Whilst watching the Racing Cartegena game next door I could see a match had started on the nearby artificial pitch. A quick internet search revealed that it was an under fifteen Supaliga Cadete fixture between Cartegena UCAM and Lorca. Once my game had finished I took a walk around the outside of the Gomez Meseguer ground and went in for a look.
It was half-time and most of the crowd, whom I presume were mainly family members, were milling around bemoaning the lack of refreshments. Some of them made their way back into the main ground and got beers from the bar. As I wasn’t sure whether they would be returning to the shaded seats in the centre of the stand I took a seat in the uncovered section nearer to one of the goalmouths.
I didn’t know the score at that stage and to be honest I didn’t really care. It’s quite enjoyable sometimes to try and work out what the game situation is. I knew that visitors Lorca were in the blue and white Brightonesque kit and they were creating most of the chances. In the twenty minutes I was there they scored twice, both direct free-kicks from their number ten. He looked a menace.
As I wanted to be in Callosa for a tea-time game I didn’t hang about, but left with the thought that it would have been a high-scoring one-sided victory to the visitors. I checked the next day and whilst I’d called the victors correctly it was by a much narrower three-two margin than I’d expected.
For the first of the Sunday games, I drove south on the old coast road from Santa Pola to Cartegena. It was a pleasant enough drive with the frequent roundabouts being outweighed by seeing what was going on in the small towns that I passed through. At an hour or so it wasn’t a great deal slower than if I’d taken the motorway.
I arrived early enough to have a look around the town. There was some sort of fun run going on which, judging by the condition of some of the entrants, mustn’t have been too far. One bloke, who was about my age, had such an impressive beer belly that his race number sloped at about forty-five degrees.
The highlight of the town was the roman amphitheatre, although there were plenty of other ruins to see, including a city wall with cannons. Maybe Stockton should have got some of those when we knocked the Castlegate Centre down, just in case Thornaby ever starts getting arsey.
The game I’d lined up was at the Ciudad Deportiva Gomez Meseguer, which was back out of town again and in an area that seemed part business park, part industrial estate. I was early enough to be able to park on the road outside rather than having to head for the likes of the Decathlon superstore.
There were two full-size pitches. One, which looked to be the original ground, was grass, whilst the other, which may well have been a subsequent addition had an artificial surface. This game was in the old ground. A poster outside stated that admission was usually fifteen euros for the tribune section down the side, or ten euros for general admission and a seat behind the goal. The pricing wasn’t applicable for this game though as admission was free as part of a Black Friday promotion.
I’d got there early, just in case people were keen to take advantage of the promotion and so had a seat in the Tribune section a good forty minutes before kick-off. The stand was built of scaffolding and seated around one hundred and fifty. There was a similar stand further along the touchline with a posher ‘Palco de Honor’ section between for the big shots.
The fixture was in the fourth tier Segunda Division RFEF Group 4 and both sides were loitering around mid-table with the potential for either promotion, relegation, or more likely a season that petered out not long after Easter.
The pitch was one of the poorest I’d seen in a while with bare patches and some potholes that looked to have been caused by leaking sprinklers. In some of them you could actually see the exposed pipework and fittings.
The standard of the playing surface fitted well with that of the play itself with a lot of moves breaking down before they led to anything. The opening goal came as a result of a speculative punt into the box that was turned into his own goal by the visiting centre-half with the ponytail.
The best piece of action in the first half was a shot from a direct free-kick, twenty-five yards out. It was headed straight for the top corner before the Cartegena keeper got his fingers to it and tipped it over the bar. It was swiftly followed though by a free-for all when a home player was barged into an advertising board by one of the opposition. The fans were irate, screaming that everyone and their Mams were whores whilst a middle-aged bloke in a Tupac tee-shirt spat twice at the nearest Velez player.
I moved behind the goal for the second half as it had the better combination of more shade and fewer fuckwits. It also gave me a closer view of the two further Cartegena goals as they ran out three-nil winners.
I suppose the Mestalla had been on my ‘visit’ list for a while. Partly because it’s generally considered to be one of the iconic Spanish stadiums, but mainly because Valencia have been building a new ground for what seems like donkey’s years. Construction seems to start and then stall again for a while and so I’ve been given additional time that nobody would have anticipated when the New Mestalla plans were announced.
