The Camp Nou - a tourist's experience

As you browse through the tourist guidebooks of “must-see” things in Barcelona, apart from the Gaudi works and the Olympic village and the Las Ramblas and the flamenco shows, they mention this museum that’s the most visited in the city. No, I’m not talking about the Pablo Picasso museum although that attracts a fair share of visitors too. I’m talking about the museum at the football club of Barcelona – FCB. Now given that I really enjoy watching the team play and try to follow pretty much every game, such a sort of thing really makes you wince a little bit, but I guess the marketing types need to make a living after all. From the famous Mes que un club motto to the merchandise at the many FCB stores littered all across Barcelona (including the airport, of course), they have taken the football club and made it into a sellable commodity. Pretty much every other kid in the city wears a Messi jersey.

Getting tickets is a far from simple matter because the club works on a complicated system wherein members need to release tickets for them to be available. We managed to get fairly decent seats to watch Barca take on Athletic Bilbao in a La Liga match. Although Bilbao may not be doing too well in the league this season, they made a lot of people sit up and take notice with their annihilation of United in a Europa cup tie. I was fairly confident that Barca would see them off easily at home, especially since they had played a Europa match against Shalke only 2 nights back, but then you never know. Barcelona had also drawn 2-2 away at the San Mames earlier in the season so this was no sure-shot. Oh well, that’s what makes it all fun.

As we walked through the Gothic quarter on the morning of the match, we saw a bunch of Bilbao supporters standing around a bar singing something in Basque (I guess it must’ve been the team song) pointing in the direction of a few local kids decked up in their Barca kits. The needle! The city was getting ready for the match.

After overcoming some linguistic barriers, we were able to pick up our tickets at the pick-up center near Plaza Catalunya and figured out the best way to get to the stadium was to take so-and-so train in so-and-so direction. So we step on to the train in our Barca gear and as expected – the train is mostly full of people heading to the game. It’s funny how supporters of a team are not very different in that regard, irrespective of the sport or the country. Whether you take the line 3 to Les Corts or the Churchgate local to watch a cricket match at the Wankhede, or you take the 4 to the Bronx to watch the Yankees play, the general atmosphere is pretty much the same. You have your supporters wearing imitation T-shirts, some looking fairly sillier than they do on a regular workday, all chatting about in good humor and anticipation of getting a favorable result. It’s something non sport fans will never get. The energy. The anticipation. We did notice a few stares in our direction – not sure if it was because seeing a couple of Indians heading over to the game is unusual or they were patronizing “oh these tourists” looks, but we did notice a few. Spain is similar to India in that sense – people will stare at you quite openly. More on that later.

As we went closer to the Camp Nou, there was the usual throng of supporters patiently waiting outside the gates hoping to catch a glimpse of the team bus and maybe get a picture of the back of Messi’s head or Cesc’s elbow. We headed over to the hot-dog stands outside and I helped myself to a can of Estrella – fairly unremarkable beer, but any trip to a sporting mecca is incomplete without a taste of the local hooch. We headed inside to catch our first glimpse of the imposing stadium that is the Camp Nou. You expect a stadium that can hold almost 100,000 people to be fairly huge but of course, you can’t really taste the atmosphere until you stand there and hear the said 100,000. I checked later that approximately 85,000 people showed up that night, which proves that an empty seat here and an empty seat there can really add up.

As the players came out and started to warm up, I looked behind to see a bunch of Japanese tourists (at least I assumed them to be Japanese) taking in the action as well and I felt myself turn fairly patronizing myself about how they were here just for the tourist experience. That’s where the stares on the train came back to me. They were propagating a stereotype for me, just as I was for those on the train. That was my one big epiphany of the night. Oh well, back to the pitch. The teams were still going through their pre-game drills prompting a bunch of camera flashes going off around the stadium in the midst of the usual cheering and whistling (I had to tell my wife that the whistles are a form of jeering in Spain – very different from the appreciative whistles they let fly from the cheap seats in India).

And then it began. Kick-off was preceded by an 85,000+ strong rendition of the Barca club anthem and the unfurling of the flag. As the match kicked off, Barcelona settled into their rhythmic passing game. Now at this point, it’s worth mentioning that the crowd could stay perfectly silent during the game when something potentially significant was unfolding and that’s a sure sign of a knowledgeable public. Cesc and Xavi hadn’t started so Thiago and Iniesta were playing in the midfield along with Busquets and Messi was leading the line with Tello and Alexis in tow. The midfield tiki-taka was just as mind boggling to watch live as it always is on TV. There were the usual patient buildups, the give and goes and some amazing runs from Messi. The ball did hit the back of the net fairly early, but the whistle had blown and that tempered the Camp Nou that was ready to erupt.

