November 27th, 2005

me: ooh!

Barcelona, Day 4

On Sunday, we worshipped at the Church of Football, by which I mean, the stadium belonging to the FC Barcelona team. I'd also like to note, although I imagine most of my American friends have gotten the point by now, that I'm talking about the proper game of football, the one that's played with the feet, not that rubbish wussy version of rugby* we call football in the States.**

* To be fair, rugby is played mostly with the hands and is still called "rugby football." WTF.

** To be fair, I have fond memories of watching American football on Sundays with my father. Of course, they're fond because they gave me the opportunity to pepper him with questions. "Daddy, who are the guys in white? Daddy, who are the guys in red? Daddy, what's a down? Daddy, how many points for a field goal?" Inevitably he would get frustrated enough to tickle me until I was reduce to a puddle of happy giggles, which was the whole point of the exercise anyway. So I'm not sure the game itself deserves much credit for that.


We popped out of the metro station at Les Corts and walked quickly through the sharp cold wind to the stadium. At the first access point, we ran up the stairs to the gates and peered at the stencil graffiti, which goes all the way around in the picture below with Marco. "Catalonia is not Spain" alternates with "Estat Catala." Collapse )