Score 3-1 (Raul 2, Morientes, Turu Flores) Crowd: 75,000 Temperature: 1000 degrees!

The stadium wasn't too far away from the hotel, but we didn't want to be driving around for an hour trying to find a parking spot in a strange city. Madrid taxi-drivers are MENTAL. One-handed they drive, and hardly ever appear to be looking out of the window. I searched, the entire (10 minute?) journey, for a seat belt - in vain!! He would suddenly go into hyperdrive and overtake with such determination (and sheer recklessness) that you just had to shut your eyes. It was the most terrifying car journey of my life (soon to become the 2nd most terrifying car journey of my life!).

So we emerged, drained, from this taxi - and it was HOT; very, very boiling. We were vaguely disorientated and walked in what we thought was the direction to the gate we required (number 8) - to the right. I reckon our gate was actually probably 2 feet to the left of where we alighted from the taxi - but that's fine to say in retrospect! It's also a little confusing that, on one side of the stadium the gates have even numbers and on the other side odd numbers. So, they go like 2, 4, 6 . . . . all the way up to, say, 46 and then the next gate after that is 1! WHY?? Anyway we started, what turned out to be, our circumnavigation of the Estadio Santiago Bernabeu in about 100 degrees of blistering heat. "You sure our seats are in the shade". "YES". Well, it seemed a decent question to ask! (Just because I'd looked at the map with a compass and asked him over and over again - "what side does the sun set?", was no reason to get stroppy!). The streets were heaving. Funny how everybody seems to be walking towards you and you have to weave out of the way! Nobody ever seems to be going in the same direction as you; certainly not the person directly in front of you, so that they can clear a path and save you having to do the weaving! It's hard work!! There were more stalls around this stadium, certainly than you would ever find at a British ground. Purple flags, shirts (fake), scarves, posters, photographs, playing cards, pens, key-rings - absolutely everything! Then, peanuts, sunflower seeds, coca-cola, WATER in ice-buckets!! We bought water; we'd brought some with us anyway, but we bought MORE - and I bought some postcards (and a couple of pens) - and Paul bought a scarf (handy in that heat; it was as thick as a carpet!).

At last, we arrived at gate number 8 - and went straight in. I was stopped by a security man (with gun). Well, I don't know what on earth he was jabbering about - and he was tall and fierce! I offered him my bag to look in. He shook his head and seemed to have a fixation with my (nice and cold) bottle of water. He just kept nodding towards it. (The males in my life were of no use whatsoever, they just stood with their mouths open, almost drooling!). I didn't get it. I told him (in English) that I was English and didn't understand, so he smiled!! And he made little hand-signals, which seemed to tell me that I couldn't take the water inside the stadium and I would have to pour it onto the floor! WHAT?! I gave him one of my very special snarling, threatening looks (ie. I opened my eyes wide and looked at him appealingly!). He smiled wider (did he like me or did he think I was in need of special treatment?!?!). Then he made little twisting motions with his hand - and I followed his eyes down to the bottle and figured that he wanted me to take the top of it off. (I too had my mouth open, almost drooling, by now!). Well course, you would have to take the top off before you could pour the water away; I knew that! So, I (now trancelike) obliged and unscrewed the cap. He bade me to chuck it on the ground. Being obviously better brought-up than he was, I didn't go much on that idea - and put it into his hand. He gave a wide, stupid grin and bade us enter the stadium. So, what it turned out to be was that we weren't allowed to take bottle TOPS into the stadium!!!! Suppose so that we couldn't throw them (OK to throw the bottles though??)! Odd that he hadn't checked the bag the hub was carrying; there could've been knives or anything in there - even, God forbid, other water bottles with tops still attached; which there WERE!).

We had seat numbers in the 200-range (I've forgotten the actuals; they were all even numbers though!), row 19. We found row 19, no trouble. But we couldn't find 200+. We could only find seats going up to 186. In number 188 (at the end of the row) was a lone fellow chomping on sunflower seeds. We showed him our tickets and he grunted and pointed thataway. Two different stewards we asked and each one took us to the same seats (186 highest). This couldn't possibly be. In the end, we asked a third steward and he (with a huff of impatience) took us back to the same seats (the man with the seeds looking totally uninterested). We sat down. We were puzzled and flustered (and hot) but we sat down anyway. As it turns out, these were the right seats; nobody else tried to claim them - and others had the same problem comprehending this system as seats 180+ were taken up by equally mystified individuals. What kind of setup is that??? What's the point in numbering the tickets (or the seats), when they don't match anyway??