Overall, it was the kind of performance that is starting to be taken for granted from this Barcelona side. Iniesta displayed some fantastic ball-control and along with Messi was running the Athletic defense ragged. There were some marauding runs forward by Pique and some excellent fire-fighting by Mascherano who is starting to look more and more like a center-back with every passing match. Alves spent a lot of his time in the attacking half of the pitch, as is his wont, and even Adriano went forward more than Abidal generally would’ve and it all made for some attacking football. Thiago was fairly disappointing through the game because his first touches were often too heavy and I remembered him giving the ball away cheaply on more than one occasion. After a period of domination in the first half, the first goal duly arrived from a precise Messi pass and with some excellent finishing from Iniesta. We went into the half-time break feeling fairly confident that we won’t be witness to a rare home loss. It was more of the same in the second half and Tello, who had been fairly anonymous up to that point, sped into the box and won a penalty for a shove by the highly rated Javi Martinez. Messi tucked away the penalty without a fuss and around this point, any lingering anxieties went away. Pique had to make a clearance off the line but by-and-large the defense was untroubled by Bilbao’s attack.

Xavi came on towards the end of the second half for Iniesta and that prompted huge cheers from the crowd, but the loudest cheers of all were reserved for their adopted son, Messi. Watching the crowd dote on Messi reminds you a bit of the Wankhede crowd’s unconditional love for Sachin. It’s like a grandparent looking on their prodigal grandson who, in their eyes, can do no wrong. The place erupted as it had threatened to all night when Messi scored the goal. 2-0. Game over.

In the end, it wasn’t the most exciting match ever, but it felt great to be part of the experience. It’s hard to not take a bit of a philosophical angle on the whole thing and realize that behind what we are able to watch, there are thousands and thousands of hours of training that we didn’t. And to understand that it’s this whole Catalan sub-culture that manifests itself on the pitch every time Barca step on. Critics point to the high horse that the club and its followers sit on, but the reasons for the unabashed display of Catalan nationalism that goes hand-in-hand with the club have their roots in the Civil war and are deep enough that anyone who has not lived there can’t even begin to understand. It’s something that I don’t even pretend to do. Maybe the locals don’t object to putting the club’s museum on the list of Barcelona to-do’s. One can only guess. Not knowing Spanish - leave alone Catalan - leaves me culturally poorer and in a position where I will only always be merely scratching the surface. All that aside, I was fortunate enough to watch what may be the best football team of all time. Visca Barca!

It's tough at the top

To all students of Indian cricket, we start of with a multiple choice quiz: 


Q: During the last two away-series against in non-subcontinental conditions, as the test team was obliterated 8-0 by an Anglo-Australian combo, what do you think was the biggest factor?
a. Lack of support for Zaheer Khan in Australia. 
b. Lack of Zaheer Khan for support in England.
c. The famous Indian Middle Order playing as though they were featuring in a retirement benefit, despite quashing all talk of retirement. 
d. The IPL (which is also responsible for world hunger and global warming). 


To the curious onlooker and pedant alike, any of those might seem to be attractive options. However, I would like to propose an extra option to add to the following that, after extensive analysis (read 20 mins of fiddling with Cricinfo's statsguru, complaining about how terrible the interface is and then stumbling upon the stat), there is a 5th choice that I would like to add to this list - and that might end up being the correct answer. And I don't mean an 'All of the above' option, which is always right. 


Let's look at some stats, shall we? Let's consider the period between Jan 1, 2003 and Dec 31, 2010, i.e. from that golden summer in Australia when India started being competitive abroad up until before the horror show last year. As the criteria, let's look at the first wicket partnerships for India everywhere but Sri Lanka, Pakistan and Bangladesh. This is what shows up: 


From 2003-2010 inclusive, India used 8 openers and over the course of 48 innings, they scored 2231 runs at an average of 48.50. Compare that to last year and the difference could not be more stark. 5 openers have managed a mere 382 runs in 24 innings over the last year, with a paltry average of 15.91. Because tables and statistics can get prohibitive to read and spit too much unnecessary data anyway, let's try and analyze what all of this means. 


