529 Days Later: the Return to La Rosaleda
529 days later and we were back. 529 days without the walk along the dishevelled and graffiti-plastered river leading north, away from Málaga’s historico centro. 529 days without drinking cold bottles of Victoria outside Bar Hermanos Madrid, soundtracked by the chants of Málaga’s most ardent fans bouncing along the street. 529 days without the vibrant colores blanquiazules of Málaga fans strutting towards the beautiful bowl that is the Estadio La Rosaleda. For La Rosaleda, it had been 529 days without football in its truest form – as football does not truly breathe real air, nor does its heart pump real blood, without fans - something we were so often reminded of during the football wasteland of the last year and a half. As the fabled Uruguayuan writer Eduardo Galeano put it perfectly (and rather prophetically) in 1995’s Soccer in Sun and Shadow, ‘There is nothing less empty than an empty stadium. There is nothing less mute than stands bereft of spectators.’
17 months earlier, the stands and streets surrounding La Rosaleda were far from mute. On this occasion, I was stood outside our usual drinking haunt with Paul Gascoigne kissing me on the lips. Why Gazza was joining our gang for Málaga v Zaragoza remained unclear to me, but I was all for it, even though he'd also just called me a prick; however, the word ‘prick’ was followed with a friendly smile, the aforementioned kiss and an infectious laugh, as he derided me for putting in the effort the week before to go watch 'this load of shit' - his endearing assessment of Málaga CF. He was genuinely curious though as to why I had travelled away to watch Málaga; I couldn’t give him much more of an answer than ‘that’s just what football fans do, isn’t it?’ He still remained unconvinced by my admittedly unconvincing answer. But it is what we do, isn’t it? Our clubs are at a football ground and we feel we should be there. When living back in the homeland, that’s the mindset I had with Swansea City and this mindset has followed me to my new life in Spain and my Spanish club, Málaga.
After watching Málaga lose 1-0 to Zaragoza, I realised that the 8th March 2020 was always going to be a memorable day for me and the others amongst our group, as it would be the ‘hey, do you remember that time Gazza came to a game with us?’ day. It was to be a memorable day for the wrong reasons too, for myself and the other 22,000 fans at La Rosaleda that day. It was the last game any of us would attend for a very long time. 529 days, to be precise.
A week later, all of Spain was confined to their homes in one of the strictest lockdowns in the world. Football was the least of the virus-infected world’s problems, but like many others, a football matchday is the epicentre of my week; having that snatched away was a tough thing to process, however understandable the reasoning. Locked behind my flat door, I attempted to remedy my craving for football with podcasts reminiscing of the past seasons, a high pile of football books I’d been meaning to read and hours spent practising keepy-uppies with a bog roll. It was the lightest of fixes though and not the real drug I needed: the visceral dose of standing on a terrace, shouting anguish and joy at your team.
Devastating virus or not, football is too stubborn to stay down and it fought back and rose again, albeit with the caveat of supporter-less grounds. After such an arid spell with no football, any sight of the game was going to be welcome, even if the result was to pump a drab affair with the mockery of fake crowd noise through our TV screens at us. The battle for most fans was to embrace this solely TV-screened football in front of us without fully succumbing to this as the ‘new normal’. I had looked up above stadium skies and prayed to the esoteric ‘football gods’ many times: praying for goals, praying for penalty saves, praying for red cards to opposition players - now I was just praying to simply be… there.
Then the day came. Due to uncertainties about the amount of fans allowed into La Rosaleda, season tickets had not been sold yet, but Málaga’s Twitter account tweeted out declaring match tickets were on sale for the first home game of the season...NOW! I'm not sure I had felt such adrenaline in 18 months as I scrambled through the club website to get my ticket. I could not miss this opening game of the season.
As always, it is a highly anticipated affair, but this felt like nothing before - new signings and new managers were not the big story, but old fans were. The ensuing 6 days from ticket purchase day dragged on, especially as we had to wait until the Monday evening for Málaga’s bow, and after a weekend of watching the other curtain raiser games and the joy on the faces of fans, all reveling in just being there.
