€40-€80 Getafe!? Put a lid on it

Getafe CF 1-0 Valladolid (03:01:10)

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Like all good clubs, Getafe CF were formed by five blokes in a pub. Messrs Garcia (nimble fingered acoustic guitar plucker), Olavaria (bull-fighter), Lozana (castanet player), Vergara (tapas lover) and their (sangria drinking) cousin Miguel Frances announced the formation of the club in 1945 - yawned - and then made a further announcement that they were off for a siesta. Ole! Ole! Ole!

I wanted to seek out that very establishment, namely "La Marquesina" bar before this match. However, due to an over indulgent lunch in Alcorcón celebrating their fine win over Real Madrid Castilla earlier on in the day, I didn't have as long as I'd hoped to explore the countless delights that Getafe has to offer.

As it was, there was an eerie silence around the largely deserted streets around the Estadio Coliseum Alfonso Pérez an hour or so before kick off. It soon became apparent as to why this was. Match tickets were priced at €40, €60 and €80! There aren't many people around these parts who can afford such ludicrous prices. Hence Getafe have the worst support in La Liga in terms of numbers. Another case of mod€rn football eating itself.

Got any scarves mate!?

€40-€80 = empty seats.

After parting with €40 (what else could I do?) for the cheapest ticket, I thought I'd cheer myself up with a drink across the road from the ground. A "mini" of strong beer - which equates to roughly a pint and a half - was ordered in 'Al Pan Pans' bar, which was swiftly followed by another one. Well, I was on my holidays.

At the ticket office, I ran into a couple of old friends from Dortmund, Germany. They were over in Spain to watch BVB training (!) in Marbella (!), a six hour drive away (!). As you do. They weren't happy either with the price of the match tickets and were trying to plot a scheme to find a cheaper way to get in.

I'm not one to harp on about the actual match itself on these pages, which in this instance is just as well. 90 minutes of pretty average football was played out to a fairly mute crowd of around 8,000. It looked more fun in the away end as a small but merry band of Valladolid fans were amusing themselves. I tried to get in their section but my attempts were foiled by some bored security staff.

Leg-knack for Valladolid.

Alright mate. Bit cold are we!?

I met the owner of this banner. She is 1x loon. Shouts (alone) for 90+ minutes.

New year, same old floodies obsession.

Aways fans present at Spanish game shocker!

Rotund man enjoys close up of corner action.

Incredibly, for a Spanish game there was a disappointing amount of yellow cards dished out by the referee - only four. Sports newspaper Marca has a whole page dedicated to this very issue every Monday. They call it 'La Otra Liga' (the other league). Don't hold your breath though; goodie two shoes duo Barca and Real Madrid are top of that as well. In the Segunda Division over the same weekend; 96 yellow cards and 11 red cards were shown in just 11 matches. (good research dude - Ed).

The highlight of the match - aside from swinging a fast shoe to Franz Ferdinand, The Killers and Supergrass on the extremely loud PA at half time - came in the 82nd minute when Casquero headed in to give Getafe their first ever win in an opening match in a new calender year - EVER!

Gol!

Towards the end of the game, I caught up once more with the German lads. Word has it that if you hold your nerve - then a minute or so before kick off - €25 in the palm of the gateman sees you in, no questions asked. You ain't seen me right and let me get this straight: EFW does not (publicly) promote the idea of slipping someone a few quid on the quiet to gain cheaper entry into a ground.

So that was my Spanish EFW over with in terms of the football. Three matches in 19 hours, taking in Atletico Madrid, Alcorcón and this match. Afterwards, I headed back into central Madrid on the metro and celebrated my good work with a some fine wines and quality cheeses. Feliz Navidad and no mistake.

Click to enlarge and expose the shoddy photographer..

...and again. I can't quite get these right (try drinking less - Ed).

