My life changed forever on 30 December 2015. That evening, my wife and I left our room at Hotel Meliá Barcelona Sky and, before stepping outside, sat down for a breather in the lobby. And my god, did I need one.
We were surrounded by very athletic-looking men in their 20s and 30s (I mean, that was her excuse for needing a sit down), virtually all of whom looked familiar. They were being addressed by a middle-aged bald man who I could have sworn was last seen managing West Bromwich Albion.
Pepe Mel. It was definitely Pepe Mel. Adjusting my glasses, a few other familiar faces came into focus – one belonging to former Spurs goal machine Rafael van der Vaart, another to Norwich City flop Ricky van Wolfswinkel, another still to legendary wing wizard Joaquín, who, despite being roughly my dad’s age, is still playing football at elite level.
Now, we just so happened to be leaving the hotel for the Camp Nou. My wife had bought us tickets to watch Barcelona play that evening – a gift to make me feel better about turning 30. I was all geared up to support an in-his-prime Lionel Messi, who would be making his 500th appearance for the Catalans. But that’s before discovering that we were staying in the same hotel as the opposition: Real Betis Balompié.
Señor Mel. Meneers van der Vaart and van Wolfswinkel. Capitán Joaquín. We had shared hotel lobby space. We had breathed the same air. And, whether they realised it or not, we had shared a moment.
When they got up to leave, so did we. We strode from the hotel, side by side, the protective metal barriers either side of us keeping out the, er, seven Betis fans who had made the long journey from Andalusia, and whom I tried to convince I was Juan Manuel Vargas. I tried the same trick when we got to the Betis team coach, but considering Vargas was standing next to me, it didn’t really work. No matter. We’ll get the Metro. See you at the ground, lads. Bring it home. By which I mean the Hotel Meliá Barcelona Sky.
The game didn’t exactly pan out the way I’d hoped. Within half an hour Betis goalkeeper Antonio Adán conceded a penalty by almost decapitating Messi, defender Heiko Westermann scored an own goal after Neymar’s spot kick rebounded, Pepe Mel was sent off (and it would get worse for the don; he was sacked two weeks later), and Messi scored what was essentially a tap in. It ended 4-0. It could have been more.
But did it matter? No, it didn’t. When I stepped out of my hotel room, I had planned to attend the game as a temporary Barcelona fan. Worse, actually: a tourist – those smartphone-clutching disgraces responsible for watering down the matchday experience. But then serendipity intervened and introduced me to a cabal of semi-recognisable top-flight players who were either past their peak, doomed to never realise their potential, or just plain old mediocre.
Betis, though, ain’t no Southampton – and they’re more than any current crop of players. Indeed, they’re a grand old club that’s always done things their own way (which has occasionally meant showing a finger to the elite, most recently with this powerful statement against the European Super League), which engages in the fiercest rivalry in Spanish football (think what it would be like if Newcastle and Sunderland occupied the same city; that’s what Betis vs Sevilla is like), and which in 1998 broke the world transfer record by signing Denilson for £21 million.
Tenerife away, 1919
And despite their on-field ordinariness, Betis are the fourth best-supported team in Spain – behind only Barcelona, Madrid and Atletico Madrid (who, as we all now know, see themselves as being above everyone else). The reason? When Betis spent much of the 40s and 50s in the regional third division, they courted support across Andalusia’s villages and towns – when Sevilla were far too busy playing at a higher level, and therefore regularly travelling much further afield. Betis’s support has remained ever since, united by the expression ¡Viva er Beti manqué pierda! (Long live Betis, even when they lose!)
Because I’m now a Betico too, I’m allowed to spend many, many hours every single week searching for Real Betis shirts on eBay. When you stumble across classics like this Finidi George number from 96/97, it’s definitely worth it. And yes, I know – it’s probably a remake and I’ve been ripped off.
One day, hopefully in the not-too-distant future, my life will peak as I wear this on the streets of Seville, strolling towards the Benito Villamarín as the Andalusian sun gently sets overhead; Joaquín moments away from making his 2,500th appearance for his beloved Betis.