Aquí estamos contigo, Sevilla.

In my element.

I consider passion to be a plane of existence where one loses perception of the present, where the present becomes your passion, whether it concerns love, grief or any other entity. As many of my friends and family know, soccer or football, depending on your geographic location, is my passion. I do not follow one team specifically or hold loyal allegiance to a club or player, but rather the game is my passion. A couple of weeks ago, on a cool Thursday night, I attended my first European soccer game. Sevilla Fútbol Club were to play their northern opponent, Racing Santander, a team that my brother assured me would be no trouble for Sevilla. As we entered the stadium I got the goosebumps I always get before going to a professional soccer game, I just cannot help it. I know that soccer is just a game and that these professional players are not demi-gods to be worshipped, but they display an artistry on the field that never fails to amaze me. Not only do these players possess the endurance to run the distance of short marathon during each game, but also possess a dancer’s grace and the power of a sprinter. As we found our seats way, way up at the stadium, I observered the crowd that came to support their allegiance to a club that determines who your friends are from the beginning of pre-school. Mostly men in the crowd, not surprising there, many with a bocadillo (small sandwich) and a pack of cigarettes at the ready. This pack of cigarettes for many came to be a life saver (please, note the irony) for their nerves as Sevilla struggled to capitalize on any offensive momentum they gained and as they struggled to  recuperate and maintain an organized defensive back. After a sluggish twenty minutes or so, Sevilla was awarded a penalty that Negredo converted into a goal. Though not as impressive as a goal created through clean passes and a decent strike, Sevilla’s fans did not hesitate to roar their support for their club. Sevilla had several more decent attempts on goal that proved fruitless, until a break in their defensive line allowed Santander to slot in a decent goal in from a chip shot. At this point I would describe the stadium as resembling a chimney, due to fans nervously puffing on their cigarettes as the time ticked on. With 15 minutes left, Luis Fabiano, a Brazilian footballer who showed a remarkable ability to score goals at the past World Cup, came on to the pitch and attempted to spark Sevilla’s offense that was missing another dangerous offensive player, Jesús Navas, to an ankle injury. As the last minutes ticked by, fans began leaving the stadium, resigned to the fact that their club was destined to a tie. I, not being spoiled by having football so readily available to me, stayed with my group until the last second. Though not the result that many fans wanted, especially Nacho (a group leader) as far as I could tell by the interesting choice of words he chose to describe certain players skills and their mother’s reputations, I was more than satisfied to have had this experience. To be surrounded by an equally passionate football fans after weeks of encountering cultural differences was welcoming. Next stop, is a visit to Real Madrid’s stadium. Though I do not claim allegiance to any team, I follow Barça with more fervor then I ever could follow a team with Cristiano Ronaldo as its resident pretty boy. For now I will content myself with playing pick-up soccer near my house, until the next chance I get to enter the stage of my passion.