NEW YORK -- There was a specific moment when I realized the power of El Clasico's magnetic reach outside of Spain. The year was 2005. I was already living in New York City after moving there two years prior from London but had returned to the U.K. for a brief spell to spend time with family and friends.
It was a Saturday in November, and there I was, at a pub in Clapham Junction. A packed room filled with Barcelona and Real Madrid shirts crowding the tables. All of them with names on the back: from Ronaldinho at the peak of his powers, to an 18-year-old Lionel Messi and the imperial Samuel Eto'o.