Nando bowled up to a security guard protecting a closed barricade. The noise of the fans suddenly doubled.
“Can’t you just let us in here,” he said.
“Sorry, it’s full,” said the security guard, folding his arms.
“Come on man, my Cuñao has come all the way over from London for this game.”
The security guard shook his head.
“Don’t worry Nando, I think our seats are over there anyway,” I said, pointing in the other direction as I glanced at the ticket again, completely unaware of what Nando was trying to wangle.
“Ah man, but this is my second home, how can you not let me in with the best football supporters in Spain?”
“Go on then,” said the security guard, letting us through.
That’s when I realised that we were never going to sit in our actual seats, nor was anyone by the looks of things. As we turned past the security guard I looked behind at the stand. I’d never seen such madness in all my life. It was absolutely insane. Red and white flags were waving everywhere. Young lads, mostly in their twenties, a few skinheads, a few topless, and were going mental, eager for war to begin. There were even quite a few ladies, shouting and singing, wearing their pink Sevilla shirts with pride. Continue reading “Derbies in Spain are Insane – Part 2”