Camp Nou
Feb 8, 2009: A few days before leaving Dublin, we realised Barça would be playing at home while we were there. We checked the website and found there were still tickets available.
The site is very well organised. You can book specific seats, and even check photos that show you the view from the seat before you book.
We found a cluster of three seats together about halfway up behind the goal at the north end, slightly to one side of the goal. Your tickets are available immediately, and you can print them out as a PDF, with a barcode you scan at the turnstile. One thing to take note of is that odd and even-numbered seats are grouped. I was worried for a moment as our tickets were numbered 2, 4 and 6, but they were all together. At €33 each, they were good value.
We got into the ground a few minutes before kick-off, having spent a few nervous minutes jumping up and down at an intersection to attract a taxi. Coming out for the first time, overlooking the pitch, as the Barça players posed for the pre-match photo, took my breath away.
Barça have been in terrific form, and right from the start Sporting Gijon looked terrified. They defended in numbers, crowding around Lionel Messi every time he got the ball. This caution served them well enough, but then they got a corner. Barça won the ball, Xavi sent Thierry Henry flying up the wing and suddenly Samuel Eto’o had opened the scoring. It was always the way Henry was going to have most effect. To me, Barcelona’s waves of attacking play don’t particularly suit a player who always liked to be ahead of the ball; once he saw an acre of space in front of him, he was back in Highbury, skewering an opponent with terrifying ease and precision.
Eto’o got a second before half-time, sending the home fans happily down behind the stands for a half-time botifarra sausage and some alcohol-free beer (Rongi didn’t spot the ‘alcohol’ bit at first, and got a bit excited).
I was actually surprised at how subdued the atmosphere was, knowing how passionate they are about their team in Barcelona. 
The major exception was any time the ball came near Messi, sending a shiver of anticipation around the ground. Watching him in the flesh, when you can track his movement of the ball as well as seeing his incredibly quick feet and thinking, gives you an appreciation of why he puts the fear of God into opponents.
On the night, however, Xavi was without equal. Young Brazilian Dani Alves, however, was a very popular scorer of the third goal, having covered the length of the right wing many times before he got his reward.
It was slightly amusing that the one time the home fans did raise something of a party atmosphere, it was knocked on the head very quickly. A ‘wave’ had got under way just as Sporting won a free-kick outside the Barça box, only to fade like a bad case of brewer’s droop right behind the home goal as the ball somehow wriggled into the bottom corner of the net — no more such frivolity until the trophy is in the cabinet, I suspect.
We left the stadium walking on air (Well, Isabel was as happy as could be expected, having been in the employ of Real Madrid for five years). The locals left on the biggest fleet of motorbikes and scooters I’ve seen outside of Bangkok rush hour.
A 15-minute walk took us back to Isabel’s neighbourhood, where we celebrated the end of a thoroughly satisfying day with a beer, a plate of olives and a couple of helpings of spicy patatas bravas in a little restaurant famed locally for the latter.
Created with flickrSLiDR.
February 8, 2009 11:21 pm 