I'd been looking for a programme-seller outside the ground, but now realised why there dint appen 2b enny. There was a free programme on every seat!! Now then, this was a new one on me (although I know they give away free programmes in Italy; but only in the dear seats); we're used to paying a fortune for them in England. The Real proggies didn't turn out to be as glossy or as thick as the ones we have to pay for (or as full of advertisements), but they appeared to be adequate. Also on each seat was a flag! A 15" x 22" polythene rectangle, with the Real Madrid logo printed on one side - stuck on a cardboard stick. Cool! Eek, but not in that stadium! We were, indeed, sitting in the shade ("see, told you so"), but it was still absolutely sweltering, and I used the programme as a fan. The players came out to warm up. How strange to see all those familiar players in the flesh! Raul and Morientes; Mijatovic and Roberto Carlos. It seemed kinda unreal to me. I confess to not knowing an awful lot about Deportivo La Coruna, them being not one of my favourite teams. I only really knew about Hadji (the Moroccan) and a player called "Fran", who I (for obvious reasons, although I DETEST being called that!) had written to at one time, but he had never replied. So, we watched these players warm up and reflected on what a very important match this was for both sides.

Real had had a wretched season, you will know - and they really HAD to win this game to salvage any pride. It would guarantee them a Champions League spot (albeit maybe one in which they'd have to play a qualifier, like Parma), along with Barca, Mallorca and one out of Celta, Deportivo or Valencia. (Well, course - if they won, it wouldn't be Deportivo - but if they lost, it could be Deportivo - make sense?!). If they drew, they still could qualify - but a loss could be disastrous. If Deportivo won - ahem - well, they could qualify for the Champions League! :) In short, it was very tight at the top!! Disregarding Ajax 2 (Barca), the points and goal difference positions were thus: Mallorca 66 (+20), Real Madrid 65 (+13), Celta Vigo 64 (+29), Deportivo 63 (+14) and Valencia 62 (+21).

Ah well, that's the really boring bit out of the way (numbers!). Time to look around. Our seats were good ones. Pedro had said they would be!! We were more or less parallel with the penalty area at that end, and close enough to the ground to be able to see the expressions on the players' faces. I was mightily relieved that we weren't sitting in the sun (you could see them all over there, fanning themselves desperately), or high up in the stands. There were people, up in the clouds, precariously standing up at the very back. (Not for me, that - I would sooner become a Scum supporter and eat fried breadcrumbs for the rest of my life!). The bloke sitting next to me (who was pale for a Spaniard and had florid cheeks) continued to munch away on his seeds; thousands of husks littering the ground at his feet. He chatted occasionally to the man sitting next to him (in the next block, separated by a low railing). This was a man in his seventies (probably) and he appeared to be passionate in the way he spoke of his beloved "Merengues". In front of me sat a tubby child with "R. Carlos" printed on the back of his shirt; he was holding a purple, plastic trumpet-type instrument, which, by the end of the evening, I would've liked to have snapped in two! (There was a little girl in our row, with a similar instrument - but she never got the hang of it and only managed little "puff" sounds!). To the left of the tubby child and his father, were a couple; he was very swarthy with enough oil on his hair to deep fry a whole shoal of herrings; she bore a passing resemblance to Steffi Graf, wore red trousers and spent the entire evening planting little kisses on her oily companion's cheek! Just along from her was a woman, dressed all in black, who fascinated me by the way she had perfected the art of sunflower seed eating. She was totally lost in this occupation and looked for all the world like a guinea-pig (dressed all in black!). (I don't expect that any husks littered the ground at her feet, because she hurled each one into the crowd in front of her!!) Finally, I noticed the couple behind us (row 20 - probably seats 10 and 12) who had matching tattoes on the backs of their hands and were gorging themselves on (obviously stone cold) Big Macs!

Music stirred! A mutter spread throughout the ground. 75,000 people got to their feet, waving polythene flags (not moi). Ticker tape!! A loud cheer rang out. The players entered the field! Kick-off!

My impressions of the first 20 minutes were of Real having all the game, but looking as though they would never score. They came close a couple of times, a header too high from Morientes ("ooooooh") and a soft shot from Seedorf ("oooooooooh"). Then the turning point. Schurrer was sent off for fouling Mijatovic. We couldn't tell at the time whether it was a justified red card, because it was down the other end of the ground; but when we saw it on the TV - then it looked so. Raul scored on 39 minutes and again on 43 minutes.

