The sign said Gents, but my eyes were confused. Half time at the Heliodoro and with CD Tenerife 1-0 up against Mallorca, the little boy’s room was full of large men dressed in a full range of dresses, uniforms and even kilts. The Carnaval game is always special, but forced into a Monday night kick off by greedy television executives, the Tenerife fans were determined to make it go with a swing.
Arriving at our usual pre-match watering hole, just down from the stadium, the Armada Sur were stocking up on the singing juice as chaps wobbled by on high heels. A group of home made dolphins basked near the road side and our own Batman and Snow White’s evil Queen mingled with some Mallorca fans. The stadium security looked bemused as we filed into the ground. How do you frisk outrageous Vikings, drag queens and fairies? Once inside I was stopped by some delightful lady cops and volunteered to help them fully with their enquiries.
CD Tenerife hadn’t won for eight games and were stuck in the La Liga relegation zone and storms had been swirling around Santa Cruz for days, hardly ideal preparation for a party but those small matters were put on hold. Kick off was greeted with a wall of sound from the 18.000 crowd, I was wedged between the ample bosoms of a swaying local lad but still managed to raise my hands to join in the songs and chants.
There is a very special bond between the fans and players of CD Tenerife, home form is key to survival, the players could sense this was a make or break game and showed little respect for Mallorca’s fourth place in the table. After 14 minutes last season’s deadly combination found their form, Alfaro laid on a perfect pass through to Nino who slipped the ball into the net from the edge of the goal area. The place erupted, I was engulfed by a selection of Braveheart warriors and buxom wenches as the Carnaval anthem Chicharrero de Corazon rang out loud and proud with lung bursting gusto.
The party was in overdrive and the stadium was rocking, even our normally shaky defence was standing firm as half time approached. At the whistle we spilled up onto the communal area behind the seating for group hugging and a chance for stockings and underwear to be adjusted. Down below in Santa Cruz the music was wafting over from the street parties, a big gulp of air and optimism and we were back on the terracing in full voice.
Mallorca had their moments, Sergio Aragonoses was immense as ever in the home goal and Omar and Nino went close to increasing the lead. As the clock ticked down there were anxious moments, Popeye prayed, superheroes willed the team on and make up ran with emotion. Somehow the referee found five minutes of injury time to prolong our suffering, finally the whistle went and the fat ladies and other assorted characters were free to sing. Once more Chicharrero was belted out as the players returned the crowds applause. Streaming down to the bar Carmen Mirandas wedged their phones between their fruit to spread the good news and Santa Cruz braced itself for a wave of party animals to dance the night away.
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