Joan Maria Pou: “I narrated a match knowing it was Tati’s last day alive and that he would listen to me.”

BarcelonaHe commentated on Barça's first match on RAC1 and, more than twenty-five years later, he remains the voice of football on the station. In this relaxed conversation, we look back with Joan Maria Pou and also a little ahead, although the journalist is open to explaining why he never plans for the long term.

When did you know you would be a sports journalist?

— It was never a childhood calling. Radio was always a part of our lives at home, in the car, and I listened to a lot of football matches as a kid, but I'd be writing fiction if I said that at nine years old I decided one day that I would do this. What I can explain is that when I started coaching young children at my school or working as a counselor at a summer camp, I would narrate the matches to motivate them. And I realized that, back then, children competed differently. But there was no intention behind it to make it my profession someday. I've never been the type of person to imagine myself five years in advance.

So, come on: how do you imagine things five years from now?

— If you want, we can play, but I can't picture it! I'm completely blocked on that. Maybe I can think six months ahead, but beyond a year you're starting to put me in a bind.

Perhaps this is the secret to having surpassed 25 years doing the same thing: listen to the voice of the parties on RAC1.

— That's one, yes. And the other, and I assure you that as a commentator this cliché holds true, is that every match is different. I've done daily programs in my career, and the longest I've lasted is four years before I said I'd had enough of that routine. However, matches, with their live, unpredictable nature... and it's not the same doing it from Guadalajara as from London.

But surely there are matches that are boring.

— Absolutely. Like in any job. But it's worth it.

So how do you maintain the tone?

— With skill. And those of us who are commentators of the Catalan school are fortunate in this respect. Because the Catalan school says that your tone, your rhythm, your style... must be in proportion to the quality and importance of the match. In contrast, in the Spanish, Brazilian, or Argentinian schools, everything must always be upbeat. Not us: if the match is rubbish, it should be evident in the commentary.

Is it true that they hired you without any audition?

— That's right. Xavi Bosch had a long conversation with me when they were setting up RAC1, and he hired me for the newsroom. A few weeks later, an Ourense-Barça Cup match came up, and he gave me a cassette recorder: "Record the first half of the match at home," he said, without explaining why. When I gave him the tape, a day or two later he came back with a list of what he had liked and what he hadn't liked, and he blurted it out: "Do you want to commentate on Barça matches?" Once I'd recovered from the game, I said yes. And look at me now.

You become the voice of football on RAC1 when there is an undisputed reference point like Joaquim Maria Puyal.

— A benchmark and mine concerning.

So, what's the alternative?

— Xavi told me we had to learn from his school of thought but develop our own style. And that we wouldn't achieve that in ten matches. I was very lucky that we were starting from scratch: my first matches on RAC1 were only listened to by my immediate family and a few other people. Therefore, the consequences of mistakes were more manageable. I grow with the audience, and so, luckily, I took my first hundred blunders in front of a small group. Damn, I remember some awful matches!

And you remember the moment you think: hey, this works and we're not just a handful of people anymore, but four hundred thousand.

— It was very gradual, but I started to notice it with the emergence of Ronaldinho and that Rijkaard Barça. Keep in mind that I started in 2000, and from then until 2005 Barça didn't win anything. I remember coming back with travel companions saying to each other: "If it's fun now, the day they actually manage to win something, this job will be amazing, right?" The great moment, for me, of this initial phase, when we really put ourselves on the map, was with the narration of the "Eto'o, Eto'o, comment do you appeal?"in Paris 2006."

What was the genesis of that moment?

— I'd already written the song before the semi-final against Milan, and talking to my wife, Tati, I asked her, "If Eto'o scores against Milan, should I play it or save it for a possible final?" And she said, "It's a final song." I had my doubts, but luckily, Eto'o didn't score, so the dilemma disappeared. And if you listen to the recording, when he scored the equalizer in Paris, there's a brief hesitation when I say "Samueeeel," which is me thinking, "Should I play it or not?" Because it could have been a disaster and sounded out of place... But yes, I start singing and I see that it works. And when it becomes a chorus, I realize that something really cool is happening, and that's ended up becoming the radio station's trademark: the shout that erupts in the studio when there's a goal sounds just like what people are doing at home.

Let's do this interview the day before the EGM...

— Oh, is it tomorrow?

Wow, you live a very peaceful life!

— I really pay attention to the streaming and live listener data we get through the apps: this is what gives me a true picture of our Barça broadcasts.

Are you addicted to ratings?

— No, I am informed when those in charge, the directors, think they should do so.

In any case, 25 years later and with the good results, you should have the freedom to do what you want.

— Well, yes. My brand is quite well established now, but it's important not to take anything for granted. Some people tend to get carried away quite easily... As much as I've been able, I've tried to keep my feet on the ground because, ultimately, the chair isn't mine. It just so happens that, for the moment, I've done relatively well, and the owner is still letting me use it!