Raul wins the "Pichichi"

I can't really describe the goals because, again, they were up the other end of the pitch. It's odd when you're watching a live game, because you keep expecting to see replays and, of course, they never come!! Real did not have a video screen, just a scoreboard which flashed "GOL" when one was scored - and fortunately, gave the names of each goalscorer, or else we might never have known who!! Each goal was greeted by massive applause; flags being waved all over the stadium; trumpets tooting. You couldn't help noticing though, that the support for Real was not extremely vocal. There was a hardcore of 'singing' fans in the corner of the opposite stand - about 2 or 3 hundred, I suppose - but the majority made little noise. Almost like scum supporters. The 70 year old man, two seats from me was, however, extremely vocal!! Everybody was a "burro", which I thought meant "donkey", but I found out later that it can mean simply "stupid" or "dumb" - basically, just an insult. Half-time arrived. Real Madrid 2 Deportivo 0.

Half-time was greeted in the same way as everywhere. People stood up and stretched their legs. They read their programmes. They went to get a drink or went to the toilet. I stood up to stretch my legs. I found that the backs of my legs, right down to the knee were drenched! It was hardly surprising really; sitting on plastic seats in this heat - but it were not very comfortable! Latest scores from the other games were filtering through. Actually, they were showing the Valencia v Mallorca game on TV screens, but they were too far away to be able to see. We learnt though, from the people with radios, that Valencia were winning that game.

Second half. The game seemed over when Morientes scored on 52 minutes. A nice goal; nicely finished (even although it looked suspiciously off-side). Flags waving; much jumping up and down; trumpets tooting; relief spread around the Bernabeu. Just after this goal was scored (or was it before, I don't recall), Mijatovic was substituted by "the Brazilian" Savio. He received a warm and prolonged standing ovation; everybody knew it was his last game in a Real Madrid shirt. His name was chanted; the other players hugged him. It seemed sad somehow. Quite moving.

"Adios Mijatovic"; he's off to Fiorentina

After this, whether or not Madrid thought the game was all over, I don't know - but they seemed to stop playing. And then, on 61 minutes Turu Flores (what a pretty name!) scored for Deportivo. The best goal of the game. You could touch the fear spreading around the ground. If Deportivo were to score again, then who knows what might happen. The crowd knew their team well; they were prone to letting leads go. And, boy, did Deportivo try!! When Real did manage to get going forward, they were frequently given off-side. This infuriated the crowd. White hankies came out (I was so pleased!!). The bloke sitting next to me suddenly stood up and gesticulated wildly to the pitch "Burro, Burro"!! He gave me quite a shock actually, because he'd been sitting there throughout, so quiet I thought he might have nodded off!! Full-time whistle. Phew!

The players acknowledge the crowd at the end of another temporada. Real Madrid finish 2nd in La Liga and qualify automatically for the Champions League

I was surprised when the crowd dispersed almost immediately. It's customary at most grounds, for players to do a lap of honour after their last home game of the season - to thank the fans for their support. This, disappointingly, did not happen here. But, seemingly within minutes, that ground was empty and we also made our way out. It had been good!! We walked a fair way from the Bernabeu before we managed to hail a taxi - and that taxi-ride was even worse than the ride in - but we made it safely back to the hotel and settled down to watch "Estudio Estadio".

The Santiago Bernabeu empties quickly

Time: 21.15 - Temperature: 1000 degrees!

This programme of Primera Liga highlights is on every Sunday evening; we pick it up at home. It's very amateurishly (that does NOT look right!) done - rather tragic in fact! They have a single presenter who's not exactly "Mr Personality"! They don't have adverts as such, but 10-minute breaks where they show little films of rock-climbers or canoeists. It's very haphazard and poor! However, we couldn't wait to see it tonight! AND, sure enough, there we were on the TV!! We saw ourselves!! Only briefly, but it WAS us - pity we couldn't record it! Who was going to believe us?! Anyway, the outcome of the evening's results were that Real Madrid finished 2nd in the league and therefore gained an automatic place in the Champions League. The 3rd and 4th places went to Mallorca and Valencia. Valencia had trounced Mallorca 3-0 and poor old Celta had LOST, at home, to Atletico Madrid. What a shame! I was very pleased that Valencia had managed a CL place - but Celta had had such a great season, now with *only* a UEFA cup place to show for it. :(. Raul won the "Pichichi" (top goalscorer) award. His two goals tonight had leapt him over Rivolto (Rivaldo) - and I was pleased about that, even although I think Raul is one of the most overrated (and certainly the most miserable) player that exists!

So, that was it!

SOME EXPERIENCE!!