Yesterday I backed the wrong team. I’m in Spain for Easter, catching up with family, friends and, of course, Atlético Madrid.
Matchday 30 of La Liga, against Barcelona. When I arrived at the Metropolitano, a friend said to me: “You’ve got the wrong match…”, and laughed. He was obviously referring to staying at home and watching the Southampton v Arsenal FA Cup quarter-final on TV.
And yes, my friend was right; Atleti’s match was dignified, well-organised, full of substitutes with no insecurities, used by ‘Cholo Simeone’ as a testing ground, with his mind set on the two-legged Champions League tie (8 and 14 April) against Barça and the Copa del Rey final on the 18th in Seville against Real Sociedad.
On returning home, I switched on the TV and watched the Soton match on a delayed broadcast.
The match at St Mary’s was taking place at the same time as Atleti’s, despite the one-hour time difference between England and Spain; within two minutes, the first alert popped up on my phone, and from that moment on, the match at the Metropolitano faded into the background. The Saints were giving Arsenal a run for their money; they were going for the win. The Championship side, as any theoretically ‘small’ team should do when facing a side considered big, had to shed their fears and preconceptions, play to their strengths and leave their insecurities in the dressing room.
Arteta’s Arsenal defence looked shaky from the start of the match; perhaps the team were still reeling from their Carabao Cup final defeat to City. The Gunners’ wobble turned into a real blow in the 10th minute when Stewart put The Saints ahead. Despite an improvement in Arsenal’s play following the introduction of Gyökeres, Madueke and Calafiori.
After Kepa prevented the score from becoming 2-0 with a superb save and Gyökeres equalised, Saturday was not a day of glory, a prelude to Easter Sunday for the Gunners. Not so for Southampton, who, kitted out in the commemorative shirt marking their greatest triumph, the 1976 FA Cup, were shedding the burdens of penance on their way to glory; this was realised at St Mary’s in the 85th minute when Shea Charles scored the winning goal.
This month I’ll be at one final and a semifinal, from Seville to Wembley, a 2-hour 55-minute flight. The final of the team from the city where I was born and the semifinal of team from my adopted city.
The finals I’ve attended, my teams have never lost them; this April I hope no one spoils it for me, that it doesn’t end up in a drawer and that the victory scarves are hung on my wall – there’s a reason both clubs wear shirts of the same colour.
