Witnessing ‘El Clásico:’ the world’s greatest sporting rivalry | Column | Columns | Opinion | Daily Collegian
Before I entered the stadium, the noise was deafening.
The roar of the crowd could be heard on the stairs from the subway to the street. Thousands of fans flooded the streets around the Santiago Bernabéu.
It was a stream of 100,000 people, facing each other in every direction, but everyone shouted the same curse into the night air.
“Puta Barca, Puta Barca, Ay, Ay!”
Last week I took part in one of the most famous rivalries in sport: Real Madrid vs. Barcelona. The eternal enemies met in Game 1 of a two-game series in the Copa del Rey semi-finals.
The rivalry has been a tradition for 121 years; It predates the World Cup. It’s appropriately earned the name “El Clásico” and for football fans it doesn’t get any more classic.
El Clásico has always been the highlight of every football fan’s calendar.
The game will be played between the sport’s two biggest clubs, who have traditionally filled their squads with the very best talent money can buy or who can nurture their respective youth academies.
The rivalry has been a testing ground and crowning glory for some of history’s greatest players. It’s always been an opportunity for someone to seize their moment and become a legend.
The last decade of El Clásicos was marked by the rivalry between former Barcelona man Lionel Messi and his former Real Madrid top scorer No. 7 Cristiano Ronaldo.
But the days of Messi and Ronaldo-led Clásicos are over and it’s entirely possible that the world will never see the two in the same place again, with the former playing at Paris Saint-Germain and the latter in Saudi Arabia.
The rivalry has changed significantly since I first watched as a kid. There are many new faces filling out every list.
When I watched my first El Clásico, Barcelona midfielder Xavi led his side to great wins against Los Blancos. Now the club legend commands his team as a coach from the bench.
While Xavi may not be able to harm Real Madrid on the pitch, the madridistas will never forget their former tormentor.
I made my way through the crowded streets surrounding the stadium, patrolled by police in full riot gear and ambulances at every corner.
What I didn’t realize was that the majority of the police weren’t focused on the stadium, but on a gathering of ultra supporters in what was called “La Previa.”
On one of the streets leading to the Bernabéu, an even denser horde of fans moaned and raved under the light of red flares that filled the night sky with fluorescent smoke.
As I squeezed in, I was showered with beers and thrown around by the fans who pushed and shoved as they sang their songs for Madrid.
As I worked my way out of the frenzy, I heard thousands shouting, “Xavi muérete! Xavi muérete!“ (Die Xavi! Die Xavi!)
This rivalry goes far deeper than sport.
This manifestation of a political division has roots in the founding of modern Spain. The two cities of Barcelona and Madrid represent two different Spains.
A city is the capital and home of the monarch. Real Madrid means “Royal Madrid”. Los Blancos, nicknamed for their traditional all-white uniforms, are the King’s team.
Historically, Barcelona was an industrial center and more blue-collar in its ideals. The city is a bastion for Catalan independence and separatism from Spain at large.
During the Spanish Civil War, Barcelona was one of the last bastions of the republic against the fascists, who eventually took over the country in the form of a military dictatorship.
Dictator Francisco Franco chose Real Madrid as his team. This is not a legend to sell tickets. That history is literally woven into the fabric of these two clubs.
Today, Barcelona always have a small Catalan flag (red and yellow stripes) sewn into the design of their traditional Blaugrana kits (blue and red). In some years, Barça even wear full red and yellow striped shirts.
Madrid doesn’t bother with subtle ones either.
The king’s crew has a crown on top of their coat of arms. Madrid’s white kits are usually accented with gold and purple – the colors of royalty.
This is a battle of ideologies. This is a political stalemate – a war between Castilians and Catalans.
This is so much more than a game and there are no bad seats at the Estadio Santiago Bernabéu in Madrid.
Ticket sales opened on Madrid’s website on Monday morning last week. In the middle of my Spanish Architecture History class, two friends and I dropped $220 to sit with nosebleeds watching these two giants go head-to-head in the semi-finals of the Spanish Cup.
Outside the stadium was wild madness, but inside was football heaven.
The playing field glowed emerald green that night. A fast and physical game was underlined by technical and tactical brilliance.
On TV, every tough tackle or brilliant moment is muted a bit, but in person, even from the upper tiers of the stadium, every touch of the ball shines all the brighter and every foul all the stronger.
Perched over the pitch, 81,000 fans sang and chanted together to goad their team, berate the referee and mercilessly demoralize opponents.
Every call that went Barcelona’s way ignited the madridistas’ fury, and every foul against the home side was met with booming shouts and whistles.
Children sitting on their mothers’ laps screamed to cheer on their favorite players – ‘Vamos Vinny!’ – or to tell trampled Barcelona players to get back on their feet: ‘Levantate! Levant!”
Barcelona managed to suck the life out of the stadium. The away team scored first and with a superior defensive performance, the Blaugrana shut Los Blancos out of their stadium.
A tiny fraction of Barça fans (the home team only allows a small group of fans to each game) rejoiced in their team’s victory and sneered at the Madrileños.
Before the end of the game, a stadium official announced that the visiting fans would remain in their seats after the game until the police deemed it safe to leave the Bernabéu.
Leaving the stadium, there was a murmur of bitter disappointment as Madrid fans had to wait until the second leg of the semi-final to exact revenge on their rival.
As a Penn Stater, I’ve experienced incredible atmospheres at Beaver Stadium every fall weekend. I felt our avalanche of noise pouring through the canyoning ranges and out onto the field.
But the Beaver Stadium experience is packed with specially curated songs led by a stadium crew who blast “Zombie Nation” through speakers and cheerleaders to introduce “We Are” chants.
After the kick-off at football matches, the stadium loudspeakers go silent, and it becomes an affair between fans and athletes.
The game was special. It quickly became clear why this game is the crown jewel of all football and this rivalry is undoubtedly unique in all of sporting competition.
It is natural. It’s spontaneous. It’s El Clasico.