ONE PRE-SEASON, TWO CRAZY WOMEN, AND 40 DEGREES

It all started with an innocuous notification: “Atlético de Madrid begins its pre-season in Porto.” Nothing unusual, right? Well, not for us. For Txus and me, it was like a divine sign. Without a second thought—because thinking has never been our strong suit on these adventures—we did the only logical thing: pack a picnic basket, find affordable tickets (which turned out to be free!), and head to Portugal as if we were ambassadors of the international Colchonero spirit.

The journey, a mix of enthusiasm, heat, and delirium, became an epic tale. The car felt like an oven on wheels, 40 degrees in the shade (and we were in the sun). We were stuck to the seats as if they were made of Velcro. But the Atlético spirit kept us going. Or maybe it was the air conditioning on full blast… or both.

Upon arriving in Porto, the first miracle occurred: we found parking right near the stadium. That doesn’t even happen in our wildest dreams at the Metropolitano. We got out of the car like desert explorers who had just discovered an oasis. And that’s when it hit us: just how many people are here?

It was a monumental party! A street festival, a carnival without costumes, one of those celebrations that makes even the stiffest person tap their feet. FC Porto wasn’t just presenting its players; it was staging a public spectacle worthy of Eurovision. Music, flags, jerseys everywhere, the smell of sardines and beer floating in the air… And there we were, happy as two kids lost in Disneyland.

We entered the stadium with our gifted tickets, happy as can be, and looked for our seats amidst chants, horns, and shouts in Portuguese that we didn’t understand but applauded anyway. And then—bam! A plot twist: Tiago sits down behind us. Yes, the Tiago, our Tiago, with that “I’m here but I don’t want to bother anyone” look. We tried to act cool, but our necks were practically snapping to turn on their own. “Should we ask for a photo or wait until halftime?” We, trying to be prudent… or maybe just shy. But he noticed and, with all the kindness in the world, he hugged us, gave us two kisses, and gifted us some photos for the memory book.

The match was the least important part; what truly mattered was the atmosphere. There was an emotional tribute to Diogo Jota and his brother, and a top-class honorary kick-off from none other than Falcao and Futre. If that isn’t football history, then may Luis Aragonés himself come down from heaven and say otherwise.

And as if that weren’t enough, there was a reunion of former players from both teams. It was like a 3D sticker album. We played a game of “spot the player” as if we were in a football trivia match: “Isn’t that the guy who played against Getafe in 2008?” “Isn’t that the substitute goalkeeper from the cup match?” Expert level, clearly.

The result was a loss… or so they said, because honestly, we barely paid attention. Between the heat, the picnic we ate in the car (handheld fan included), the excitement of seeing familiar faces, and the general euphoria, the score was the last thing on our minds. After all, it’s the pre-season—here, you train the soul, not the scoreline.

We left the stadium with faces as red as baked tomatoes, our throats on the verge of vocal collapse, and one clear feeling: we have to do this again. Because when Atleti calls, we answer. With a picnic basket, in the heat, and if we have to, with a fan and a watermelon under our arm.

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