Two hours before the game, things were quiet, no snorting outside, no chanting at the winches. In some they were even confused with the time: “It’s at seven, it has just begun,” commented Cristian Suárez and Tamara Vera, pointing to the Valencia match, on television in a cider house in Lugo de Llanera.
Once the error was corrected, the balloon of what would happen a little later would swell again. “With a one zero it is worth us, we still hit the bell”Suárez assured him, eager for it to start. Soon, his uncle, Enrique Suárez, joined him at a table next to the bar. A red wine and an “aúpa Llanera” to begin with, an optimistic forecast, “we will surely beat them” and to look to the future: “After we get to Sporting”.
In the background there was bitterness for not being able to play on his field and with some audience: “Here we would have more chances, although let’s see if we scratch them 2-1”, said Roberto Cuervo, while his wife, Yolanda Fernández, changed him the order to the result. “It would also be worthy,” she added, sitting next to her son, Martín Cuervo, a player in the lower categories, crazy to jump onto the field: “I would give anything to play today.”
Between one and the other there was nothing left for the appointment while a child shouted in alarm tone warning of what was coming. The ball rolled in the Tartiere and the atmosphere in another of the nerve centers, a cafeteria, was increasing: “How come we don’t even have a scarf here?”Someone wondered when they saw the establishment lacking in props.
The atmosphere was set by the screams as the minutes passed. Some possession in the opposite field of the Llanera encouraged to try the croquettes of cover, but the dominance of the Celtic returned to replace them by the nervous bites to the nails, passed with a culín. In that sense there was a tie.