Jen and I spent the morning and early afternoon mooching around the city centre. There were old churches, squares with cafes and an indoor market with pig heads, live lobsters and skinned rabbits. We bought a bag of padron peppers that hopefully we’ll be able to roast to resemble the way you get them served as tapas.
As game time approached, we made our way to the ground. It was busy outside with fans of both sides milling around. The scarf stalls were doing brisk business, as were the bars. If I lived in Valencia, I’d be happy to go along regularly and follow the team. We’ve got Mendieta in common and I watched them win the Copa del Rey back in 2008. That’s enough for a connection.
I’d bought tickets online a couple of weeks earlier at twenty-five euros a pop for seats high in the North Stand behind the goal. It was a very easy process and all I had to do was make sure I could find the Downloads folder on my phone to retrieve them at the turnstile.
It was an epic climb to our seats with about a dozen flights of stairs and then once outside, three risers to each row of seats. The steepness meant that every row had a barrier in front of it to prevent people tumbling downwards after getting over-excited.
Valencia’s opponents were Celta de Vigo, a team that I‘d watched a lot of back in the days when I worked in Galicia. Inevitably, Iago Aspas was still turning out for them, seventeen years after I’d watched him play for their ‘B’ team. Of greater interest to the home fans was the Celta manager, Rafa Benitez, who received a warm round of applause and a chorus of his song in appreciation of his Valencia exploits twenty years ago.
It wasn’t a classic with neither side have the guile, pace or luck needed to break the other down and chances were at a premium. It finished goalless, which no doubt suited relegation candidates Celta better. At the final whistle Rafa hugged everyone in sight and took the applause of the forty or so travelling fans to our left. I made sure to hold the handrail on the way down.
Jen and I had driven up to Valencia for some La Liga action at the Mestalla and arrived a few hours before kick-off to see the sights around the city. We’d managed to dump the car about twenty minutes away from the ground, next to the Jardi del Turia, which is a park that runs through a lot of the old centre.
Lots of people were taking a stroll through the trees and there were yoga classes going on as well as some salsa dancing. I had more interest in the football pitch that I’d spotted and we paused for a while at the Camp de futbol municipal L’Exposicio to watch some matches where the kids were probably around six years old. They played across the pitch in eight-a side matches.
Three hours or so later we were back in the park, having had our lunch and with the intention of picking up coats and jumpers from the car before heading to the match. As we passed the park pitch, I could see there was still football going on but this time it was larger kids playing eleven -a-side. That counts as a tick by my rules and so we hurried over for a closer look.
I asked a fella behind the goal who the teams were and fortunately he knew. He also told me that the players were fifteen years old. This was enough for me to be able to track down and confirm the details online of the Infantil A Division of some Valencian League.
Apolo were in a blue and back striped kit of the style made famous by the Boro’s infrequent adoption of the colours as an away strip. Think Hickton in the Charlton’s Champions team, Barmby in Robbo’s first Premier League campaign or Boksic a few years later. The other lot were in a white kit, something that we’ve occasionally turned out in, but which is more naturally associated with Dirty Leeds.
Apolo looked to be the stronger side and scored whilst we were there, before running out eventual three-one winners.
The third game of the day took us out of Murcia and an hour down the road to Eldense. We found a parking space that didn’t seem too far from the ground, but it was only when we got closer on foot that I realised that we’d parked near to the old Estadio Pepico Amat.
Fortunately, there were sufficient people milling around to give me a bit of confidence that the new Pepico Amat couldn’t be too far away. Sure enough, it was just around the corner, and after a lap of the ground trying to find our section, we eventually arrived at the temporary seating erected to increase the ground capacity from its original four thousand.
Four thousand seems somewhat unambitious for a team that’s now in the second-tier. They might have been better staying at the old Pepico. This game didn’t sell out, but maybe the five-hundred tickets sold over the old capacity made the building of the temporary stand worthwhile.
Our twenty-five euro seats near the top gave us an excellent view of the countryside beyond the ground, although with the sun in our eyes I was grateful when the it finally disappeared behind the hills. That was the signal for everyone to add a layer or zip up their coat.
