lie on my table four objects of this past December I have not had time to put in the box of memories: a ticket to a concert, a plane ticket to America, the backbone of an Ethiopian runner Christmas race and a ticket to access an empty football field.
Today I want to tell the story of a ticket to access an empty football field.
Day of the Holy Innocents, my father was waiting in front of the Boulevard Rosa, with the sun on your face, a newcomer to the city in the care of early in the morning. He came sporting grounds. I saw on the other side, before crossing the Paseo de Gracia, and greeted him with my newspaper on the zebra crossing. I smiled as always, in its eternal bald with big eyes and gray. With this field being quiet, I've lost to become a being anxious. I told him we had no space for protocols, the clock was running fast. So I quickly went in search of a bus that took us to the Foundation Claror, where little Hayden was going to play his first official game of basketball, with eight years old, and needed fans. We arrived just in time.
Sardenya walked down the street at a brisk pace, looking for that place that my sister was drawn on a map the day before. Locate the sign announced the sports facilities, and access them by a narrow passageway, before seeing the child behind bars, who trained with a ball as big as a watermelon under one of the baskets. I greeted him with my newspaper, and he smiled as always with those big gray eyes. The little king was sitting on another Nil orange watermelon and opened with my father and me the fan club (specifically consisting of three persons) of the little Hayden. Seemed not just the cheerleaders Barca, but that he did not care.
The public was divided among relatives of the yellow team (ours) and the green team (the enemy) and we looked at the corner of my eye looking loggerheads when the referee favored or harmed one or other, while the ten midgets and dwarfs were just those little arms to lift very heavy melons the rings too high. Nil Little Pharaoh did not seem very interested in that game so strange. He is a lover of football, "Shakira told us that their goddess in the world of music-Pique-girlfriend was his idol in the world of sport for some days. I looked surprised (he has four years). "How do you know." "Dude, everybody knows it. Are you stupid?". I returned my gaze to the floor, thinking that is needed patience today to be the uncle of a brat.
The meeting lasted half an hour. To be the first official game after just one quarter of training, there were plays interesting: Kickback, caps, passes into space ... The referee, a type of two meters high and one hundred fifty pounds of weight-to-child soul, was about to whistle the final. We lost 20 to 18. A blonde girl with a ponytail pulled the background. We passed the ball to the little Hayden dodged three opponents, like a snake river, bouncing the ball on the ground (as my father encouraged him to cry) to stand under the basket rival, to leap and score his third basketball am. Won the tie and looked at us with a smile from ear to ear, to the applause of the public. I was happy.
walking down the street returned Sardenya four: the basketball player and his club's fans (specifically formed by three people). Seemed not just the cheerleaders Barca, but that he did not care. We left the children in the home Hayden, and tennis and I quickly went looking for a bus to take us to the stadium of Barcelona in one day without a party. Last summer, The Constant Gardener had been kind enough to give me two tickets to the Nou Camp Experience (although he is the biggest football fan I know) and expired on December 31. The facilities were packed with tourists taking the winter sun on the terraces of fast food establishments (even in this time of year, the Central Europeans get the color of shrimp). My father was happy because the stadium had ever seen in daylight.
We entered the museum and toured the display cases filled with old metal cups. I see that patiently read the texts explaining the different historical moments of the club, while he did indeed. With this field being quiet, I've lost to become a being anxious. The player told me (for the umpteenth time) that the player César had been a friend of his father after the war, and had spent a weekend at his home in the land of the fog to break the monotony of that miserable childhood with extraordinary stories filled with travel, goals and victories. Since then, and never became a fan.
Caesar had ever played at the magnificent stadium that is now trod. He was a player from another era, a time when the marketing not matter. We follow the path of the Nou Camp Experience . We went down the elevator to the mixed zone, the costumes, the small TV studio, to the chapel. We jumped into the field down that aisle that we always TV3 broadcasts, and feel a bit like Puyol and Messi, jumping and cheering at each other. Then we rose to another elevator to the press boxes at the highest part of the stands. And we feel a bit like Joan Maria Pou and Joaquim Maria Puyal, those voices that remind us that ultimately the headphones only know winning. There my father could no longer hide his mind. He called on the phone to my mother, who had been guarding the farm of horses, to tell everything just to live. Surely he would have liked to be with her there, at that time.
was an unforgettable experience. We went out looking happy public transportation in the Diagonal Avenue. While we waited, the tennis player asked me to thank him for that Constant Gardener unknown. I said to heart. It was sunny. Strolling tourists. The traffic was flowing. Trams went silent. My father smiled as always, in its eternal bald with big eyes and gray. He could not cheer for Caesar rather than memory. Now we had to animate the little Hayden. Be their fans, but we seem not just the cheerleaders Barca sitting under the canopy, the day of the Holy Innocents, waiting for the bus 33. In the Diagonal. Alone, him and me.
PD: Aquest post és per a tu, Miquel. Gràcies handsome.
0 comments:
Post a Comment