H,B,S, & TOS.... part 2.

The south of Madrid at Sunset... Estadio Teresa Rivero

 Survival. The most primal of instincts.

Madrid. The most primal of foes.  Day in day out, it is awaiting you.  Menacing carniceros (butchers) offering you delicious meats. Angel faced Panaderas offering sweet nothings that make the eyes roll in enjoyment.  Jovial Meseros pouring amber goodness into copas grandes from behind their elegant oak barras.  And I am stuck here.  In the midst of the devils delights.  Donkey Island ain't got nothing on Madrid.  Now if I believed that such evils were out to get me in ill will, I would be flagellating myself more often than Ellen Degeneres dances in an ill-worn pant suit.  But I don't, so I just take it all in like Monstro the Whale.  One Jimminy Cricket at a time.

After the Russians took off back to Bulgaria (where they shake their head for 'yes', and nod for 'no') the flat headed right back into another week of crazy (like there is a different type of week).El Gran Salon went thru the normal week motions: learning English to kids and Adults (Dave and Angelo-->teachers), going to class to catch up on some sleep (Valerie--->Engineering Student), or just not going to class and learning more than usual (Alex---> Econ Student) The weekend speeds up on you with some big plans.  Number one, My first Spanish futbol match.  "Vamos Rayos!!"

Estadio Teresa Rivero sitting next to apartment buildings and tiendas.


 My friend Robin, previously from Camp Esgaravita... if you're keeping up... invited me to see a Rayos Vallecanos match in the south of Madrid.  We head up from the metro mouth which puts up about 10meters from the stadium entrance.  The stadium sits directly in the middle of a neighborhood, much like the famed Wrigley Field in Wrigley-ville.  Robin tells me a little history of the club.  Apparently, this club is situated in a more liberal part of town and during Franco's reign it was a place where the sentiment in the air was less than accommodating to the dictator.  One form of protest comes in the form of sport.  The Rayo Vallecanos have been a voice for the anti-fascist movement for years and the setting doesn't seem like it is changing soon.  The anti-fascist Madrid punk band, Ska-P, has even named a couple songs after the group of futbollers.  Look it up.

Recap:
Rayos Vallecanos laid a beat down on the visiting Real Murcia.  A two-nil final with Rayo striking early in the first 15' and again in the 90' just to cap off a dominating night.  The futbol hardly crossed the midfield stripe into Rayo territory.  I doubt if Real had more than 3 shots on goal.  Now that we know about the actual match, lets talk about the best spectacle of the match: The Hooligans.

 No one forgot their banner...Why?

Now I'm using this term loosely.  Its more like the superfan section.  Comparable to the student section at an college football match, except bigger, louder, rowdier, and soooo much more Spanish.  The flags they bring are not pennants.  They are FLAGS.  Ten foot PVC pipe draped flags.  The strong-but flexible pipe allows the holder to spin the flag wildly as they add their voice to the constant raucous.  Are there complaints to"put the flag down your blocking my view"... ha... that my get you a Spanish boot to the midsection... but that would never happen because you are already 3 liters deep and waving your own ridiculously huge Pipe-Flag.  

Because no one forgets their banner...

The chants are not chants, but Battle-Cries involving the entire 20,000 spectator crowd, none of whom are here to support the visitors.  I look around to see my Spanish neighbors and as they yell back at the 'call and response' the superfan section has started, I can see that they have been coming here week in and week out for the better part of their lives and I wouldn't find it hard to believe that each one of them did their time down in the superfan pit. 

At one point the superfan area splits in two sections, right down the middle.  The crowd is now completely in the aisles and each side is yelling and screaming at the other.  The Flags are then thrown into the middle, where there is now empty bleachers.  After all the flags pile in the middle, a battle-cry match ensues, seconds later... the two sections charge each other in Braveheart fashion screaming and yelling in a thrashing mosh pit.  The stakes, who brings the flags to the next match, I am assuming.  A minute of battle and the crowd is back to its previous state of cheering and hooliganing...  No real harm done as they are all on the same team, but it proves the kind of mentality these fans are in as compared to their American counterpart.  Like comparing Christian Bale's Batman to Adam West's...

Birthday song time

After the great match, Robin and I head back to the flat where I start to whip up some real Mexican Chicken Tacos, with real spice... (Cue Gabe, Why Not?) for Dave's Big B-day.  The flat starts to fill up with friends and family ( who are one and the same here as an Ex-Pat).  And to spice it up, throw in two French gals, a Romanian damsel, a Norwegian chick, and a Swiss maiden. Bake for 20-25 minutes and let cool. Liters are passed around as the Tacos are devoured.  Laughs, Stories, and Music flow thru the flat.  The lights shut off and votive candles are placed on top of the banana bread which is used as cake.  We all have a raucous night and good times were had by all until eyes fell black or until the metro opens at 6.

We relax for a few days, but there is no rest for the weary.  Alex's B-day is coming up in two days.  And if you don't know the routine by now, you're just not paying attention.  More to come... keep coming back for more fun.

The day after

-Angelo A. Austin

"I may have said the same thing before... But my explanation, I am sure, will always be different."
-Oscar Wilde