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Atletico Madrid v Sevilla

Pack up your troubles in your old kit-bag and smile, smile, smile


Atletico Madrid 2-1 Sevilla (02:01:10)

- click on photos to enlarge image -

One needs to make the most of visits to the Estadio Vicente Calderón these days. Why? Well, in a year or two from now, the bulldozers are going to move in, flatten the place, and turn it into flats. The Club - whose owners previously stated they'd never leave - will then relocate to a soulless athletics stadium near to Madrid airport. You won't meet a single Atleti fan who thinks its a good idea. This is just the start of their myriad of problems.

Atletico Madrid is simply a madhouse. The two owners; Gil Marin and Enrique Cerezo - who, fraudulently, acquired the club in 1992 - can't stand each other. The fans hate the pair of them as well as a fair few of their players, who regularly leave through a revolving door, as do the managers - 9 in six years for Spain's third biggest club, in which time their trophy cabinet has remained bare.

Did I mention that they are also hopelessly in debt to the tune of €300m? Also (there's more - Ed?), recently, to appease fans who he'd previously tried to buy off, Gil wrote an open letter to them saying 'come along chaps, lets all be mates'. This resulted in a march of 7,000 fans calling for both his and Cerezo's noggins and riot police moving in to disperse those fans. Apart from that everything is tickety boo.

After a week in rural Spain (whereby I'd got myself into one or two 'Littlest Hobbo' type adventures eg cutting up two pigs from start to finish to make about 1000 chorizos) it was on to Madrid to resume normal service - futbol y cerveza. I stopped off in the city of Cuenca en route which is famed for its free tapas. First tapa served up with my opening beer of the day? A whole pigs tail. I oinked my approval, snorted down several more beers and then moved onto the capital.

My cousin-in-law Victor and I (shirted up) cut open Guti...sorry a pig in Salinas del Manzano.

After parting with the thick end of 50 quid for a ticket at the ground, I popped into the Sport Arena bar next to the clubs impressive museum. In an attempt to clear the clubs debts, they were cheekily charging €2.50 for a caña (less than half a pint) so it was only fleeting visit.

As luck would have it, there are a couple of bars opposite the stadium. The ultras were letting off bangers and fireworks outside the front of one of them 'El Parador' (and this was 3hrs before kick off!), so I opted to go in El Chiscon De La Ribera next door. In here they sold a 'mini' of beer for €6. Mini by name but size of a bus by nature. A mini equates to about a litres worth of strong beer - nice.

Sport Arena bar next to the museum. Expensive beer not pictured.

El Chiscon De La Ribera - 2.5hrs well spent in here before the match.

Still love Torres (tick), still hate Real Madrid (tick).

He (Kun) was injured unfortunately so this is all I saw of him. Might have left by the time you read this anyway.

Atleti v Real Madrid Subbuteo. Yours for just €50. Those debts won't pay themselves!

Inside and it was good to see that Sevilla had brought along 3000 away fans. They hadn't though had they. This is Spain. Despite the fact the AVE can get you from Sevilla to Madrid in two hours - they had the backing of 20 (twenty!) fans.

It was however rather splendid to see the booze ban being flaunted. Hip flasks were all the rage, as were the odd bota de vino and even a few cans of beer. Three young lads in front of me also had a couple of 'Camberwell carrots' on the go for the duration of the match.

Unlike at the Bernabau, sheets of noise emanate from the stands of the Calderón, mainly from the ultras in the "Fondo Sur" but quite often, everybody joins in and gives their vocal chords an airing.

As expected, Sevilla took the lead early doors with a looping Renato header from a corner on 17 minutes. It was a really soft goal and led to more calls for the board to leave. The score remained the same until a comedy moment just the other side of half time. Diego Forlan was sent racing through one on one with the keeper, who cleared his fairly weak effort, only for the ball to rebound off a Sevilla players hooter and head straight into the net. This resulted in me being swept of my feet by all those around me and a bout of high fiving ensued.

