futbol fanatics

in the summer of 2007 i had gone to live and study in spain for a little under two months. it was my first time out of the united states and it was my first chunk of serious traveling. needless to say i've had wanderlust every since and am much happier on the road. spain is a beautiful country, with beautiful people and something new on every corner. i was studying in sevilla, right outside of malasana, and my host family lived in the northern part of the city. they just so happened to be about 10 blocks away from the futbol stadium.

i've been playing soccer since i was in the first grade. it's something my dad got me (and the entire family) into. most weekends and weeknights were spent driving to and from practices and games. it's truly an amazing sport and i spent a good amount of my time up through high school on the field. i've won, i've lost, i've shouted, i've cried, i've got scars, i've got memories, and i've got stories. when i arrived in madrid it was the last three weeks of their premier leagues and the points were close. i followed the games closely and going into the third week fc barcelona and real madrid were tied in points for the championship.

for those who have never been to spain, or europe for that matter, trying to explain the tension, excitement, and anticipation of a game, not to mention this game, is extremely hard. castillians and barcelonans for the most part have an extreme distaste for each other. barcelona is on the coast in the catalan region and there are a fair number of loyalists (and even separatists) to this area. they speak catalan, a combination of french and spanish, and are extremely prideful of their city, their people, their culture, their lives. many of the locals in this mindset view madrid as a lavish, narcissistic city. a city that doesn't deserve to be the capital of spain with arrogant and ignorant people. on the flipside castillians think much of the same of the latter. this is what i learned from conversations with locals in both cities. so needless to say, this game was the end all be all of spanish futbol and often repeats itself as both teams are consistently strong. to add to the matter fc barcelona had been in the lead in points until early in 2008 when they started playing poorly and real madrid took over. real madrid still had gonzalez and still had beckham (before he sold out even more) and barcelona had ronaldinho but was missing star strikers messi and eto'o to injuries. superstars are all over.

a few days before my flatmate and i discussed trying to get tickets, but quickly discovered it was virtually impossible. the leagues offer memberships that grant the chance to buy tickets a few days before they go on sale to the public. unlike american sports however, there is no cap on how many tickets may be purchased. so many of the inner-city and lower class kids pool money together to buy an account for one person, and then purchase tickets for all their friends. scalpers were out of the question, as you were looking at thousands of euros (moreso for a championship game). so we decided to walk down to the stadium pregame and go to a pub to watch the story unfold.

fireworks and airhorns and cheers had already been going on all day but once we got down there it was complete disorder. riot police lined the streets and it took a good twenty minutes to walk the block the stadium was on. it was a sea of white and blue jerseys and yellow and red flags. dancing, singing, drinking were all in full affect. my roommate and i decided to watch the sea of tan-skinned locals as we ate at a restaurant on the second floor of a building. after food we traveled back down to the street, bought some bufandas, and wandered under the shadow of the grand stadium that was santiago bernabéu.

and then just like that everyone was gone, the street was empty, the game was about to start. the streets were completely littered with trash and there were two men wandering down a lonely side street with food and alcohol in tow. a police horse wandered off and the riot police talked and joked. pubs spilled out into the streets with people all trying to catch a glimpse of the TVs inside. my roommate and i took a quick metro to malasana hoping the crowds wouldn't be as bad. but they were.

and so we stood in a pub, standing room only, everyone with a pint in their hand, their hand in a fist, their eyes glued to the television. both real madrid and fc barcelona games were close and it was half time.

about this time my flatmate gets a call from another girl we know saying shes in the metro and a bomb went off. we rushed outside and after some more phone calls and some realizations she comes to the conclusion it was just a large firework that had gone off, lit by some pranksters or hooligans rallying for their home team. we wander to a pizza place with a tv and finish the game. even this place was packed.

so slowly but surely real madrid came back from behind and fc barcelona, though winning, couldn't clench the top spot with a win from madrid. a couple miraculous late goals later real madrid was winning and a short time later it was all over. the streets once again became a sea of people and we weren't even back at the stadium.

