It’s been a very special holiday season for Grandfather Noble. On a recent Sunday night, I wandered through the Valencian night, bundled up against the winter cold, to the old concrete monolith that is Estadi de Mestalla. I took my seat in a completely packed stadium just after 9:00 PM for a clash between FC Barcelona and Valencia CF with the chants and singing of the hometown crowd echoing throughout the city. (Valencia managed a draw.) Just three nights later, Bonnie accompanied me to Barcelona’s temporary home at Estadí Olímpic as they confronted a must win match with a UD Almeria team sitting last in the standings. (Barcelona eked out a rather unsatisfactory 3-2 win.)
Two Barca games in one week!!
This is retirement heaven.
Those of you who know me well will be aware that I am endlessly fascinated by the game America insists on calling soccer. It is by far the most popular team sport on the planet, and both the origin, and pinnacle of competition, are in Europe. La Liga, the Spanish professional futból league is largely acknowledged to be second only to the British Premier League for quality of play and talent. The top two teams in Spain – Real Madrid and Barcelona – are giants among the world’s soccer clubs. I have been a Barcelona fan for nearly two decades since first hearing of a teenager named Leo Messi that was setting the futból world on fire.
My love of the game was planted very early – long before most Americans had heard of the game that obsessed the rest of the world. Among the many blessings of an idyllic childhood, was a male teacher in my elementary school who saw fit to introduce soccer to us during the physical education portion of our day. This strange notion of a game played only with the feet made immediate, intuitive sense to my adolescent self and I was firmly ensconced in the role of goalkeeper on that long ago playground. That seed moldered, almost forgotten, until the boy became a father eager to introduce his sons to the pleasures and lessons of team sports. A decade had passed, and soccer had become fashionable among the more well informed and progressive parents. Ahem.
Armed with a wonderfully virtuous motive – my sons’ well-being – I threw myself into the task of educating myself on the art of coaching youth soccer teams. (Gratification of my competitive nature may have played some role here, possibly. Well, sure. But come on, right?) I read. I attended seminars. I took on field coaching lessons. And I coached. In short, I immersed myself in the tactical elements of the game and strategies for teaching it. I was intense, focused, and damned good at it. Also, probably a pain the ass to the other parents. So, there was that.
That seed planted by a grade school teacher flowered into fourteen years of coaching my sons in youth soccer that will always be among my most treasured life experiences. It also cemented my love of the game and an appreciation for all the nuance and beauty of the sport. Played at the highest levels, it combines the artistry and athleticism of NBA basketball, with the cerebral tactics of NFL football on a field that is large enough to gracefully accommodate both. But what is most compelling are the moments of sudden, soul wrenching drama. The passion of fans for their fútbol team is unlike anything I have experienced in other sports. They live and breathe the successes and failures of their team – be it the local community, their ethnic region, or the entire nation. Indeed, “fútbol is life.”
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We’re Ed and Bonnie, a duo passionate about exploring the world and experiencing its wonders. Our love for travel isn’t just about discovering new places; it’s about sharing those moments with cherished family and friends like you.
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“Fútbol is life!” – my favorite line from Ted Lasso! Happy New Year!