It means that between 2003 and 2010, every time India played outside the subcontinent, they could be expected to score about 48 runs without losing a wicket. This number dropped to 16 during the last year. To compare with the numbers before 2002, when india were routinely trashed abroad and whitewashes never resulted in analyses of this nature, India still did better than last year. Twice as well, as a matter of fact. Between 1932 and 2002, India's first wicket put on an approximately 29 runs for the first wicket (29.33 to be exact, for those who like that sort of thing). 


Now I'll go about arguing why this stat is more significant than any other reason. While the Indian bowling attack was not penetrating in either England or Australia, the fact remains that they never really had a lot of runs to play with. Yes, a team needs 20 wickets to win test matches, but if the batsmen are not going to put on runs on the scoreboard, there is never any pressure on the opposition batsmen. A case in point is the Perth test during the last Indian tour of Australia. The attack was mostly makeshift, but the batsmen stuck it out and made the Aussie bowlers work hard to get them out. As a result, the bowlers were able to generate sufficient pressure to make the batting wilt. 


As for the great middle order, they have always done well only when they've had a reasonable platform. The same middle order (plus Ganguly) could not prevent India from losing 3-0 to Australia in 1999. Traditionally, India have had a problem with good, solid test openers with the notable exception of a certain Sunil Gavaskar. It isn't overstating it that the success that the middle order had outside the subcontinent had a lot to do with the starts that Virender Sehwag provided. Gambhir has mostly been a failure in England and Australia and Sehwag's stand-and-deliver technique is being found out in seaming conditions now that his reflexes aren't as good as they were a few years back. 


To be able to compete outside the subcontinent, India do need a new, improved and solid middle order (including Sehwag, maybe), a competent seam attack and a half-decent spinner. However, before everything else, what the team need are a good, old-fashioned opening pair that will try and stick around for the first hour and shield the middle order from the new ball. And possibly even score some runs in the process. That is the first and foremost thing that needs to happen if the period between 2003 and 2010 is going to be remembered as anything but a slight aberration. 


Or, we can go about blaming the IPL. 

The ballad of Vinay Kumar

The Indian team went down under
with what was their best chance
for Sachin to dominate a young attack
and Laxman to rekindly his Aussie-romance.
Vinay Kumar was the extra seamer
who no one thought would play a Test. 


The team started off well in Melbourne, 
but could not deliver the killer blow. 
Then after a pounding from pup, 
they headed to Perth down two-O. 
They sized up the pitch at Perth and said, 
"Let's play Vinay Kumar in this Test." 


On a juicy first-day pitch 
the Indian batting collapsed in a heap. 
Warner had already got a start when 
Vinay arrived at the bowling crease. 
And thus began the story 
of Vinay Kumar playing his first Test.


In the first over of his debut 
he met the flashing blade of Warner,
who duly deposited a good length ball
to the WACA's furthest corner. 
No, this was not the IPL, 
Vinay Kumar was playing a Test. 


He tried to rely on swing and seam 
while bowling steadily at 120, 
but to the Aussies it was canon fodder 
and he disappeared for plenty. 
Was it a wise decision, after all 
to play Vinay Kumar in this Test? 


On a frentic second morning 
he picked up a wicket, 
As a shortish ball was chopped to gully 
and he had the scalp of Mr. Cricket. 
Was there a redemption story in the making 
for Vinay Kumar in his first Test? 


Although there was a hint of a fight 
the Aussies won their third in a row. 
And 11 runs and an expensive wicket 
were all Vinay had to show. 
It did not make a difference 
playing Vinay Kumar in this Test. 


He was dropped for the last match 
as the Indians lost again. 
And you couldn't help but feel 
that he would never get another game.
And thus ended the sad story, 
of Vinay Kumar and his lone Test.


The batsmen could not bat 
and the bowlers could not bowl. 
The fielders had butter fingers 
and Dhoni lost control. 
Yet, the lowest point of the tour 
was that Vinay Kumar played a Test.

The People's Sachin

‘The People’s Princess’ initially started off as a radio play drawing parallels between two royal weddings and divorces – those between George IV and Caroline of Brunswick and then more recently, Prince Charles and Diana. The play itself focused on the nature of the divorce, the media’s role in each saga and the effect it had on the perception of the monarchy from the point of view of the British working class. The biggest impact the show had, however, was to firmly associate the People’s princess tag with Diana to such an extent that it continues to follow her until today, many years after her tragic death.

