South American football has come along way,
From the samba skills of Brazil to the way Argentinians play
However whats still remains for all to see,
Is the passion of the fans which in Ecuador is key
I visit my first game which is dubbed an El Clasico,
Barcelona the team to beat and on show,
I sit there at the bottom of the concrete stands,
Life jam packed around me everyone moving there hands,
It has that local feel creating goosebumps that will appear,
That shiver on your spine that will create or waver fear,
Reality happens here sun wind sleet and rain,
There are not too many restrictions unlike the European game
The unknown presents itself maybe a good old tackle or silky dribble,
Or a passionate group of ultras keeping on going never to dwindle.
No number allocations here as many that can squeeze beside,
Crams of yellow and red shirts making a great Mexican tide
Empanadas and ice cream sellers weaving in and out the gaps
Smokes and Beers for the guys for match stress to relax.
The roars and cheers are deafening to any drum,
The opposing fans in horror as if the game is done.
The stadium is an electric cauldron of passion,
But in the local bars this must see is like fashion
The joy this sport brings to these faces,
Is like a religion going through the paces
Chico or chica both battling for screaming motivation,
Because this is football in Ecuador the life that is their station.