The Ball 2010

The ferry from Algeciras led us to Ceuta. The swell was huge and the crossing much slower than usual. As we made our way from Europe to Africa we left Gibraltar trailing behind us and I couldn’t help but contemplate the time to come.

Sure, the worries were there: will I have enough dosh? Will I get sick? Will I lose The Ball? What will I do if my passport or bank cards get stolen?

Andrew passes Gibraltar

But the positive visualisations of Africa outshone the negative thoughts. I was glad to be leaving Europe and entering Africa. Winter in Europe is not the ideal place for random football encounters. Nor for street football. People in Western Europe might just be more interested in the thousands of other leisure options they have. The real journey is about to begin. I am expecting that much more football waits us in Africa.

Let The Ball roll.

Scrambling out of bed, packing frantically and heading off to Alice’s school. A presentation to the school assembly followed by children signing The Ball and a kick-about in the gym…

Children at the Laude school sign The Ball

The team at the Laude school

And then off again. On the road: driving through driving rain once more. It has been raining constantly for more than 12 hours now. Avoiding enormous puddles and dirty water rushing down from the hills, we finally arrive at the ferry terminal in Algeciras. It’s finally time to leave Europe.

Off to Gaucin on Sunday in search of the first recorded mention of football in Spain. After much hunting around we were directed to the Hotel Nacional.

Inside, a guestbook apparently exists with the note in it written by a certain Captain W F Adams — but the hotel was closed and looked like it wasn’t likely to be opening again in the near future.

Some doors won’t open and not all roads lead to Rome.

Andrew contemplates the view to Africa

Africa, however, is beckoning…

12 hours of driving from Vilanova i la Geltru across Spain and we arrive in Grenada. One night’s sleep and up again to find Grenada rained out. Game cancelled.

Christian soaking wet at the Alhambra

In any case, the clock was ticking again and we had to hit the road. Alice lives in Bel Air, just outside of Malaga and had offered to put The Ball and its carriers up for a couple of nights. As Christian covered the miles I prepared for the BBC World Service interview slightly nervous about the thought of 300 million listeners. A sigh of relief, interview completed in Alice’s laundry room, it was time for some southern Spanish coastal cuisine and some brillant company. The water and the conversation flowed.

Alice, Phil and family

Thank you for your great hospitality!

“Where is my bag? Where the — – is my bag?”
“What’s in the bag?”, I asked.
“Ohhhh, nothing important… just my filofax, my passport, my credit cards. Everything.”

Ironically, we’d just been listening to the Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy, whose cover says “Don’t Panic” in big friendly letters — but I was panicking. Christian seemed to be panicking too…

The sun had been shining and we had been making good progress towards Valencia. The Ball seemed happy enough too: it was still on a high after rolling around on the grass pitch-side at the Nou Camp yesterday.

A random pitch in Vilanova

We had stopped earlier as we were leaving Vilanova, a random football moment had suddenly appeared. Out of the car, camera at the ready, Christian put his bag down to kick The Ball. Elaborately-dressed children enjoying carnival season marched by singing and chanting. 150 kilometres later, ready to feed our caffeine habit, he realised he’d left his bag back there in the park.

After back-tracking to Vilanova, a friend who speaks Catalan called the police. And you know what? Someone had turned in the bag… And, nothing was missing…

Christian savours the good news

Bill Hicks liked to say that “life is a ride”… but our ride has taken us up and down this toll road two too many times today. As I write this we are speeding off along the coast towards Valencia — again. Adreneline is still rushing like the gusts of wind outside. What a ride it’s been today.

“It’s not Friday the 13th is it?”, asks Christian as I type away. He suggests paying a Homage to Catalunya for lettting him off so lightly for such a grave lapse of concentration… I tend to agree. The ride continues as we head south.

Friday the 12th — lucky for some.

“Barca is not just a club, it is more than a club”, remarked our guide. His mother is Barca. His father is Barca. He is Barca. He has the honour and pleasure of being able to work for this great club. He is proud to be Barca.

The Camp Nou is not just any stadium, with a capacity of 98,000 it is Europe’s biggest. Fans flock from everywhere to pay their entrance fees and have their photos taken from the stands but very, very few are allowed to set foot on the field of play. At 10am a call was made to the press liason officer of FC Barcelona. The Ball wanted to visit the Camp Nou. Was it possible?

We turned up at 4pm at Barca TV. Minutes later we were out in the middle, next to the hallowed turf. Memories of the final minutes of the European Cup final in 1999 came flooding back — when Manchester United, in one of the all time great climaxes of the Champions League, defeated Bayern Munich with two extra time goals.

As we drive away from Barcelona, Christian smiles: “We are in Spain. We just walked out onto the turf at the Nou Camp.” Not everyone gets to step out onto the hallowed Camp Nou turf. Thanks to The Ball and the generosity of FC Barcelona, we were able to.

“Jack is mad about football” said Chris Lunch, “he’s definitely up for something with The Ball. His football team are expecting you.” He certainly is mad about football, and very well versed in it. Last minute change of plan: coach ill and freezing cold outside- training had been cancelled. Instead, we were off to Carcassonne, 12 year old Jack on board, directing the way into the historic old town and philosophising about football.

Jack with Andrew in Carcassonne

An Irish mother, and an English father, living in the South West of France with with his Portuguese stepdad, he’s deeply religious: “Manchester United is my religion” he said at breakfast. He watches a lot of football with Paulo, an FC Porto fan who idolises one touch football and the beautiful game. Paulo has Portuguese cable tv — no problem for multi-lingual Jack to understand and anyway, football is a universal language. Jack wears a t-shirt emblazoned with the words: This is an authentic Christiano Ronaldo signature. It is. Paulo organised that.

