To die in the rain

I’m always against Arsenal, but I’m not often for Barça. Thus, finding a deep vein of emotion for the Champion’s League final was difficult, that is without resorting to riding out to celebrate for a downfall instead of a victory. Sometimes you have to watch from the rear of the room. That said, I felt a numb gladness watching Arsene Wenger with his head down in the rain as the time dripped away after the azulgranas second goal.

But you have to have a moment to reflect on Arsenal with pity. The sending off of Lehman after 20 minutes drew blood with a blade tainted with slow poison. It was like the climax of Hamlet. You knew what would happen even as the words kept tumbling from Arsenal’s barrel.

I was glad they went a goal up. I was in a bar in Barcelona wanting to watch the home side sweat a little if only to bring out their best attacking powers. My companions were my Portuguese girlfriend, for Barça, and David, a Catalan who is for Español and therefore Arsenal. He is one of the only ones. He was happy, but he knew all the time it would be impossible.

Surprising it went so long then, when it seemed to die so quickly in the end. Two goals like two spasms of the heart. The blood went from the eyes of all but Thierry Henry. He was looking at all things at once: what was, what could have been, and what was possible. To die in the rain, as Ernest Hemingway never said.

Barça made it easy for them, playing so cuddly. Compare their lack of cold decisiveness against Ashley Cole when he pushed Giuly (or was it van Bommel?) away after bringing him down. Worse was the sense of repetition, that Liverpool’s English ghost would haunt Europe another year. Wenger, played the youth card, the trump of hope. Barça played with everything to lose, just like Chelsea had the year before, and lost.

The mood in the bar before Barça’s first goal was tense and was getting pessimistic. The room was full of self-disbelief. Nobody sung or shouted. I hoped this wasn’t going to be Liverpool again.

But then the scores were level, the trophy was secure it seemed and the noise began. Then it was all over quickly, with 15 minutes to go. Arsenal arrived early for eternity. That was that. There was a sense of justice, a sense of relief and exhalation. There was people on the bars, in the streets, almost all in shirts or with flags and paint. Every moto sounded a horn and people danced. Groups of girls sung the team song arm in arm. I saw an Indian let off fire works and stamp his feet for rain. There was no rest for two days. Crowds of people under the gathering clouds in Las Ramblas at Las Canaletas being followed by helicopters. A painted car, cardboard cut out trophies and freshly minted victory T-shirts and magazines. There was no reason to be unhappy with the chapter. I didn’t feel it though. I was watching from the back of the room. I watched at everything smiling. Everything except perhaps the slight frown of worry and frustration creeping onto Messi’s face.


- Ramon