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Dialogues@RU is published
annually
by the
Writing Program at
Rutgers, The State
University of New Jersey
Volume Three
Spring 2004
The Last Genuine Local Team: Athletic Bilbao Surviving in the Spanish League - Page 3
by Jonathan Shulman
Secondly, the importance of nationalistic feelings and the crowds must not be underestimated. To be sure, all of us live in a global society to some extent, but that does not mean nationalism is dying, certainly not in sports; on the contrary, at times it seems that nationalistic soccer benefits from globalization (Crolley and Hand 10). While it seems unlikely that a soccer-caused war like the one between Honduras and El-Salvador in 1969 (after the latter managed to qualify for the World Cup at the expense of the former) could happen again today, one cannot rule it out completely. Witnessing a whole city stop in the midst of rush hour to watch its nation’s under-17 team play, a common event in metropolitan cities such as Buenos Aires during every youth world cup, is sufficient evidence to prove that, to paraphrase Mark Twain, the rumors of the death of international soccer (played between national squads) have been greatly exaggerated. One also needs to keep in mind that although players are usually paid ridiculously low sums for their participation in the national teams, they still regard it as the peak of their careers. Although Veron’s annual salary is estimated at four million dollars (G. Jones) he chose to spend last summer playing for Argentina in the World Cup instead of going on vacation. This tournament’s enormous success proves that Kaplan’s prophecy is yet to be fulfilled when it comes to soccer; even in our “global village” club level activities are still secondary to international competitions. Oddly enough, Athletic’s semi-declared Basque nationalist stand does not interfere with its players’ international careers. Several of them, like midfielder Julen Guerrero, have been proudly representing Spain. Even Athletic’s symbol throughout the 1970s, goalkeeper Iribar, who was well known for his pro-separatist opinions, captained the Spanish national squad (MacClancy 194). It seems that nationalistic sentiments are important for the Basque players of Athletic, just as long as they do not interfere with the personal fame and glory attached to playing at the more prestigious international level.
For the fans, on the other hand, such sentiments create the opposite effect. Ironically, international tournaments, which do not have a formal Basque representative, are the ones responsible for keeping the supporters of Athletic motivated. For most of them, Athletic is not simply the team of the city of Bilbao; in many ways, it is the Basque national team. True, some of the best Euskadi (the local name for Basque) players like Gaizeka Mandietta play in other clubs, but it is the club’s commitment to its Basque origins that keeps the fans united, high spirited, and devoted. For Basque nationalists, supporting Athletic is the best way (aside from terrorism, sadly) to gain recognition and attract attention to their struggle. At least in the soccer world, it seems to be working: the club is world famous for its policies, and even computer soccer games like Championship Manager 4 have been programmed to include a new nationality—Basque.
In Spain, a “deeply ritualistic country,” as English journalist (and current resident of Basque county) Phil Ball characterizes it in his book Morbo: the Story of Spanish Football (191), soccer takes on much more meaning than sports do in most other places. Even a book (and movie) like “Fever Pitch,” supposedly presenting soccer fandom at its peak in England, pales in comparison to the Spanish football culture which incorporates added political layers (Barnes 45). A Spanish club “named after its pueblo quickly [becomes] an extension of its soul… [and comes] to represent its community more strongly than either their fiestas, their people or their histories” (Ball 192). Naturally, with so much political weight on their shoulders, the Bilbaoans are even more committed to their club than most other fans. The European proverb “a soccer team is like a mother—you only have one” seems to most vividly come to life in the mindset of Athletic’s fans. Aptly named after the local saint San-Mamés, the team’s stadium is often dubbed “The Cathedral,” supposedly due to its physical proximity to a church. However, this nickname for this “four-sided enclosure of everything that lies outside” (Ball 193) was not arbitrarily chosen, for it is an alternative shrine, almost a holy place. Once inside the stadium, time seems to stand still, as Ball writes about the first match he attended there:
The atmosphere was unlike anything I have experienced before or since. . . this club is special. Outside the ground that night I saw acts of friendliness and goodwill that would have brought a lump to the throat of the hardest football cynic. . . The ground, smart though it is, is like some throwback to a happier, sepia-tinted football era. As you take your seat… you seem to be transported back to the days of rattles, cloth caps, steaming hot mugs of tea, mud, rain, and a hard but appreciative working-class audience. (84-85).
Indeed, there is an underlying nostalgic message in the club’s behavior, an attempt to bring back the old values of local patriotism back into modern soccer. In fact, a whole mythology surrounds Athletic Bilbao. The team’s nickname, los leones, the lions, suggests an undefeatable, strong stand, in accordance with the Euskadi belief that San-Mamés was fed by lions as a child - a sign of his courage and invincibility. In a land where “the symbols of the clubs, their colors, their nicknames and club songs are of paramount importance” (Ball 193), the supporters expect nothing less from their team than to fight like lions on the pitch.
While such soccer folklore is common in Spain, Bilbao does stand out because unlike most professional sports teams, its squad truly reflects the local community. All children in Spain share the same dream—playing for their favorite club. It is also very much what the supporters hope for: local players have always been the most loved ones, not necessarily in direct relation to their performance on the playing field. Of Real Madrid’s current unprecedented collection of stars, for instance, the most popular players are striker Raul and goalkeeper Iker Casillas. Born and raised in Madrid, they have a stronger connection with the fans than the club’s foreign stars. Thus, it is no wonder Athletic is so well love—all of its players proudly represent the Basque ideal, and its crowd feels like an integral part of the club, as novelist Luis De Castresana explains:
Athletic is for me something more than a football team; a part of the emotional landscape of my Bilbao, My Vizcaya… at root, we Vizcayans love Athletic because we intuit that it has something which belongs to us, because we intuit that within it is a piece of ourselves. [Athletic has] an identity as an umbilical cord linking men to the land, a geographical-emotional capacity. (MacClancy 189)
Unlike in most other cities in Europe and the rest of the world, such images will be as relevant to today’s children of Bilbao as they were for their parents and grandparents, since Athletic still maintains its unique local identity.
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