a metro ride back over to santiago bernabéu and the scene was surreal. never in the united states outside of a few historic baseball games and rivalries would anyone ever see anything comparable. disorder turned into mayhem as the roar of real madrids rally song echoed through the concrete stairwells. the roar flooded the street. flags were being raised as high as possible and fireworks were going off in every direction. car horns and car alarms were going off as people danced and sang and cheered. my flatmate was a little overwhelmed.

being the photographer i am i had my camera out taking photos of everyone and everything. and just as i brought my camera down from my face a spanish kid, obviously younger than me, came running towards me yelling (you can actually see his face in the blackness in the left of the header of this blog).

he pretty much told me in spanish that if i didn't put my camera away he was going to break it and beat the shit outta me. this is a bad situation for any non-native white guy in spain. and so i look to my right and his fellow inner-city friends, decked in flags and jerseys and bad tattoos, are all eyes on me. then off to the right i catch a glimpse of a group of hooligans who have taken interest, sensing violence could be one wrong word away, staring me down hard with skinned heads, boots, and braces. a friend of the local yelling at me comes up and tells me in very broken english that he was sorry but they 'do not like american journalist'. i told him in spanish i understand and that i'd put the camera away and to have a good night celebrating. and that was that.

my roommate went on about how 'we could've taken 'em dude'. i ignored him and continued to take photos as the stadium erupted into a flash of white fireworks and explosions echoed off the buildings. he really didn't understand this sport and why its so important here and everywhere else in the world. most of the kids at these games, just like the one who got in my face, will live their entire life working mundane jobs and providing for their current and future families. but these teams represent who they are, their city, their culture, their pride... who they wish they could be. they've been playing with coke cans and rocks in the street since they could run and followed their stars goal after goal, year after year. its that sorta passion i love to see in people anywhere in the world whether it be sports or politics or religion or life. it takes a certain amount of experience, heart, faith, loyalty, etc. to be that fervent, regardless of a positive or negative outcome. and i think its part of the reason i miss europe so much, because everyone here is so apathetic about everything they do. everything. i hate to think what would have happened to me that night if real madrid had lost.

scars and seeing stars

i had gone to gainesville for the fest on a friday. i had no money and no solid job but i said 'fuck it'and went anyways. a friend of mine and i loaded up two bicycles in the back of his truck, and stocked up on alcohol and green. on the way we were too stoned to notice the gas needle and subsequently ended up on the side of I-75. After debating what to do we rode our bikes down the highway to the next gas station with a can, filled up, and rode back laughing the whole way as truckers honked their disapproval (or approval) at us. On our way again we made it. The weekend was full of tons of alcohol, plenty of joints, bands and people from all over the country, and ridiculous parties and shows. i spent most of the weekend trying to weasel my way into shows and find a girl from chicago that i desperately wanted to meet.

that night involved keg stands on mini-kegs in the middle of the streets, witnessed fights and cops fucking with people, alcohol flowing freely and drugs easily obtained, random kids and tons of parties. i got so shitfaced i wandered off into a construction site and next thing i knew i woke up on top of two stories of scaffolding. but i was okay with it and wandered back and found my friends. i probably just wanted to look at the stars or something. you know? one of those really lame, cliche things you think is a great idea in your altered state of mind

fast forward to saturday morning my friend and i woke up both clutching our back packs with our heads against the windows in his truck. we had no other place to sleep and we didnt really care all that much anyways. we had been at a house show the night before in an older house. the wood floors buckled, amps blared, people were packed in and i watched my friend drum and have beer willingly poured down his throat. we found out that the guys who lived there were having a bbq that morning. they were older guys who apparently loved doing this kinda shit for everybody and all their friends, especially during the fest. theres a joke here in florida that gainesville is where all the punk rock and hardcore kids from florida go to die. it seems to have some sorta truth behind it. we rubbed the sleep out of our eyes and made some phone calls and headed over to the house. there were already a ton of people there, cow burgers and boca burgers were being grilled and the keg was already tapped. it was about 10am and it was already a typically nice sunny day. there were easily 100 people hanging out as time went on and everyone was laughing and talking and drinking away their hangovers. vans and trailers lined the street and bikes lined the fences all chained up. i sat on the porch and smoked joints and bullshitted with a few guys from outta town.

