on anymore because of Twitter and the sports press.

Thankfully, my team (Barcelona) has been having yet another brilliant season.  We’re five points ahead of the “eternal rivals”, Real Madrid, at the top of the league, and we’re still in the running for two other championships.  In April the King’s Cup final will be played against Real Madrid (the first time they’ve been in the final in 21 years…a match which was also a Barcelona-Madrid match up; the last two seasons they were eliminated by Second Division B sides in the first round), and the Round-of-16 in the European Champions League just kicked off this week.  It could be another treble for Barça, a repeat of the 2008-2009 season.

Since my house has been without internet for a little over a week now I really have no idea about what’s going on in the football world anymore, but given the fanbase of this sport, I can’t say I’m complaining too much.  To be honest, I’m thisclose to closing all my social media accounts and just saying “screw it” and only talk about the sport with my family, who doesn’t get caught up in the drama and the pithiness that seems to revolve around the (predominantly female) fanbase.  I need more guys to talk football with, really.  Anyway, for the last week and a half I’ve known nothing about what’s going on in the football world.  I’m actually okay with this.  For the last few matches I’ve been told the scores, like today’s loss to Arsenal in the final ten minutes, and Saturday’s draw against Sporting Gijón, ending our 16-match winning streak (a Liga record; and we finally got a result other than a win away).

Now, I have no idea what other Barcelona fans are saying.  I’m not connected right now as I type this, so my opinions are solely my own and “unpolluted” so to speak.  But here are my thoughts on both of these results for those who care to read them.