Thursday, August 07, 2003
I was going to save today's blog to write about Australia, or post some pictures from my sister's birthday. Instead, something else came up.
Around 9:30pm, my parents got a call. "Beckham and Ronaldo are going to Dragon-i Club tonight! We're waiting for you! Hurry!". By 10pm, we were well on our way and downplaying expectations. They've got training tomorrow morning, so they're not going to stay long -- if they're still there. Hell, they might not be there at all. When celebs are in town, their minders tend to make reservations all over the place just in case they decide to go out, and some clubs like to take advantage of it and spread some false buzz to generate business. Yeah, it's probably that.
We walk in, and my god. Over in the far table polishing off a meal I spot Ivan Helguera, a lesser-known but extremely important player. I discreetly mention this to my mom... and see next to him goalkeeper Iker Casillas... next to him pocket dynamo Roberto Carlos... and next to him, Real Madrid's holy trinity: Luis Figo, Zinedine Zidane and Ronaldo. All three are former World Players of the Year. And they were sitting no more than ten metres away.
I really didn't know what to do or say at that point. I was awestruck. Zidane and Ronaldo alone are arguably the two best footballers playing today, and Figo's not exactly bad either. I picked up the phone and immediately called Haneal. See, we were actually supposed to come to Dragon-i tonight anyway to take advantage of (ahem) Models Night, but Haneal cancelled. When my parents called me to go, I was thinking of calling him but he was with friends -- and at this point, we didn't want anyone to know (lest they all demand we get them in to meet the players). Needless to say, he rather regretted his decision, because once Beckham walked in five minutes later with the rest of the Real team (McManaman, Solari, Portillo, Michel Salgado, Makalele, etc) the doors were shut and the screaming fans and paparazzi kept firmly outside.
It was an incredibly surreal sight inside. On the right were the incredibly good-looking models, due there anyway for their own big night out, but here in greater force (and dolled up even more) for Real Madrid. In the middle was the team, with a small cadre of bodyguards and minders keeping an eye out on proceedings. And on the left, surrounded by even more bodyguards than the team, was the club owner (a, um, "big" local businessman).
Still, early on it was pretty empty. The Real players -- yes, including Beckham -- were just sitting there as normal, with only a few model groupies throwing themselves at the players, but as the night wore on more people made their way in, more models threw themselves at the ever-more-tipsy players, and bodyguards effectively formed a VIP section inside the VIP section for the team. That and the nightclub atmosphere (it's not the sort of place where you run up and ask for an autograph) didn't really make the team approachable, but there were other ways to shake hands with a superstar. Most people waylaid them on their way to the toilets, grabbing a player and asking for a picture. Incidentally, in case you're wondering why I don't have any pictures here, I didn't take any. It's partially because we know the management, and given that they "discouraged" picture-taking it would have been rather rude, but partially also because by the end of the night I thought it almost cruel. It took Beckham a good 30 minutes to actually take a trip to the toilet with everyone grabbing him (and this is the VIP section, remember, where people are supposed to be more... refined), and poor old Roberto Carlos took a picture with everyone in line for the loo. All ten of them. He did chat and share a joke with me there though, so it was cool.
The best way to meet the stars is to know somebody there who can get you close, and by sheer luck, their minders on the trip are close friends of my parents... so over the course of the evening I managed to bump into Figo, Zidane, Ronaldo, Roberto Carlos, Javier Portillo and good old Steve McManaman. My parents did one better than me, with my dad being introduced to his hero, Ronaldo, my mom meeting her hero, Zidane, and my aunt managing to both dance with Roberto Carlos and hold Beckham's hand in the toilet (don't ask).
Of course, the last way to get close is to be a hot model and throw yourself at the players. Zidane -- shy, awkward-looking Zidane -- had two at his side at all times, and wild Ronaldo was with three or four at a time. Ronaldo was really a bit of a party animal, always dancing (most of the time with a few models). Apparently, the perks of being a top football player is that you can actually REQUEST these models to show up at the same clubs as you and generally flirt (and in Ronaldo's case, probably a bit more). Lucky, lucky folks.
I think I've gushed for far, far too long, but to be honest I'm in too much shock and awe right now (and I'm a bit drunk). It's almost taking the gloss off the match on Friday, because I doubt I'll ever get this close to the players again.
Unless I get arrested, that is.
Update: Amusing postscript to the story here. It's a quick read and well worth it given what I've just said!
Posted at 4:02 AM
