Patterns of history can be traced back to Barcelona and Istanbul

GRAB a sprig of rosemary or basil, smell it and undoubtedly it’ll bring back memories of mom’s Sunday roast or a romantic dinner with a loved one. The herb’s nostalgia evokes a sense of place, a feeling of deja vu. You know you’ve been here before.

So, too, perhaps it is with regards to football and the city within which it sometimes finds itself. It was that great writer Samuel Beckett, who said: “If you don’t know where you are currently standing, you’re dead.”

Because there is a history to everything and, every so often, that very history throws up symmetry so astounding it definitely needs a deeper glance, and is well worth a magnifying glass perusal.

How else can we explain that three of the greatest football fightbacks in Europe have occurred in the cities of Barcelona and Istanbul? In it all, there is a remarkable sense of place, a captivating taste of history, a sordid tale of strife and struggle, and a keen appreciation of the many centuries of evolution that created the modernity we now take for granted. Perhaps it is why the indomitable spirit that sustained these two cities now plays itself out in its football arenas.

In that refusal to accept defeat, in that determined quest for resurgence, it is as if Barcelona and Istanbul are saying: We’ve been here before.

Barcelona was founded by the Phoenicians, an ancient civilization of independent city-states along the coast of the Mediterranean Sea. Throughout the ensuing centuries, the sought-after land was captured and ruled by the Romans, the Visigoths (Germanic), the Moors and Franks (also a Germanic tribe).

It was during this latter period that the region was divided into counties, which gave rise to the Catalan nation in the area we now know as Barcelona. This, of course, was the start of the hostility and conflict with neighbouring Madrid, and an all-out war with Spain. (The origin still resides in the rivalry between Real Madrid and Barcelona).

But it’s this enduring and indefatigable nature of the city, despite its history of turmoil and blood, which accentuates the beautiful symmetry of the football comebacks we’ve witnessed. In 1999, in the Champions League final at the Camp Nou Manchester United were 1-0 down to Bayern Munich, with just three minutes of injury-time remaining. Teddy Sheringham equalised and, a minute later, Ole Gunnar Solskjaer steered in the winner.

In the face of adversity, United overcame, in a city accustomed to staring down difficulty and hardship.

Last week – will we ever forget? – Barcelona, the football team, at the very same Camp Nou, in its very own proud city – the history of place and people no doubt woven into the fabric of their souls – rose from the ashes of defeat to register one of the most extraordinary turnarounds in the history of the game. Barcelona, the team, Barcelona, the city … I guess you just cannot keep it down.

And so to Istanbul we go, the largest city in Turkey. Because it extends into more than one continent, into both Europe and Asia, needless to say, it was always, through the centuries, marked by conquerors. Its history, therefore, spans the rise and fall of the universe’s most famous empires. Known initially as Byzantium when ruled by the Greeks, the name was changed to Constantinople after the Romans invaded. By the 15th century, the Ottoman Turks had taken over – and it was renamed Istanbul.

Again, it’s a narrative of friction, discord, battle and blood – but, through it all, the city survived. It overcame against insurmountable odds, much like in 2005, at the Ataturk Stadium in Istanbul, when Liverpool were 3-0 down to AC Milan in the Champions League final at halftime.

They rallied, levelled at 3-3, and then won on penalties.

In his satirical novel, Survivor, writer Chuck Palahniuk suggests: “There are only patterns, patterns on top of patterns, patterns that affect other patterns. Patterns hidden by patterns. Patterns within patterns. If you watch close, history does nothing but repeat itself.”

And sometimes, as we’ve seen in Barcelona and Istanbul, the way history repeats itself doesn’t hit you in the face with the force of a baseball bat – instead, it’s a subtle, deeply symbolic tickle.