But who is he going to support at the World Cup? France is out of the question after Thierry Henry’s handball nearly brought his mother to tears. Mother Una: “That was disgusting”, Henry will never be forgiven in Ireland. Jack likes Spain and Brazil but he’s probably going with England, mum is not exactly over the moon about that one either.

What comes to mind when you think of the South West of France? I think of summer heat and a nice glass of red wine.

This morning we awoke late in Montlaur after sleeping through the alarm. I opened my eyes, struggled out of bed, pulled the curtains and… white, a blizzard had engulfed us during the night. Freezing cold and minus four combined with driving wind. Bed looked much more inviting.

But good news wasn’t far away — a welcome reception at FC Barcelona awaits us this afternoon. “We’ve won again,” said Christian. Downstairs, Una, our fantastic host, had prepared breakfast. The table was set, the smell of freshly brewed coffee wafted through the air. We’ve won again, I thought.

A few days of intenet access, a few good nights rest and time spent with great people: what more could one ask for. Chris & Maddy, Una & Paulo, Jack & Caitlin, thanks so much for your wonderful hospitality for letting us into your homes and treating us like kings. We most certainly owe you our sincerest thanks and your signatures on The Ball are a testament to the spirit of the project. Thanks.

If you’re planning to stay in the Carcassonne area, you can stay at Una’s on a bed & breakfast basis – we can’t recommend it highly enough! Email her to book your stay.

A room at Una’s. Nice. huh?

Our thanks also go to the Lunch family for making our stay in the Carcassonne region possible.

The Lunch family help The Ball on its way

Hello from the UK,

I’m Phil one of the coordinators of this epic journey and you find me busy supporting the road crew from my home in Brighton as Andrew and Christian race with The Ball through Europe. My excitement is building fast… laced with some apprehension and a heavy heart (I leave behind my dear wife and two year old boy) as I prepare all manner of travel paraphernalia, from football pump to guitar, in readiness to leave.

I’m joining Andrew and The Ball through West Africa in a week’s time and, in the meantime, am doing my best to resemble a pin cushion as I receive vaccinations from all directions. Shades of voodoo… a blessing from ancestral western spirits perhaps? The Ball will need all the help it can muster… from jujus to doctors, I’ll consider them all.

Here’s our facebook page… so jump into the game and leave your skills here in whatever form you fancy… well wishing, bad wishing, your football stories, people and places we might visit on the journey and more… and more besides.

Tomorrow The Ball takes a boat ride across the Mediterranean Sea to Africa and Morocco.

Me, I’m packing my bags…  bound for glory. Ready or not, West Africa, here I come.

This ball is your ball.

Phil x

On the road again as the sun was going down in late afternoon we followed the coast into France. What a gorgeous drive.

“Shouldn’t we stop off in Monaco? It is another country, isn’t it?” said Christian. Depends who you talk to. In we went. An idea was born, maybe The Ball might be given a bed for the night in a luxury hotel. Monaco is a magnet for the wealth of Europe. In Africa one is more likely to find “poverty management”. In Monaco, there was plenty of advertising for “wealth management”. And wealth was on display everywhere we looked: luxury yachts, luxury cars, luxury stores and luxurious people with luxurious pets. And there we were with the most valuable asset around… The Ball, soon to cross the entire African continent.

The Ball in Monaco

Would the folk of Monaco realise the wealth of The Ball? Would it be welcome? We tried our luck at one of the top hotels, looking over the marina. “Can The Ball stay here?” I asked. “No. Monaco is too special” came the reply. “The Ball is very special too” we replied, and left.

Our plan wasn’t going to cut it on Monaco. But life is what happens when you don’t make plans. And we were having a lot of fun with The Ball. The Ball went to the casino — came rolling out empty-handed but high-spirited. Next up, the top hotel in town, the Hermitage. A friendly welcome. The Ball got a stamp from the concierge. An employee of the hotel was a former Monaco player. The concierge contacted him and told us he’d meet us outside the front of the hotel in 30 minutes. Brilliant.

The Ball gets stamped at The Hermitage

We decided to have a keepy-uppy session on the manicured lawn outside the lavish entrance to the hotel as we waited. We passed The Ball to passers by — high-heeled back heels, shiny-shoed toe-pokes returned it. The Ball got some first class treatment. Then a friendly looking fellow with a cigar in his mouth controlled The Ball. He wasn’t from around those parts. Turns out he wasn’t just anyone. An Iraqi Ambassador, Saddam’s Minister for Protocol, a famous author with an award-winning film made from of his award-winning book “In the Shadow of Saddam”.

Ambassador Haitham Rashid Wihaib

“I wish you all the best in your effort. I fought against dictatorship all my life. I and a football team of my tribe were imprisoned in the time of Saddam Hussein because we refused to play on behalf of his criminal son Uday.”

We were stunned by what was unfolding.

“His son was the chairman of the Iraqi Committee of Football,” he continued. “I used to have a team of football with our tribe and he ordered us play with a team of his and we refused — and put us in prison and he tortured us. Yes. So as you can see these people are far away from the value of sport.”

“Sport is peace. Sport is love. Sport is humanity. And what you are doing now, you are missionaries or ambassadors of peace because sport is really a way to unite nations and this man wanted sport to be a way to divide the Iraqi nation. If you come to Iraq, we will protect you with our hearts and with our life.”

“You are ambassadors of peace and football. It is a very honourable mission.”

The former Monaco player never showed up.

With our hearts held high we headed onward to Carcassonne.