i walked back into the yard and a few guys had set up sleeping bag sumo wrestling. two people put sleeping bags over their heads/body, get spun around, and go at it. needless to say it was amusing watching everyone drunk fall all over the place. my friend i was there with ended up in the bushes at one point and everyone was doubled over laughing. then i struck up a conversation with a kid there, he had been getting a lot of stares. he knew, but he clearly didn't give a fuck.

when you see a person like this you automatically want to know their story, where their from, what they do. but its a thin line to walk and asking the wrong question can turn a conversation sour quick. he was dressed in black jeans and a black cut off t-shirt and had shoes that were torn. his dark hair was greasy and unkempt and his face was scarred with acne. in a statement of irony, or hilarity, or something of that sort, he wore a large fake gold necklace around his neck and had a matching watch on his wrist that had a spinner rim on it. but that wasn't what the attention grabber was oddly enough. it was his arms that were entirely covered in scars. he was a cutter, a heavy one, and didn't give a fuck who knew. i wondered about the rest of his body.

i used the watch as my scapegoat and asked him if i could snap a photo. he laughed and said sure. all i had with me was my action sampler that had a broken viewfinder, so i didnt get the watch, but i still got what i wanted. the added touch of half a whiskey bottle laying in the grass tells you exactly what the weekend was like. but these sort of situations always provide and ethical battle in your head. however i had drunk enough that i didn't think much of it, i've met kids way more fucked up than he was anyways. i struck up a conversation with him. i wanna say his name was darren or darick or something along those lines but i honestly can't remember. alcohol and names don't mix. he was only 17 years old and he was homeless, a train hopper. he had come here from out west with a couple others and was having an awesome time, said he liked florida.

i left the conversation at that and told him he should go to such and such show later on and hangout. i went back to drinking, to talking, to bein' a stupid kid. i couldn't help but wonder how a kid that young could end up in his situation so early on, but some kids fall through the cracks. and it's all too evident that those cracks are turning into crevices and a lot more people are falling through. i was jealous of his travels, the things i'm sure he has seen that i never have and maybe never will. but i was thankful for what i did have.

there are a million more stories i could tell from that weekend, but that kid i'll never forget. this is still one of the first photos anyone ever asks me about. he had his problems, but so do you and i. and in that short conversation he sounded like the most content kid ever. and i guess thats all that matters.

burnt rubber and blood

my best friend and i had taken a trip over to tampa a couple hours away. he is one of the most genuine people i've ever met and one of those people you would do anything you could, for any reason, at any time (you know what i'm talking about, and if you don't i feel sorry for you). our good friend and mutual tattoo artist was in town and its rare we see him anymore, much less get a chance to get some work done. the asshole decided to move to NYC like the asshole he is. he's a wanderlust motherfucker like myself and incredibly talented among other things. he was tattooing out of a house over there because he couldn't find a shop to guest spot at and thats where he is from, but guys like us could give a fuck less since tattooing is more therapy and less 'look at how fucking cool i am'. the plan was friendship tats and he got his done, but because of time and some other shit i ended up heading back home with no new ink.

its late at night and my friend and i are both beat and on our way back home and i won't lie i'm a little bummed. its raining, its dark, its florida, and i'm not tattooed. anyone whose ever spent more than a day driving in the sunshine state can testify to the absolute idiocy of our beloved residents when they decide to venture out into the world via auto. we're about half way home and i'm half asleep and josh practically slams on the brakes. i look up and there are kids running around in the middle of the road like chickens with their heads cut off--arms up in the air. we roll down a window and about three of 'em all start yelling at once about an accident and a hurt friend and help. fight or flight mode kicks in and of course we decide to fight. he pulls the car onto the shoulder and we both jump out.

