My country is my club

I know quite a few Real Madrid supporters. Some of them I would even call friends, not in the modern social way but in the true sense, the traditional sense of being prepared to do anything for them at the drop of a hat and knowing I can rely on them to do the same. With regard to their being madridistas, well, there but for the grace of God go I, let he who is without sin cast the first stone, and so on. I imagine I should be as forgiving of their sins as they are of mine.

However, some of my lilywhite friends went one step too far last Wednesday evening for the Champions’ League final, a game I forsook in favour of an obscure but excellent film about Dylan Thomas. They decided to support Barcelona. I am not referring to what the plastic fans around me have done in jumping on the Barça bandwagon just because the team is fashionable; I mean they actually wanted them to win.

The explanation was simple: Catalonia IS Spain. They wanted the total number of Spanish European Cups to go up, and they didn’t care who won the tin pot on offer. And this is what I cannot fathom because the simple fact of the matter is that the Champions’ League is a club competition and as such has nothing to do with nationality.

How could you sit down and watch the match with these fans? The rules have been completely changed and you are on a totally different wavelength from these other fans; their attitude towards the game would have been far too confusing to be able to follow the action without a profound sense of something being wrong. In short, you are watching the Champions’ League and they are watching the World Cup.

I know that all English fans want English football to be the best in the world, but I am convinced that there was not one Manchester City, Liverpool, Arsenal or Chelsea fan rooting for United that night. I don’t like Liverpool FC. When Liverpool played in the two finals against AC Milan I was rooting for Milan both times. As it happens in 2005, when Milan started to bottle it and the amateur Liverpool team, in spite of the best efforts of Alonso and García to throw it away, won the cup, I tried to find consolation in the fact that English football had another trophy. It didn’t work. And nobody cares anyway.

In club football there are no half measures. You always support your own club, always and forever, and you always hate your rivals. There is no truce. The only ceasefire is when the national team plays, but woe betide a player from a rival club should he make a mistake. If your country wins a game, it will be in spite of that rival. If the rival player scores the winning goal, it will be because of the pass from your club’s player. It is widely accepted as true that certain players – from certain clubs – cannot play on the same team.

In fairness to the Spanish, they have always been more than complimentary about English fans, who they invariably describe in their sporting press as the most passionate in the world. Now I understand what they mean.

Also in fairness to the Spanish, they are incredibly good at football – in fact they are much better than the English. And their national team, full of Real Madrid players and FC Barcelona players, won the last European Championship. England never win anything. Perhaps now I understand why that is too.