Yesterday afternoon I saw millions of Barcelona fans heading down to the Camp Nou from Diagonal. In that sea of animated heads going to the stadium for every match, I saw a kid who in '71 lost the league on the last day and who is still bewildered by that afternoon. And I saw Sadurní, Rexach, and Sotil returning from El Molinón, and the good guy Quini, and Maradona who was coming down juggling the ball, and Urruti embraced by the crowd, and Stòitxkov perched on a traffic sign directing the chants, and Ronaldinho doing elastico moves, and Messi doing slalom runs next to Iniesta, Xavi, Guardiola, and Valdés, who was stopping everything. Cruyff was explaining to everyone that winning the league at home against Madrid after the year both teams have had was pure logic, and by his side Armand Carabén and Marjolijn van der Meer were also coming down. Everyone from the 0-5, and those from the 5-0, and those from the three consecutive league titles in the last minute were there, and above all, the resounding voice of Manel Vich sounded, greeting us over the loudspeaker: “Good afternoon everyone, and welcome to the stadium!”
We were millions because we were accompanied by all the Barcelona fans who have preceded us, because on days when something big happens, you go to football with those who are no longer with us. And we were also coming down with those who will come, because one day we will tell them what happened yesterday.
Please excuse me. The world is in a terrible state, but even in wars there are permits, and the great global permit of this battered world remains football.
We walked down to the Camp Nou more excited than ever and left happier than from any other Barça-Madrid match. Happy and champions.