Fifteenth place Mirandes took the lead on the half-hour. Or, more accurately, a couple of minutes later after the VAR got involved. I was surprised to see that they have it in the second-tier in Spain, although I was equally surprised that the game went ahead at all in an international week.
Anyway, a Mirandes striker looked to have had his shot saved on the line. He wheeled away doing a Jan Fjortoft airplane celebration whilst everyone else, including his team mates, played on without a murmur. Two minutes on, the ref paused, held his finger to his earpiece and awarded the goal.
Tenth placed Eldense had the crowd stamping a little too enthusiastically for my liking in a stand made of scaffolding with an injury time equaliser just before the break. They went ahead a couple of minutes after the restart and looked as if they would see the game out. They didn’t quite manage it though as a stooping header from a free-kick whipped in bang on ninety minutes secured a point for the visitors.
The second game of the day was just a short drive away in Murcia and the reduced Sunday traffic meant that we were parked up a short walk from the Estadio de La Condomina with plenty of time to spare.
There’s a limit to how much football Jen wants to watch and I suspect that we often exceed it. She decided to sit this one out and I left her in a busy churreria, which is a bit like a coffee shop but sells those cups of thick chocolate that you dip a doughnut-like substance into.
I’d already bought a ten euro ticket online for the fourth-tier fixture between UCAM Murcia and the Cadiz B team. UCAM had inherited the ninety-nine year old Condomina ground when Real Murcia relocated to the ‘new Condomina’ where I’d watched the Ukraine U21 game a couple of days earlier.. I wondered whether this ground would eventually become known as the ‘old Condomina’.
I’m not sure how I’d feel if someone had moved into Ayresome Park after the Boro left, particularly if they played in red. If they were a non-league side, say the like of Boro Rangers, maybe I’d go along and adopt them as a second team. Although it might well be more like going to see a tribute act, which I rarely do.
There were only two areas open. A main covered stand that ran along one side of the pitch that looked like it was dropping to bits and an open area behind the goal to my left. There was a small band of ultras with a drum in that one, squeezed into the only area that had the benefit of shade.
The game got off to a slow start with UCAM having most of the possession and territory with Cadiz relying on counter-attacks. When the visitors did get opportunities, they were invariably blasted high and wide. UCAM scored with a low shot across the keeper into the corner just before the break and that turned out to be enough to take the points.
This game was the first of three that I had lined up for that day. I’m aware that might be considered a little excessive and I’d probably accept that. But when games are scheduled close to each other and the travelling fits, well, why not? One reservation that I had was that I’d have to miss around ten minutes of either the first or second game as the logistics didn’t quite work perfectly, but I’ve never been precious about having to see the entire game to tick off a ground.
The first fixture required a drive down to Murcia for a ten o’clock kick-off at the Estadio Campus Universitario for a fifth-tier game. We were there an hour early, but the car parks were already full, no doubt with cars that hadn’t moved all week whilst their owners stayed in bed. Fucking students.
It was five euros admission, but very few people were paying as they were flashing what I presumed were their Real Murcia season cards to watch the reserve side. The only viewing option was a seven-row uncovered concrete terrace down one side. We spotted a few plastic chairs dotted about in the back row and collected two of then as a perk of being there so early.
Real Murcia B were fifth in the table with CAP Ciudad de Murcia in tenth, but there were just four points between the sides. The game wasn’t up to much and my eyes were repeatedly drawn to an eight a side small kids game on the next pitch along. On the basis that the adult ref seemed twice the height of the players I’d guess that they were around six years old. Some of them looked pretty decent and you couldn’t help but smile at the joy and despair whenever a goal was scored.
There wasn’t anything like the excitement in the adult game, with not a single shot on target in the first half. I tried for a half-time drink but there was nothing available. By the time we reached the hour mark, at least each side had managed a shot on target. Nevertheless, I didn’t see much point in hanging around any longer and so we cleared off at that point to make sure that I was on time for the second game of the day.
After the U21 game it was time for a fifth-tier fixture at Atzeneta. We got there early enough for a wander around the town, having read that they had some ice houses and that there was an excellent view of a valley. We didn’t see either of those sights, but we did stumble across a sheep in someone’s back garden.
We also found an old stone laundry system where people would wash their keks on a not so rapid cold cycle by using the stone gulleys outside of their houses. The Atzeneta tourist people had very kindly created a little trail for people like us with frequent notes spelling out how it all worked. It’s just what I need for the washing machine in our house.