The usual flurry of yellow and red cards followed. Then, just as the referee was about to blow for full time up popped Antonio Lopez (of course Antonio Lopez) and with his noddle, he sent 35,000 into absolute ecstasy by heading in a 93rd minute winner. By now I'd been accepted as a new colchonero and the high fiving had turned to manly cuddles.

For a moment, the long suffering fans of Atleti who are famed for embracing a loser's role and are generally proudly pessimistic, packed up their troubles in their old kit bag, and for once - smiled, smiled, smiled. Not for long though. Afterwards, they headed around to the main stand to protest once more and let off a few more bangers in the direction of the board.

Its always great going to see Altetico Madrid. So good in fact that I'm returning in April for another game. See you there Los Colchoneros!

Scarves aloft in the Fondo Sur.

And again.

Hip flask sneaked in (tick).

Duscher receives his marching orders.

Programme anyone? Obviously not.

Indi the mascot sticks his tongue out at the lino. Heh heh...

Twenty Sevilla fans (top left) make the effort. Fair play to them. Shame on the rest.

Atleti players have a cuddle. It was minus 2 degrees to be fair.

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Mallorca

Real Mallorca 1-1 Real Madrid (05:04:08)

I raised an eyebrow when my wife asked if I wanted to visit some friends of hers who she hadn’t seen for 15 years on the Balearic island of Mallorca. I raised a second eyebrow when she said they lived a stones throw from the ONO Estadi, home to Real Mallorca. Upon finding out that during our stay Real Mallorca were playing at home to Real Madrid - I raised both eyebrows, threw my arms aloft, and dived in with both feet.

Before visiting Alberto and Isabel, we spent four days in the Tramuntana mountain range of the island. Based in Sóller we walked everyday and ate and drank like both were going out of fashion. I’d no real idea of how beautiful Mallorca was beforehand but if you like good food and walking as I do it’s a perfect destination.

The night before the match we met with the family who frankly couldn’t have been nicer. We’d brought along a couple of football shirts for their two kids which went down well, as did several bottles of wine during a long evening of mirth and hilarity.

On match day - or this case match night as with this being Spain the game didn’t kick off until 10pm - we headed to a bar, which rather amusingly was called ‘Depression’. It turned out to be anything but.

In Mallorca the Spanish tradition of cañas (small beers) doesn't really apply. Pints at 2 euros apiece flowed freely as I met with pals of Alberto’s who made me feel very welcome - once I told them I didn’t support Real Madrid.

One of his mates was a German chap from Wolfsburg which gave me a good excuse to wheel out one of footballs great stories. You know, the one about the ex-Wolfsburg manager whose name could not have been any more apt – Wolfgang Wolf.

I got into the match for nothing. Just before I entered the ground a Real Mallorca season ticket was thrust into my hand, and before I had time to think about what had occurred I was sitting in the third row behind the goal. Nice job.

The ground is a symmetrical save for a roof on the main stand. At either end there are two semi circular all seated stands, and two very steep banks of red seating which run alongside the pitch.

Fans of football grounds worldwide look away now when I tell you that the ground also has two words which make every football fans heart sink to the depths of despair. Deep breaths now -around the pitch it has a ‘running track’. Nooooooooo!

The game itself was fairly entertaining. Real Madrid dominated the early stages. They took the lead after a mazy run, and then pass from Robben which Sneijder converted. Real Mallorca equalised with a Ronnie Whelan type curler into the top corner by Borja Velero.

It between all sorts of hell broke loose. Spanish football followers will tell you that referees and officials are biased towards Real Madrid in pretty much every game. This game was no exception. Real Mallorca had a perfectly good goal disallowed and were denied a blatant penalty after the ‘hand of Canavaro’ stopped a cross in the penalty box.