there are three lanes on this highway and as a reminder its past midnight and its raining. in the middle lane sits the car in the photo. there are easily five or six teenage kids, and none of them had thought to call 911. 'how fuckin' stupid can you be' was my first thought and 'fuck this is a bad situation' is my second thought'. my friend and i round up all the genius teenagers still in the middle of the highway (what do you expect from someone who puts neon purple lights ON a dodge neon?) and put them all on the other side of the guardrail on the highway. ignoring the kids who are sobbing or freaking out about their parents who are 'going to kill them' for being out this late, my friend and i are then led to a girl who is bleeding profusely from the head. anyone who has ever had or dealt with a head wound knows they are persistent little bastards in turning everything red. josh immediately takes his shirt off and hands it to her (and this is not a warm florida night), he walks off and i take control of the kids as we realize there is more than one car involved. the girls a little out of it, more from shock than blood loss. i make sure everyone there with her knows a) to keep that shirt on her head and b) under no circumstances let her fall asleep. i had my camera out already, tried to snap a photo of the girl without being noticed, and forgot to turn the flash off. busted. girl starts screaming at me, i tell her i was just trying to set the camera for night so that i could take photos for insurance purposes for the people involved. teenage girl drama/me being sort of an asshole squashed.

after damage control was taken care of we start to hear what happened. apparently some asshole was going the wrong way straight into head on traffic. i hope for this persons sake they were drunk or stoned or fucked up because anyone who ends up on the wrong side of a highway (much less when its dark and raining) best be intoxicated, otherwise you oughta be executed under the principle of possessing the IQ of a jar of peanut butter. so this guy nails the a car full of teenagers head on. two other cars are involved as well. a truck and another car, both on opposite shoulders. so recap: autos on both shoulders and a car in the middle lane of a highway, dark, raining, awesome. the guy in the truck is on our side and me and my friend go to try to make sure hes okay. the guy is just sitting at his steering wheel, staring, not doing a damn thing, and wont even get out of the car. way to be a fuckin' pussy. if you aren't dead you best be doing something. i cross the other side of the highway and its a lady, she had called 911 because, get this, she was sensible. though no emergency vehicles were there yet.

i cross back over and my friend and i are standing on the shoulder and there is still oncoming traffic and a wrecked car in the middle lane. so i turn to him and i say 'dude, we should really try to push that car onto the shou..." and another car slams into the back of the neon, no brakes, no nothing. so now there is screaming, yelling, airbags, burnt rubber, and the neon is hit so hard it flies into the opposite median, a hunk of twisted silver on both ends. i look up and all i see is an older man in a car, slumped over, airbags in his face, smoke, and mangled metal. i run up to the car and i start yelling at him to wake the fuck up, but hes knocked out. there are cars screaming past me, or slamming on their brakes, or swerving onto the shoulder, and josh is yelling at me. i'm pulling as hard as i can on this guys door so i can pull him out and it won't budge. slammed fuckin' shut. i might as well have been playing real life frogger, but in this frogger the frog tries to be a goddamn hero. its evident to me i'm not gonna open this door, and all i see are rain blurred headlights continuously coming at me. back to the shoulder i go.

a safety feature in some cars these days is neutral: that being if you're in a serious accident and your airbags go off your car goes into neutral, i suppose so someone can push the car to safety because you're knocked the fuck out. i'm not entirely sure this is true, but whatever. so i'm standing on the shoulder with my friend, all the sixteen year olds are standing on the other side of the guard rail, and we all watch as this guy, still in his car, starts to roll in reverse into oncoming. some covered their eyes as i still watched sure this man was going to be t-boned and fused with metal right in front of me. the car gently came to rest against the opposite median and back across the highway i went.

shortly later emergency vehicles arrived, flares were lit, reports were made (not by us thank satan), and medical attention was given and received. no one was critically injured. my friend and i were cold, and wet, and tired (him much more so than i) and simply got in the car and left. on our way home, about three a.m. and twenty miles outside the city we come upon slowed traffic. we see more flares. it's an overturned escalade or some other bullshit car i would never buy (but would drive if some rich girl let me). eyeing a tow truck and the hunk of metal on its back we ask a cop rolling by what happened. he tells us apparently the guy had been going the other way, fled the scene of an accident, and ended up there.