Photo credit: Carol Madigan

   Since the Spanish social evening doesn’t begin until a typical (senior) American one ends, Carol and I were going to have to pace ourselves (read: take a nap) in order to be ready to attend our first professional European soccer game, which didn’t kick off (is that what they call the start?) until 9:00 p.m. that night.

“(Carol has a tendency to over-personalize the game, though, believing every yellow and red card issued, even in games her grandchildren are not playing in, must be disputed by Nana.)”

   To say we were excited would be an understatement. In spite of the narrow sidewalks outside our apartment that more or less deposit us into oncoming automobile traffic, our apartment was conveniently located just walking distance from the Ramon Sanchez-Pizjuan Stadium, home of the Sevilla FC and our destination for their home game in the La Liga Spanish professional football league. This would mark our first experience with the top rung of European soccer, and, yes, we both wished we understood more of what 99 per cent of the world knows as “The Beautiful Game.”

   I think Carol knows more than I do, having sat in the trenches of her grandkids soccer games dating back almost ten years. (Carol has a tendency to over-personalize the game, though, believing every yellow and red card issued, even in games her grandchildren are not playing in, must be disputed by Nana.)

   We found a merchandise store specializing in everything Sevilla, and we bought appropriate items to wear to the game that night. I can’t underestimate what game day means to the cities that are home to a major European league soccer team. We arrived at the stadium a full two hours before kick off (is that really what they call it?), but the cafés surrounding the stadium were already filling with fans. There were whole families, fathers and sons and friends, all enjoying a glass, nothing rowdy or raucous and creating a sea of red and white. 

   Inside the stadium, fans walked to their seats in measured paces. No alcohol was served; the concessions seemed like something you’d see outside a mini-golf center: hot dogs, cotton candy and sodas.

   Oh, but the music! The Sevilla team was welcomed onto the pitch to AC/DC’s “Highway to Hell.” The fans’s chants throughout the game were Sevilla versions of “Roll Out The Barrel” and “Yankee Doodle Dandy.” Sevilla scored first, then were tied and finally won with a goal in the last seconds of the game. The post-victory celebration went on for a half hour or more, as if a close family member had won a great honor. Team and city are one here, and Carol and I were thrilled to have been part of it all.

   N.B.: This was a league game. Seville was also in the midst of the UEFA Europa League tournament. We’d seen them reach the semifinals with the win against Manchester United at that pub in Madrid. And then back home in California, we saw them reach the finals against Juventus, culminating in a dramatic 4-1 penalty kick championship against AC Roma in Budapest. Oh yeah, we’re hooked now. 

   Nunca Te Rindas.

   Never Surrender.

   It’s the Sevilla version of  “Believe.”