For the neutral this was great fun. Out came 20,000 white handkerchiefs following each decision. Cries of ‘Asi, Asi, Asi gana el Madrid’ rang out across the stadium which basically means ‘like that, like that, like that win Real Madrid’. All around me, formally passive and laid back people were losing it – marvellous scenes.

The atmosphere wasn’t quite as bad as I’d been led to believe it would be beforehand. To my left there were a group of ultras, who Alberto told me were probably Argentineans who lived on the island. To my right the crowd were occasionally stirred by a huge chap with a red face who is known by everybody as ‘Big Billy’.

Big Billy is from England. He wears a replica shirt with the number 100 printed on the back which was given to him after he’d attended his 100^th match. In a world exclusive, I interviewed Billy at half time. It turns out he flies in from Sheffield for every home match, and the 100 on the back of his shirt I think relates to the number of pints he has before each match!

The only other point to note during the match followed the Veleros equaliser for Real Mallorca. Alberto and I shared a little cuddle. I’d known him for 2 days but we got on famously with our ‘Spanglish’ conversation. Following the goal, emotions were running high and at that moment a friend for life was made. Sniff.

As it was only across the road from where I was staying, I went down to the stadium the following lunchtime. My wife and I were able to walk into the ground unopposed. After walking across the pitch and taking a few photos we sat on a bench by the corner flag and had our lunch. Good old life.

Magnificent Madrid

Rayo Vallecano 1-0 Universidad de Las Palmas 23:03:08 (12pm)

Real Madrid 2-3 Valencia 23:03:08 (7pm)

My brief whilst back in Madrid was to see two games of football in one day. Kicking off with a starter of Rayo Vallecano v Universidad de Las Palmas who were kicking off at midday, allowing me plenty of time to also attend the main dish of Real Madrid v Valencia at 19:00.

I started the day, like all Sundays in Madrid should with a stroll around El Rastro, the largest flea market in Europe. Over the years I have developed an unhealthy amount of football badges and here I was able to pick up every Spanish 2nd division badge to add to my growing collection. I know, I know!

After snooping around El Rastro, I headed towards the working class neighbourhood of Vallecas. During the Franco regimethis area gained a reputation for resistance to the right-wing dictatorship. The pride of the area - at least they were in 2001 when they reached the last 16 of the UEFA Cup - are Rayo Vallecano FC.

Thesedays they ply their trade in the Segunda Division B (Division 3 to you and I). Their three sided Teresa Rivero stadium has a 15,000 capacity and is bedecked in the club colours of red and white. Rayos kit is a classic, think Madrid taxis (white with a red stripe) or the Peru kit of the 1978 World Cup finals and you´ve got it.

After a couple of cheeky beers in the supporters bar underneath the main stand I got my ticket. It set me back a very reasonable 10 euros.

To my delight to PA belted out an albums worth of punk classics at full volume prior to the match. We were treated to The Clash, The Ramones, Sex Pistols the works. All in keeping with the slightly anarchic feel to the club.

After taking in the first half however, I was rather thinking that 10 euros was a bit over priced. All I had to entertain me were the Rayo ultras behind the goal. Despite it being Sunday morning, they belted out songs non stop for 90 minutes.

Being a university team Universidad did rather live up to the student stereotype. The traffic-cone-collectors looked and played like they´d been up all night drinking subsidised cider and listening to The Levellers. They ´parked their camper van´in front of the goal and they weren´t going to budge for love or indeed money.

Thankfully in the 63rd minute, Michel of Rayo sent 5,813 fans into raptures with a piece of individual brilliance not all that in keeping with the game. His goal was to send Rayo up to second in the table.

Universidad annoyed me with their negative tactics. What is it with teams who only start to ´panic play´with five minutes left after putting in a half arsed performance beforehand!? In stoppage time they smacked the underside of the crossbar and the ball bounced on the line before 21 players pounced on it. I have seen them given.

After a brief conference, the lino and the ref decided they didn´t much fancy being chased out of Vallecas by a baying mob with pitched forks and awarded a free-kick to Rayo.

