A Visit to Real Madrid

A Visit to Real Madrid

There is more than one trophy room at Real Madrid. A €35 Stadium Tour (€28 Concessions and Groups) will take you through all of them: wide halls full of replica silverware and video montages. It is well done but also relentless: an indoctrination experience as much as an exhibition, with notable omissions.

We start with a video-wall presentation of the new stadium and its retractable, storeable, hallowed turf. An extraordinary new machinery, with underground UV lighting to maintain the grass while basketball matches, tennis tournaments and concerts are staged above ground. Little of this has happened yet. The neighbours objected to the noise of a recent concert, and they have been banned pending a review. The new roof, it turns out, does not keep the noise in. But it will happen. Nothing gets in the way of Real Madrid.

We shuffle through to the next room, out of necessity a long one. On one side, 35 league trophies sit illuminated behind glass. They are all the same shape, some bigger than others. There is no explanation as to why. Perhaps it’s to break up the pattern. Opposite is a timeline, beginning with graphics and pictures of the 50s, the first glory days, the original sportswashing project: Alfredo di Stéfano, Ferenc Puskas, Paco Gento. Blurry black-and-white highlights of their European Cup exploits are played on a loop on screens embedded in white plasterboard walls. Santiago Bernabéu, first president after, ahem, the events of the 1930s (to be fair, the destruction of the old stadium during the civil war is mentioned), gets a section to himself. Francisco Franco, who bombed the place then championed it, doesn’t. He isn’t mentioned at all. Nor is Lorenzo Sanz, the last club president before the ‘Galácticos’ era and the man who, years after other football clubs, commissioned the beginnings of the vast, power-projecting marketing extravaganza which underpins the club, in the form of a website edited by your correspondent and launched two weeks before the club’s 2000 Champions’ League final win over Valencia (3-0, with goals from Morientes, McManaman - a great volley - and Raúl). They have won 7 more since.

Neither the website nor its editor are mentioned either, another glaring omission. But then comes the Big Man himself: a giant photo of Florentino Pérez, property developer, coveter of turn-of-the-century prime-real-estate training grounds and possibly accidental launcher of this Post-Modern Age of Football. As promised, he got Figo, added another song-and-dance super-marquee player every summer after that, and won things. Most of these big players get a small entry on the timeline, below – well below – the headline triumphs: more Champions Leagues, more Ligas. The message is clear: the Collective is what matters. There is even a quote to that effect on the wall as we pass through the door into the Changing Room Experience room. Not the actual changing room, which is no longer part of the tour, but a series of full-length, life-size video images of the squad stepping back and forth towards the camera and waving, clapping their hands as their vital statistics appear and disappear alongside them. They remind me of the Wanted posters in Harry Potter films. First up is Carlo Ancelotti, disappointingly cigar-less, but still dressed beautifully. Then comes a glitching Thibault Courtois: very tall and in danger of giving me a headache. I move on. Halfway along the wall, Mbappé and Vini Jr are floating torsos, with broken screens where they should be stepping back and forth. Perhaps someone kicked them as hard as they are kicked in matches.

Next is what I can only describe as the Random Trophy Room: a silver caravel, possibly with flags of St George on it; a trophy which looks like cake stand; assorted other shapes in silver. There is scant labelling, so I can only guess what they are for. Opposite are World Club Championship trophies. At the end of the room, a cabinet holds replicas of individual awards won by Real Madrid stars, including (CR7) Ronaldo’s Ballons D’Or and a golden boot won by (R9) Ronaldo when he was playing for Barcelona, a generous concession to their arch-rivals, and not the last of the week either.

As we approach the final room, it sounds like martial music is playing. A nod to their heritage? Sort of. ‘¡Hala Madrid!’ is playing on loop, a song you could definitely march to, if that was what you wanted to do, in serried ranks, all dressed in white, sacrificing your individuality for the collective, as the club’s most high-profile player of recent years, the aforementioned Cristiano, so obviously did. And there, in all their replicated glory, are the fifteen European Cups. It is an obscene number, a reminder of the club’s staggering success. It is the biggest football club in the world, although it wasn’t when I edited its website. That honour belonged to Manchester United, who continue to fade, even if their owners’ dividends don’t. Nothing lasts forever, a comforting thought for those of us who support less successful clubs, especially after the indoctrination juggernaut of the last 30 minutes.

One more corridor (and possibly a room dedicated to Real Madrid City, the new Insert Superlative Here training ground – I was rushing through searching for air by now) in which a world map and smiling faces of every colour in Real Madrid shirts are projected under a hashtag, and we are back outside, on the 3rd tier of this enormous edifice. At long last, it’s time for the Stadium bit of the Stadium Tour. Or nearly. As we circle back towards an escalator to the level above, we are given the opportunity to sign up for the priority ticket list for €35 which puts you ahead of the general public and alongside only a few hundred thousand other rubes. The man is doing a roaring trade, perhaps because he looks like Eduardo Camavinga, but more likely because he is selling to the converted.

Finally, on the 4th tier, we pass a busy gourmet burger stand and are directed towards an opening in a concrete wall. And there it is, far below us but also incredibly close for a stadium with this capacity: the pitch. Rising above it and all around are five steep tiers of dark blue seating beneath the new roof, also retractable. Perhaps I am just relieved at encountering something real at last, but my first impression is that it is beautiful, massive but also intimate. Noisy as hell too, I can only imagine. On my last visit here, in 2000, there were 8,000 spectators for a midweek league match. Fans stayed away because it was on terrestrial TV on a worknight. It is unthinkable now. The stadium is always full. I settle into a seat and spend ten minutes watching two men with giant shoulders and even bigger mowers moving back and forth across the pitch, cutting the turf a tiny bit closer. They are following yellow plumb lines stretched across the pitch between wooden stakes. This feels more of a connection to the game than anything else on this tour, and I am comforted that the timeless rituals of football endure, even as the pair pass over the joins in the retractable pitch which stretch from end to end.

The only tickets I could find as a casual visitor last week were priced at €350 for the Tuesday Champions’ League visit of Borussia Dortmund. For this, you got a cushioned seat in a VIP area of the second tier, and what looked like a free bar behind. The latest iteration of Galácticos played like strangers for the first half, going into the break two goals down, before Dortmund coach Nuri Şahin’s defensive changes at half-time, foolish in hindsight, opened up space out wide for Real Madrid, who started playing like the ridiculous talents they are, scoring 5 increasingly spectacular second-half goals. I should have gone. For the Saturday night Clásico, there were no seats available anywhere, at least until the 3rd and 4th Barcelona goals in the 77th and 84th minutes when Madridistas started leaving. Hansi Flick’s high line caught Madrid’s sprinting attack offside 12 times, and the endless running of his young team of la Masia (Barcelona’s academy) graduates made Real look ponderous, ending the latter club’s 42-game unbeaten streak in the league. Nothing lasts forever, we know, but it is also certain that Real Madrid will bounce back, doubtless by doubling down on their Galáctico policy. There is plenty more space for trophies in those halls. The exit is down through the enormous club shop. Of course it is.

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