MADRID, SPAIN. I’d heard that El Clásico, the Real Madrid-Barcelona tilt, was going to be on Sunday night, but I was hesitant to go watch the game for a few reasons. Firstly, I was getting over a cold and had slept most of the day, so I wasn’t sure I was up for leaving the house to go to a hectic bar with a bunch of enthusiastic fans. Secondly, I’m not the biggest fan of soccer, and was convinced that the game would end in a 0-0 tie and I would have wasted my time. I also had an assignment due the next day that I should have been working on.

I decided that I’d try to watch the game at home… I tried to stream it online to no avail. I tried to see if it was playing on TV, but I couldn’t find much more than Bob Esponja. I gamecasted it on ESPN.com to see what was going on. Sure enough, a few goals had already been scored. From hearing the rush of the crowd at Santiago Bernabeu, I could actually tell when Real Madrid scored before the gamecast could tell me. When Real Madrid made it 2-1, I decided to go to a bar since I wanted to see Messi anyway.

I walked to a bar near Plaza Santo Domingo to watch the game. On my way over, I saw about two dozen policemen with riot shields on Gran Vía. Apparently, there had been a protest earlier. That’s Madrid for ya. When I arrived at the bar, a place that was Spanish through and through (the only thing missing was a bunch of hams hanging from the ceiling), there was not enough room for me to stand inside, so I watched the game from outside. I saw Messi tie it up at 2 with a flick of his brilliant left foot right before the half ended.

At halftime, the place cleared out a little bit, and I made my way inside. I scanned the crowd and watched as friends and families bonded over their mutual love of the sport. There was one Spanish family that especially caught my eye. There was the mom, thin and fabulous with her designer glasses, the adorable 10-year-old son with a cute little mop of hair and a custom Real Madrid jersey, the dad with his scruffy gray beard, the 16-year-old son with his Real jersey and scarf, and two girls who I couldn’t decide were in the family or not.

I had gone to the bar without favoring either team, although, perhaps I favored Barça a little bit just because Messi is my favorite player. 10 minutes into the half, Cristiano Ronaldo scored to put Real up 3-2. The boy in the scarf was just way too happy, and I began rooting hard for Barça just to spite him. A little later, Messi tied it up with a penalty kick and he grew enraged at the referee’s call. The girl that was with him noticed me smiling at his discontent and she smiled back. The match was exciting. I have to admit that. There was a good rhythm with plenty of action and swift counter-attacks. Each team possessed a bounty of dangerous players with pace who could strike at any time, which made it fun. Towards the end of the match, Messi was awarded a penalty kick. The 10-year-old boy was livid with the referees, calling them tonto (silly) as he yelled at the TV. His mother had to console him, stroking his hair in an endearing moment.

Messi had made good on the penalty, drilling it into the net with his textbook precision to make it 4-3, and the match ended at that score. I was happy that Barça was able to pull it out. It was a good match. World class soccer is certainly something to behold. The skill of the players makes it quite a spectacle, and the passion of the fans makes for an interesting viewing experience. I enjoyed watching the game with the Spanish family. In the US, most families probably would have just stayed home and watched the game, but here in Spain, there’s just a different mentality, different customs, and a different schedule and pace of life.

I’ve liked that this experience, among many, has had me interact with people of various ages and backgrounds like the Spanish family at the bar. It has helped me gain valuable perspective that I wouldn’t have gotten had I just stayed in the same culture that surrounded me in the US. If we see ourselves relative to other people in a diverse crowd, we definitely gain perspective… Watching a sport I rarely would have watched in the United States with a typical Spanish family at a typical Spanish bar, was just one more of those experiences that has given me some more perspective on life, and I thoroughly enjoyed it.

— Ethan Carr