The pot and the kettle

So that glorious institution, the FA, is going to boycott the Bernabéu. Quite right too. The treatment dished out to more than a handful of England players in 2004 was shocking.

I lived in Spain for 14 years, 13 of them in Madrid. I love the Spanish. With my tongue nowhere near my cheek I can say that some of my best friends are Spanish. I love their way of life, their Devil-may-care attitude and above all their generosity. “Where three can eat, so can four!” they cry as they push a plate towards you. And of course this generosity extends to foreigners.

However, there is no shadow of a doubt that racism is endemic in Spanish sport.

WHITE AS SNOW

Whenever there’s an important match, the old stories get brought out and dusted down for the occasion. The fans hate the English because they stole all of Columbus’ silver, and they call the British “los hijos de la Gran Bretaña”, another way of saying “el hijo de la gran puta”. They hate the French for being stuck up and the Portuguese for being inferior. They hate imperialist Americans and cocky Argentineans and cheating Italians.

But most of all they hate anybody who is not as white as an olive.

They still use expressions containing the word “black” as a pejorative. They continue to call North Africans and Latin Americans names that are offensive to Moroccans and Columbians alike. I could go on forever about how racist the language is. All of this is ironic in a country whose language, architecture and music are heavily influenced by North Africa.

¡VIVA FRANCO!

When I first went there I only knew Real Madrid, but very soon I grew to hate their fascist Ultras Sur supporters, and I switched to where I felt more comfortable. However, even the working class Atlético have their fascist Frente Atlético group, as everybody has seen from the events which have closed down the stadium for the next two Champions’ League games. And Barcelona have the Boixos Nois. And Betis have the Supporters Sur. And so on through every division of Spanish football. It is also ironic that everyone in Spain hates Real Madrid for its fascist fans when every team has their own brand of Ultras.

The radical fans generally wear Spanish fascist symbols, from the era when Franco ruled with a rod of iron. Some of the older ones even sport the pencil moustache worn by “El Caudillo” himself, and the younger ones wear swastikas on armbands and sing Franco’s anthem, even though a lot of them were born ten years or more after his death and have no experience of his regime.

And with alarming regularity the violence of words becomes the violence of actions. In the last few years we have seen the coin thrown at a referee during a Valencia-Deportivo match, and the bottle thrown at Juande Ramos in a Betis-Sevilla, not to mention the tragicomic episode of the crutch in the Ruíz de Lopera in Seville.

WHO, ME?

Perhaps the worst aspect of this racism is the fact that they are completely oblivious to it all. When Aragonés insulted Thierry Henry just before that friendly, the Spanish Federation declared that “there was no hint of racism in his words”. Finally, after huge pressure from both UEFA and FIFA (so I believe), they shook their heads in disbelief and fined the man a mere 3,000 euros for “an act against the decorum of football”. This, of course, sent a clear message to the fans.

And it isn’t just the football. When the entire Spanish Olympic basketball squad posed in full kit mimicking the eyes of oriental people, there was worldwide uproar, but the incident was laughed off in Spain as “just a joke”. That comment was the end of the incident as far as the Spanish sporting press was concerned. They really couldn’t understand the fuss.

LET’S TEACH THEM A LESSON

So it’s lucky that so many Spanish players and coaches are now in England. Perhaps they will observe more moderate ways and import them back into Spain.

Or perhaps not.

Perhaps they will just learn how the English hate the French, Germans and Argentineans. Maybe they will just learn the art of the tabloid headline, using irrelevant and archaic contexts to fuel racial hatred before certain international fixtures. Or they will see how the young Irish trainees at Plymouth Argyle were all called “Paddy” in an unintelligent attempt to make them feel like they belonged. Indeed they could hear the terrace taunts against Sol Campbell (which the FA did nothing about) or the hissing of the gas chambers at White Hart Lane. Maybe they will see how in English books and films the “paddy” is always the thick, drunken man with his fists in the air, or how the “jock” is the incomprehensible, tight-fisted redneck, or how the “taffy” is the dirty, uncultured farmer who lusts after his own livestock.

Or is that all “just a joke” too?

Do you think they found it funny in Marseille, and in Charleroi, and in Stuttgart, Bratislava and the Algarve when the hooliganism which has come to be synonymous with the English once more ruined a decent tournament? Do you think anybody laughed at the images of that poor Turkish man who found himself in the middle of a crowd of some five thousand baying hooligans in a normally peaceful German square?

Just watch any La Liga match and look at the banners with bulldogs on them and slogans in English, and ask yourself which nation provides the role models for hooligans.

That’s the problem with racists – they can never see the mote in their own eye.