Spanish: they don’t want our defeat, they want our disappearance

Being from Espanyol is very complicated. When we visit the different fields of the League, they welcome us as Catalans (in other words, badly). But in Catalonia we lose our status. We are few and ill-advised. We don’t have, no longer a state or a nation, but not even a city behind. We are a unique case among the classic clubs of the League. Sevilla and Betis have an extreme rivalry, but I’ve never heard a single person with two fingers on their forehead say that the supporters of either team are not from Seville or Andalusia. We have a country, our country, against it. They don’t want our defeat: they want our demise. On top of that, for these reasons and for countless mistakes of our own, we are a club very, very used to losing. In fact, there is no rational and reasonable reason to be from Espanyol. That’s why we are the force of a feeling.

Because neither for the reason nor for the results we would be dangerous. We are, only, because of the feeling. That is why we defend ourselves angrily and fighters against injustices and slights. Because Espanyol only has us, the grassroots parrots who, since the rebellion, raise our voices where we can: at school, at work, in the media (as he did this week and in a spectacular way Jordi de Planell in RAC1). We don’t like being the round smurf. But you force us. We wouldn’t want to complain so much about refereeing, but what happened with Griezmann’s goal invented by VAR (one day we will have to talk about the implementation of VAR and conflicts of interest) is one of the biggest shames of last years Even the radio stations in Madrid and their former referees have recognized the terrible injustice.

Espanyol gives us a bad life: it makes us suffer and makes us angry. But it’s also one of the most beautiful things out there. We are a small, minority community: there is nothing that holds us together more. And we have great moments: for example, the three-goal comeback against Atlético was an explosion of happiness and passion that made me relive the Sarrià of my youth. Where everything was possible. Where you hugged strangers to celebrate goals. A spirit that came out again with the impossible saves of Montjuïc, with the goal that Balic didn’t score in the last play of the semi-final against Real Madrid, in Murri de Valencia. A spirit that, who knows, might save us from what a few days ago seemed inevitable. Because tying Wednesday’s game was also impossible.