So that you understand what some days, or nights, are like in the Sports section of La Vanguardia (actually, in any Sports section of any newspaper in our country) here I offer you a glimpse.
This last Tuesday, at 10:40 p.m., Carlos Ruiz cannot contain himself. Voice:
–I'm going stupid. I don't know where to look. We are three screens away!
And it is true.
At that time, six reporters looked from one monitor to the next. At the same time, Madrid plays the first leg of the Champions League semifinals against Bayern in Munich, Barça plays its third Euroleague quarterfinal match against Olympiacos in Piraeus and Rafael Nadal faces Jiri Lehecka at the Mutua Madrid Open .
In the heat of the night, a section sails alone on the 6th floor, barely accompanied by the hum of the producers, and by the typing of the editors and colleagues from Closing on the upper floor: the section sails like a boat in the darkness of the storm, while Nadal moans with every right hand, Roger Grimau shudders on the bench in Athenian hell and Vinícius plays with the Germans in the Allianz Arena.
On the screens, the commentators shout, the stories mix, each one doing their own thing:
–¡Triple de Satoransky!
–What a great shot from Sané!
There is barely an hour left until the closing of the paper (scheduled for midnight) and there are four pages open waiting for the chronicles, including Luna's column.
When there are Champions, Luna rushes.
The pulse of the section goes at 180 beats, that could have been the cabin of the Marx brothers, and yet we all remain reasonably calm because there is magic at this hour: each editor is clear about his role.
The closing is executed with surgical precision, just as each of the fights is closed: Madrid starts 2-2 in Munich, referee help hands the match to Barça in Athens and Nadal cries after losing to the Czech, he cries him and the auditorium of the Caja Mágica cries, and while all this happens, we chroniclers distance ourselves from the hustle and bustle, we type in silence and deliver the text instantly.
At 11:53 p.m., the material is in the machine room, it is already being thrown away.
At 12:13 p.m., we turn off the lights in the section, another Tuesday in the sack, and my Salesian friends, childhood classmates at school, message me from Nacho's bar:
–Are you coming or what? We are waiting for you for the drink.
- Whooo, whooo.
I get on Bicing and three quarters of an hour later I am already in Sarrià, finally relaxed, with a beer on the table, talking about Nadal and Pedro Sánchez, about changing the world.