The Campo de Futbol el Regit was up a hill on the edge of town and with woodland on three sides. We were there well before kick-off and by that time there were already lots of cars parked up. Atzeneta had a big game against La Liga side Getafe coming up in the Kings Cup and I wondered if maybe more people than usual were turning up for this game with the intention of buying a ticket for the cup-tie.
Our tickets for this match were fifteen euros each, which struck me as a bit over the top, although that’s maybe just because of my age. Or tightness. It’s about on a par with seventh-tier prices in England and so I suppose not too bad really. I bought some raffle tickets on the way in but noted that the prize of a couple of bottles of wine probably wasn’t worth much more than the cost of the tickets. I’d been hoping for the chance to win a pig leg.
We found seats in a covered stand that probably held around three-hundred and fifty or so. Latecomers had the opportunity to lean against a rail along the remainder of the touchline. An alternative option was provided by benches and tables on the opposite side of the ground which was outside of the perimeter fence and up the hill. Some teenagers had nabbed those spots and saved themselves the entry fee.
Atzeneta were in the play-off spots, with visitors Acero in mid-table. The hosts went a goal up after a quarter of an hour with a shot from outside the box and preserved their single goal advantage until the break. I got myself some sort of mini pasty that seemed to be filled with tuna and tomato. It was ok, I suppose, on the basis that by ordering blindly it could have been a lot worse.
The home side quickly added two more goals after the restart and before the sun dropped behind the mountain knocking around ten degrees off the temperature. Acero pulled on back just after the hour, then had a ‘goal’ disallowed before missing a simple chance. At that point it could easily have been three-each.
The game was effectively over when the Acero keeper saw red for a deliberate handball. With no subs remaining an outfield player took his sweaty top and promptly conceded a tap-in for a final score of four-one.
As both Jen and I can work remotely we decided to head off to Spain for a few weeks. We flew into Alicante and rented an apartment a little further down the coast in Santa Pola. It’s an area with plenty of football grounds within an easy drive and it wasn’t long before I’d pencilled in my first game.
Murcia is about an hour away and was providing the location for a couple of fixtures for the Ukrainian U21 side. It’s just like so many Spanish cities, with a well-preserved old town. We had time to look around the cathedral, or at least, a cathedral and called into the attached museum where the highlight was a painting of an olden day bloke flicking the vees.
It was getting dark by the time we made our way up to the New Condomina stadium that usually hosts Real Murcia. Tickets were free, although with an admin charge of less than two euros that my bank still felt the need to verify.
Only the lower section of one stand was open, so even free tickets weren’t enough to draw a sizeable crowd. Most people seemed to be supporting Ukraine and a lot sang their national anthem. I wondered how many of the players had lost friends and family or knew someone at the front.
It was the third time this year that I’d seen the Ukraine U21 team after the two fixtures in the U21 Championship finals in Bucharest in the summer.
I’d told Harry where we were, and he had forecasted an easy win for Ukraine. They had most of the possession and chances and went in at the break a goal up. His prediction looked a lot more likely when Luxembourg went a man down minutes into the second half. The fella couldn’t really complain at going for two yellows as his first could easily have been a red in itself when he took his own retribution at being denied a free kick and launched himself from behind at the perpetrator.
Playing against ten men made it easier for Ukraine. They added another three goals and spurned as many other good chances for an eventual four-nil victory.
With the American trip done, Jen and I had a few days in the UK before heading off again. Fortunately, it coincided with a Boro game and so I was able to get along in person rather than watching or listening on my phone. Alistair wasn’t busy, so he came along with Harry and I.
The Boro had picked up a bit whilst I was in the States meaning that the game against leaders Leicester featured the two form teams in the division. Harry thought that we’d take a point and I’d have been satisfied with that. Leicester looked good early on, but we grew into the game and finished the first half with a flurry of chances.
They put us under pressure after the break and hit the post, but it was the Boro that took the points with a Sam Greenwood free-kick a few minutes from time. As it hit the top-corner of the net from twenty-five yards we celebrated in disbelief. Especially Alistair, who I think might be close to switching his allegiance from Man City.
Trail of the Lion King 