This can happen with some public figures – in some cases a result of clever PR used to ingratiate them with the masses, and in other cases via a series of (sometimes unfortunate) events, a bit of the extraordinary and sometimes with a slice of luck – they become icons. Throw over a billion people with a penchant for the romantic, sometimes bordering on the insane, and this icon hood can turn into quite an uneasy crown to wear. Of course, Sachin Tendulkar has worn it now for over two decades. Most recently, Greg Chappel, who had a rather uneasy relationship with Sachin and a majority of the Indian team, spoke about the regret he feels about not being able to have understood his pressures better at the time. These pressures have been spoken of ad infinitum, without much thought into what it means for him, or the fans.

Much like any public company, cricket loving Indian fans feel a sense of ownership towards Sachin. They haven’t invested any money into a share of him of course; what they have invested is their time and emotional energies. Speaking as one such “shareholder” myself, it is safe to say that we all have our personal memories of Sachin, much as we would of our favorite birthday present, or the best dinner we’ve ever had. We’ve all been guilty of crossing that thin line between admiration and possessiveness, albeit unknowingly. The Sachin that we see belongs as much to himself and those who know him as he does to us. Those pulled sixes off Kasprowicz, that other pulled six off Caddick, his lonely walk back after holing out off Saqlain in that test match in Chennai – we all think our treasure trove of Sachin goodies is different and better than anyone else’s. Everyone has a Sachin. Everyone. My Sachin may not be the same as Your Sachin. We are all like those blind men trying to feel their way around the elephant and taking away our own versions.

Cricket has always been the only sport that has had its hand on India’s pulse, but all of the cricketing stars before the 80’s have been reduced to anecdotes, sepia-tinted photographs and the occasional sound byte in the newspapers. It was television that brought them into every living room like never before, and the 90’s ushered in the opening of the markets and freedom from the post colonial hangover that led to a nation wanting poster boys. A young prodigy named Sachin fulfilled that void perfectly. His entire career has been played in front of a television camera – right from the time an awkward looking Sachin in ill fitting trousers was interviewed by Tom Alter at Shivaji Park up until the time when he was lifted on Yusuf Pathan’s broad shoulders and paraded around the Wankhede in front of 33,000 adoring supporters in the flesh and millions of others watching on their TV sets. We all know of every action he makes – the little nod of the head before he goes out to bat, the way he adjusts his crotch before taking guard, and the neat little right-wrist-over-left flick-off-the-pads as the ball rolls down to the square leg boundary before the bowler has finished his follow through. It’s like a reality-show that’s been on air for over 20 years. And it still draws as many eyeballs as the latest YouTube sensation.

It’s almost that everything that has happened before this has been prologue. The wait for that 100^th 100 is palpable. You can sense it in the air every time he walks out to bat. The monkey on his back is real. And it is only getting bigger and slightly more comfortable on his back the longer it takes for it to come. The media have played the Jekyll & Hyde role perfectly here – goading the frenzied fans to demand it on one hand, and chastising them for being unreasonable on the other. And yet, it comes back to the obsessive possessive Sachin disorder, if you could call it that. They want it for themselves, as much as they want it for him.

It hasn’t been done before and judging by the crowds in attendance at test matches these days, coupled with the mad lust for T20, it is unlikely that this record will ever be broken. The Man Himself has come out and spoken about how this milestone is just a number, but even he must know deep within that the only way to stop the madness is by getting one hundred runs in an innings. The fascination for milestones and numbers is too deep rooted in the Indian psyche and the masses are not going to collectively transform overnight. The way the drama is being played out right now, it is almost akin to a blood-thirsty mod willing a Roman Gladiator to plant the dagger into a poor victim’s gut and get it over with. They can’t wait for it anymore.

It is likely that when the time actually comes – surely, it is only a question of when– those that are present to witness it live will tell their grandchildren stories of how they watched him score his hundredth in the flesh with more enthusiasm than Sachin himself is likely to tell his grandkids about how he scored it. And once it’s done, maybe the monkey will be off his back. But then that’s what we thought when a World Cup sized monkey got off his back. I fear there will be some sort of burden that Sachin will have to bear until the day he hangs up his boots. He is, after all, the People’s Sachin.