What does Barça mean to you?

— Basically, he's my father. I could talk about many players, many wonderful nights. He's an institution that's always been a part of my life, but above all, he's my father. And my uncle Jordi, and Tati, and Roger, and Grandpa Enric and Grandpa Joan... They're emotional and family ties, but above all, it's the walk down from Diagonal along Juan XXIII, to the north goal, holding my father's hand.

We were talking earlier about the non-sports programs, where you didn't last as long. But are you eager to return?

— If I'm interested in the project, it will be very difficult for me to say no. But, for example, when they offered me the Don't knowThe afternoon news program on RAC1, a minute earlier, had said that they wouldn't offer it to me. And I let it go not because I was tired of it, but because it was incompatible with the Someone's houses on TV3, which also appeared suddenly and presented a different challenge. Therefore, if a project compatible with the Barça plays on RAC1...

Can you imagine returning to television? And with whom?

— If anyone ever dares to offer me a TV spot again, without a doubt, it will be on La 2 Cat. TV3 wouldn't even consider it. There are certainly people who can do a much better job than me, but aside from that, the fact that I'm one of the faces of RAC1 right now makes me unworkable. I don't know what we've done to them, but they can't stand the sight of us.

How is the rivalry between Catalunya Ràdio and RAC1 going?

— With the people I meet day in and day out—at the stadiums, on planes, at the airports—it's not like that. I can't take the microphone away from Bernat Soler or Ricard Torquemada, nor can they take it away from me, whereas one player can take the ball away from another. In other words, they have one microphone, I have another, and the fans choose. I have a cordial and very close relationship with them. It's a different story in the upper echelons: the properties, the directors, and so on. But we help each other, and the technicians help each other on the pitch. In fact, I did a match using microphones from Catalunya Ràdio for RAC1. Our equipment hadn't arrived, and they lent us theirs, imagine that. I don't know if those at the top would like to know, but my family couldn't care less.

Speaking of things that have been offered to you, I read that you were proposed as a candidate for mayor of Barcelona.

— Oh, really? I didn't remember saying that! Someone hinted at it. It's such a crazy idea that...

Can we know who asked you?

— It must have been around there in 2018 or something like that. But if you'll allow me, I'll do a word gamebecause it was an absolutely irrelevant anecdote.

What should they propose to you from Madrid to make you leave?

— Right now they can't offer me anything in Madrid that would make me move and change languages.

They pay very well, they say, huh?

— My professional horizon is my language and my country: I don't need more than what I have. In other words, the short answer would be nothing; they can't offer me anything.

You explained that you were moving to L'Escala. Now that it's been over a year, do you miss Barcelona?

— No, it was a fantastic decision. I'm absolutely thrilled. The thing is, this plan came about because I don't have to go up and down every day. Otherwise, obviously, it would be much harder.

What were you looking for?

— There's a desire to change pace, to change my lifestyle. If you'd told me five years ago that I'd end up making this decision, I would have told you to find a new drug dealer. But it all depends on your stage of life, your age... I don't know if you feel the same way, but I have the feeling that Barcelona now has a tendency to devour you, to pull you into a kind of centrifuge of doing, undoing, of rhythm, of noise, of getting into the rhythm, of getting out... And I'd been wanting to change that internally for a while. I tried to find a place on the outside that was a little more like how I feel on the inside.

If I ask you now, point-blank, to tell me who your Barça coach is, the first one that comes to mind...

— Guardiola is the one who has given me the most enjoyment as a commentator. That Barça team's football was a challenge for commentators because it played at breakneck speed. But I'd also say that the broadcasts almost ran themselves if you were able to adapt to that pace.

Is there a moment when, because it was so organic, you felt like the twelfth player?

— Not the twelfth player, no, but I can tell you that there's a magical moment, and it doesn't happen every day, which is when Barça is playing a really good game, the play is wonderful, and you notice that the broadcast is explaining what's happening on the field perfectly. When you're connected to the game and the ball isn't passing you by, it's close to sexual excitement, and the professional fulfillment is absolute.

There are two very significant losses in your life. The loss of your mother, who died suddenly when you were only seven months old, and the loss of your wife, the journalist Tatiana Sisquella, after a long period of suffering.

— They are such savage and unnatural deaths that one of the consequences they've had on my understanding of life is that I find it very difficult to imagine the future a year in advance. I find it very presumptuous, and that's why I've adopted this self-protective measure. I'm going to tell you an anecdote I discovered relatively recently. When I say goodbye to the audience between matches, I tend to say, "We'll meet again tomorrow, if all goes as planned" or "if everything goes well." I add this crutch of not taking it for granted or guaranteeing it. It doesn't mean I spend all day worrying about it, but every now and then, I get the message that I'm taking it too much for granted that I'll be there.

You haven't had children, and I don't know if this is part of that look to the distant future.

