Blaugrana

If you ask me when I fell in love with FC Barcelona, I will tell you that it was when Rivaldo scored that beautiful chilena, that bicycle kick, against Valencia in the last game of the season about nine years ago, for the 2000-2001 season. Rivaldo scored three goals to Valencia’s two, and Barça needed to win in order to make the Champions League. If you haven’t seen these goals and Rivaldo’s brilliance, take a look:

I was fourteen, and I was watching with my father, who seemed to know everything about every team we watched on TV. He would tell me about Barça’s rivalry with los merengues, about who was who, and he encouraged me to love soccer/football in general, as he does. It wasn’t until the last few years or so that I realized my love for FCB. I knew somehow that they were my team—I used to paint my nails in their colors in high school, I would try to model my own style of play off the Barça midfield, and every time they played I would be anxious and excited all at once. Once I did some research into the history of the club, its politics and ideals, its contributions to society and what it strived for, as well as the history of the city of Barcelona itself and its context in the Iberian Peninsula as part of Spain, then it all began to fall into place as part of my own identity. I still carry my father’s ideals and strive for neutrality and common sense when it comes to watching and analyzing football, but with Barça I cannot remain this way.

Aside from Rivaldo’s amazing skill with the chilena, there is another part of that particular game that warms my soul and puts a goofy grin on my face: the reaction of the suits in the stands to Rivaldo’s third goal. Watch the passion and relief in the thrusting of the arms of the men in the expensive seats. I wish we would see more of this today, though I understand why we do not. Still, I love seeing Laporta’s small, smug smile whenever Barça won or scored a particularly brilliant goal, while his companion of the opposite team would be expressionless in a similar situation. That pride of Barcelona.

Those of us here in the States, for example, or in any part of the world not historically Catalán, who make our own decisions to follow Barça do so for many reasons. Someone I know followed Real Madrid because Hugo Sanchez played for them, and Sanchez is Mexican, like this man; when Rafa Marquez showed up for Barça, this man switched his loyalties because now there was a Mexican playing for Barça. I did so on a feeling, but also at fourteen I really liked the flash and genius of Rivaldo as well as how well the dark red and blue looked together on the uniform.

What about you?