Just prior to that the referee realised he hadn´t dished out his full quota of yellow cards and brandished a flurry of them in a mad two minute spell. It´s one of the great pleasures in life watching a Spanish ref book a player as if his life depends on it.

The metro was located right next to the stand I was in and by the third peep of the full time whistle I was back on my way into town to meet the wife.

We met up in Casa Alberto on the Calle Huertas. The Sunday afternoon drink of choice in Madrid is Vermouth. This place serves up the hard stuff on tap. We got chatting to the landlord who insisted on giving us free drinks. Nice but after four or five vermouts it´s a struggle to see nevermind feel your legs.

Some lunch was called for so we headed to La Casa del Abuelo in Calle de la Victoria for some heavenly langostinos.

In sharp contrast to Vallecas, the Santiago Bernabeu is located in the heart of the Madrid business district. There´s not much to say about this place that everybody doesn´t already know. It´s a slightly ugly concrete jungle from the outside but inside it´s nothing short of magnificent.

Correctly rated 5 stars by UEFA the stadium has hosted three European Cup finals as well as the 1982 World Cup final. There are also plans afoot to add a retractable roof.

The match was a complete sell out meaning I had to buy my ticket from a tout. I paid 80 euros after he´d intially asked for 130. I knew the going rate was 100 euros so although feeling slightly robbed it could have been worse.

Sid Lowe of the Guardian newspaper keeps bleating on about this being the worse La Liga in recent years in terms of quality. Therefore, I wasn´t expecting much of a match. As it happened it was one of the most compelling I´d ever seen.

With the game poised at 2-2 going into the last few minutes - the Valencia striker Javier Arizmendi of all people saw world cup winner Cannavaro off like a puppy before out foxing Casillas from the acutest of angles to win the match. It was his first of the season and that from a player thought to be the worst in La Liga. Previously he´d ben so bad that the coach had him playing at right back.

Prior to Arizmendi´s comedy winner, Raul and David Villa had each score a brace apiece. In between rolling about the floor, Villa was easily the best player on the park and if he isn´t playing for Chelsea next season I´ll eat my sombrero. Total class.

It was a fairly cold night in Madrid but the Bernabeu has a rather unusual feature in that it has heaters situated on the underside of the stadium roof. Subsequently it was as hot as you like in there.

As per usual though the atmosphere was somewhat lacking. Aside from the Ultras Sur behind the goal, no-one seemed too bothered in creating an noise. Granted there was those dreaded hooters but in my eyes - whoever thought of allowing those things anywhere near to a football stadium needs putting behind bars.

After the match I headed into town to meet up again with the wife and a few friends and we engaged in a traditional Madrid bar crawl long into the night.

Over many a beer we discussed the important things in life such as the fact that "Go hang a salami, I´m a lasagna hog" reads the same backwards as forwards. Palindrome genius indeed. Good old life!

Atletico Madrid v Espanyol

Atletico Madrid 1 Espanyol 2 (23:11:07)

First and foremost, I better let it be known that I have ‘goods to declare’ here. My wife is Spanish and Madrid is my favourite city. And, if I ever end up living in Madrid – which is not beyond the realms of possibility – ‘Atleti’ would be my team.

I’ve been to Real Madrid many times and granted your virtually guaranteed champagne football in one of the world’s best stadiums. If however, your willing to downgrade champagne for cava in exchange for genuine passion and an oft raucous atmosphere, then it’s the Estadio Vicente Calderon every time.

I spent the night before the match bar hopping around the La Latina district. It’s a ‘castizo’ neighbourhood, which successfully maintains the very essence of Madrid.

You can’t go far wrong in the ‘Cava Baja’. It’s a street containing countless bars and restaurants. Casa Lucio was one of David Beckhams favourite eateries in Madrid and opposite in the Taberna Lucio is where you and I can afford to down wine and consume ‘huevos rotos con jamon’ (broken eggs with ham).