— Well, the plan to have children was with a specific person. I've been through three rounds of therapy, and one particularly brutal session was seven or eight months after the first metastasis. I imploded. And I kept telling myself, "I can't allow myself to do that, because I have to be on the front lines." The therapist said something that has stayed with me: "It wasn't that you wanted to have children, you wanted to have children with her." So, in the first days of grief, when I was still shattered, I realized that that part of my life plan had died with her.

Forever?

— There's also the age factor. She died in February 2014, and I turned 40 that November. I pictured myself as a father who could lift his son off the slide without having three days of back pain afterward, so it just didn't fit anymore... and that's that. I was able to accept that loss, or process that frustration—however you want to call it—in a very healthy way. It's not a thorn in my side now, but I did have to go through a process, of course.

Was doing radio these past few years the most difficult thing?

— It was the hardest thing, and at the same time, it was a salvation. I realized that I had unknowingly acquired an incredible ability to detach myself. The listener thinks that the hardest day of my career was the Sevilla-Barça match after the funeral. But it turns out I played a match at the Camp Nou against Real Sociedad knowing that it was Tati's last day alive. And I also know that his father was putting headphones on him to listen to the match. That I was able to play that match...

You have to meet him, I suppose, to understand it.

— I got to the booth and told Raül, "This is the situation, and when the match is over, I'm going to Vall d'Hebron." He looked at me and said, "But how?" And I said, "I don't know how I'll do it either, let me see what happens." And I dissociated, but I'm unable to explain how. Because afterwards, the moment I left the booth, I was a scrapHe wasn't a man with any prospects for professional success, whereas three minutes ago he was playing the game. You've spoken with a lot of people whose profession requires what they say about clowns, that they have to go out and make people laugh even if they're crying inside... It must be a survival mechanism.

Looking back eleven years, are you happy you were able to do it, but?

— Of course. I'm proud because Tati, in that last match, made a couple of comments to his father in his room about things I'd said. That alone makes it all worthwhile. And then, at the funeral, I received a flood of messages. And I said, "I have to play this match, to tell people, 'That's what happened, thank you.'" And, look, I'll tell you something I've never said before: I played that match on medication. Because, that day, I just couldn't find my way. I went to Seville with a safety net, a life preserver. And as the time drew near, I saw that I hadn't clicked. And I had to take medication to give that speech. Afterwards, everyone asked me, "How could you do it?" And I said I wouldn't give details, but, years later, I have no problem saying it: in that match, I did need help.

Tati was someone who was very dear to us, and those of us who interviewed you often asked about her and how you've coped with her death. I don't know if it's a subject you'd rather not have so much on your mind.

— It appears, and I don't care. In the end, it's a moment in my career too. I even included it in the broadcasts myself. And his death is on the front page of the ARA newspaper, the opening of...The morning of Catalunya Ràdio, is the opening ofThe world on RAC1It's news from TNNot to mention articles and mementos... it has an unavoidable media component. She was a well-known person, and Tati was likeable. She didn't generate much backlash. And there's a part of that that helps you in the grieving process, against that feeling of going out into the street and wondering how the world can possibly keep turning as normal.

His popularity and the empathy he generated made his death a collective blow, and you have embodied the personal grief, but also that of everyone.

— What I certainly wouldn't do now is a type of interview like the one on that program called DinnerThat was a lot. heavyBecause of how openly I was involved. The response was extraordinary, but I wouldn't do it now. In fact, in The Marathon That year, when I was again dealing with cancer, they offered me the chance to do another conversation like this with Antonio Orozco, and I said no, it wasn't my turn anymore. Besides, I find it strange that TV3 would ask me for this favor, but when it comes to giving work to someone in my group, they're quick to say no.

We've already agreed that there are no long-term plans. But Puyal did the broadcasts for 42 years. Will you make it to 43?

— Unimaginable! What I do know is that I'll never get tired of doing this job. I don't think there will ever be a moment when I wake up and say, "What a load of crap being the Barça commentator on RAC1, I want to quit." Now, if one day the company decides it's time to change my voice... He Barça plays on RAC1I am already preparing for that day and I believe I will be able to handle it with sportsmanship.

Are you afraid this will happen?

— I've been training for years so that this might happen. And if it did, it would be a tough or sad day, but I think I could handle it in a healthy way. I've even imagined the first official Barça match I'll play, waking up one morning and not having to go.

If you'll allow me, this is almost like imagining your own funeral.

— Ha ha ha! Yes, professionally that Juan María would be buried, wouldn't he? It would be an intense day. In fact, for many years I've had a fantasy that I think will remain just that: to return to Camp Nou with my father when I'm already an adult and in the twilight of life. This image, of walking down Juan XXIII with him again, seems beautiful to me, but my profession doesn't allow it.

You can take it in the cabin.

— It's something I've thought about, but it's not the same. It would be a kind of closing the circle of those things that, if you do it in a movie, people say, "Damn, so much sugar in this script!" But sometimes, in life...