The count eventually stopped: 529 days and over.
Fueled once more by Victoria and giddiness, we marched along the river, looking more overgrown than ever, until the imposing concrete rump of La Rosaleda appeared. Concrete had never looked so utterly sexy and alluring.
The songs of the Frente Bokerón supporters’ group filled the street pre-match and everyone seemed to be smiling. I got chatting to a guy named Salvador who had left his hometown of Málaga for Valencia 18 years ago and had never returned, making this his first Málaga home game in almost two decades. I asked him what he was most excited about; drunkenly trying to navigate his way to the right words in his second language, he eventually stumbled upon four perfect words: “Just...to feel it.” I think we all wanted to just ‘feel’ inside a football stadium again more than anything.
As the chorus hit and I attempted to join in with the singing, I started to choke up a little, as I gazed around the glorious surroundings of La Rosaleda.
These were still Covid times and the club had sent out a list of rules and regulations for entry to the stadium - and to avoid ejection. Many of these were potentially atmosphere-sapping, especially the rule of ‘no elementos de animación’ (animation elements) - meaning flags and scarves and anything that could seemingly flutter about and interfere with the social distance measures in place, which also included staying in seats and wearingt masks. With digital ticketing and ID checks too, queuing for entrance was slightly longer than before, but this gave us time to realise that the rule discouraging singing was long out the window as you could hear the concrete cauldron above us brewing up plenty of noise.
I passed the threshold into the stadium two minutes before kick-off and sprinted up the two flights of steps, as I didn’t want to miss the ever-rousing pre-match singing of the himno - the club anthem. However, as I emerged into the upper tier and looked down on the glorious green grass below, I did not hear the opening lines of “MÁLAGA! LA BOMBONERA!...” I realised I’d arrived not for a belting himno, but a minute’s silence for those fans who had been lost over the past 18 months. This felt a far more appropriate and poignant time to step into La Rosaleda and a reminder that I was lucky to be able to enjoy the night ahead, whilst very sadly many others will never get to come back.
The traditional himno was not played over the PA system at all, which I guessed was to quash singing. However, the gathering of the hardcore fans to my left - who had moved up a tier from their usual spot behind the goal - delivered their own acapella version. As the chorus hit and I attempted to join in with the singing, I started to choke up a little as I gazed around the glorious surroundings of La Rosaleda. I composed myself enough to deliver the final line: “¡MA-LA-GA!”
The stewards and police made an initial go at clamping down on the singing, to little avail and I considered that they were probably reveling in the joyous sounds themselves. There was never going to be trouble on a night like this and even the usual anger-filled cries of “¡AL-THANI VETE YE!” (AL THANI GET OUT!), aimed at Málaga’s suspended Sheikh owner, were not present tonight. Tonight was all about celebration rather than derision.
6,500 fans were scattered around the 30,000 seater stadium, but as one local newspaper put it the next day, the stadium ‘rumbled’ for 90 minutes and sounded like the usual raucous atmosphere of a full La Rosaleda. And the new-look, faster-paced Málaga team out on the pitch, one featuring several young local players, helped generate more fervour from the crowd. Just as the players took thrust from the fans; the fan-team relationship working together in perfect symbiotic harmony. It was the perfect time for an academy product like Kevin, making his debut on the left, to run riot down the wing for 45 minutes, enlivening the stands even more.
The glorious sunset pinked the hot skies above as the game eventually finished as an entertaining 0-0; but the football on the pitch was never supposed to be the centrepiece tonight. 529 days later and was now truly back in our corner of southern Spain. 529 days later and we - the fans - were back.
Matt is a groundhopper, writer and host of Guiricast - the weekly fan podcast for all things Málaga CF. You can read an older piece on his beloved Málaga - ‘Falling for a Falling Málaga’ - here.