After that try La Chata, another fine place for wine, beers and food and then the rest you can jolly well make up as you go merrily along.

Any notions of tickets being hard to come by were dispelled on the morning of the match. I wandered down to the stadium and picked one up from the ticket office after queuing for a short while. Easy, and furthermore, peasy.

I also took a little time out to have a snoop around the club museum. Usual football museum applied; over sized, outlandish bits of silverware on show awarded for friendly wins over Osasuna and Sporting Gijon in 1929.

The nearest metro to the stadium is Piramides; however, it’s only a twenty minute downhill walk from the centre. There’s also a plethora of bars to take in en route, so why take the metro!?

On my way to the match I paid a quick visit to my current favourite bar ‘Almacen de Vinos’ in Casa Gerrardo for a couple of pre-match ‘vermuts’ and some great tapas. Vermuts is a local drink made from red Martini, it’s a bit girlie but don’t worry; everybody drinks it in there at lunchtime.

It was tricky reading about the match in the sports papers beforehand. My game was on the same day as the Barca v Real Madrid clash. One of the papers (Marca) had 15 pages of coverage as well as a 24 page pull-out on ‘El Clasico’.

That match was being billed as ‘El Mejor Regalo de Navidad’ (the best present of Christmas) - whereas buried away on page 34 – Atleti coach Javier Aguirre was announcing my fixture as ‘El Partido mas importante del ano’ (the most important match of the year).

I’d treated myself to a nice seat near enough on the half way line in the main covered stand. The other three sides of the ground amount to a huge open two tiered bowl.

The opening exchanges of the match oscillated between rare bits of skill and futile diving. It ignited on 30 minutes when Espanyol’s Torrejon went for a cuddle with Atleti’s Kun and got a smash in his face for his troubles. Within a nanosecond the referee flashed a bright red card to Kun and a yellow to Torrejon.

Seven minutes of total comedy then ensued as a guilty feeling referee awarded the next ten decisions Atleti’s way. I have rarely seen such ineptitude. Highlights included an away goal ruled out for an imaginary offside and an Espanyol penalty for a clear handball denied.

On 37 minutes Simoa opened the scoring for the home side with a wrongly awarded (obviously) Juninihoesque type free-kick. A stunning strike which was awarded ‘El mejor gol de la jornada’ (the goal of the weekend) in the paper the next day.

Alcohol isn’t allowed inside Spanish stadiums but after Simao’s goal went in – out it jolly well came. Gruntled fans all around me started downing wine from ‘Botas’ (pouch type bottles). What a civilised way to celebrate a goal.

If the home fans thought Tamudo’s soft equaliser in the 52^nd minute was bad, worse was to follow. Two minutes later the ref’s bright red card was aired again to dismiss Pernia for his second bookable offence.

Buoyed by this, Espanyol reached for a large box of expensive cigars and waited for Atleti to run out of steam. With five minutes remaining they decided it was about time they won. De La Pena delivered an exquisite through ball to Luis Garcia and he duly popped one into the roof of the net for the winner.

Prior to that the nine men of Madrid were defending like caged tigers. They could even have regained the lead twice through Diego Forlan. He is now actually quite good and hero-worshipped in this stadium.

Other points worthy of note; to my knowledge there was not one Espanyol fan in the ground. The home fans were magnificent throughout, save for a dodgy rendition of ‘Moonlight Shadow’ midway through the second half. Rather splendidly someone also told me that the chap who played Chewbacca in Star Wars went onto play professional basketball for Real Madrid.

Post match I boarded a coach for a night on the town in Cuenca, two hours east of Madrid. A place famous for it hanging houses, oversized plates of free tapas and the town where I got married.

The rest of the week was spent with the in-laws in the tiny rural village of Salinas del Manzano, whereby I was on the receiving end of seemingly never ending hospitality. Feliz Navidad indeed.