After a night in the port town of Algeciras I drove north-west for an hour and a half to another town on the coast, Sanlúcar de Barrameda. It’s one more of those places that I doubt that I’d have ever visited were it not for the football. My hotel was in the old town, which was a pain in the arse for parking, so I dumped the car in the underground hotel car park and left it there until I moved on.
Everyone in Sanlucar, with the exception of those working in hospitality or shops, appeared to be on holiday and were out and about on the streets. In the main square there was a funfair and some sort of barbering event where most of the town were getting their holiday haircuts.
I had a mooch about, although I couldn’t find anywhere that I fancied for lunch and ended up eating a sandwich on a park bench.
The game that I was in town for was about half an hour’s walk from the centre. I’d already bought my ticket online for eighteen euros and all I had to do was follow the directions on my phone to El Palmer stadium. I found it easily enough, pausing every now and then to read the posters on lampposts seeking information on missing sausage dogs and budgerigars.
My plan to walk around the outside of the stadium backfired a bit as the route took me some distance from the ground before I eventually looped back around. Still, it’s all steps.
As with yesterday’s game, this was a fixture in the Third Division South. Atletico Sanluqueno, in fifteenth place, were taking on top of the table Castellon. Fifteenth place could almost seem mid-table to an optimistic observer, but with five relegation spots in a twenty team league Sanlucqueno were clearly in a battle to avoid the drop.
My seat was in the Preferential stand, down the side. There were six rows of uncovered seating, opposite the main covered stand. The blokes around me were all drinking canas, those smaller than half pint measures of beer, that are popular over here. If I’d wanted a drink I’d have got a pint, rather than have to squeeze past everyone twice as often for a thimbleful.
Other fellas were standing next to the seats and smoking weed. I’m not sure what the law is about public consumption over here, but nobody, including the police and stewards, seemed interested.
Sanluqueno were in green and white stripes with the visitors in a black kit. I’m familiar with Castellon as being Mendieta’s first club. It’s also somewhere that I’d stayed with my daughter, Soph, when the Boro played Villareal in our first UEFA campaign, nearly twenty years ago. It’s a quiet, pleasant coastal town, not too dissimilar from Sanlucar.
Castellon went a goal up in the opening minutes. It might have been a Sanluqueno own goal or maybe the lanky centre forward got a touch on the line. A combination of poor Castellon finishing and some outstanding work from the Sanluqueno goalie kept it down to a single goal lead for the visitors at the break.
Sanluqueno never seemed out of the game and a Castellon red card a couple of minutes from time gave them some hope of a late comeback. It wasn’t to be though and in added time a cross driven into the Sanluqeno six yard box was turned into his own goal by a defender to put the result beyond doubt.
The goal sparked fury amongst the home fans, who for some reason had high expectations of getting something out of the visit of the league leaders. I think they might have benefited from less beer and more spliffs.
Trail of the Lion King 
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