This story had a (good) book

The history of Racing de Madrid had all the ingredients to become a good book.

In its 17 years of existence —it was born in 1914 on a train that left Vigo for Madrid and turned off in New York in 1931— the club from the Madrid neighborhood of Chamberí achieved sporting success, celebrated its first title with a picnic together to Manzanares, he designed and built his own great stadium, fueled the rivalry with Madrid, savored defeat and financial hardship, embarked on a tour of America and disappeared far from home.

(Debate), written by José Manuel Ruiz Blas, reflects the unique trajectory of the red and black team.

A book that is, first, a chronicle of how an institution is created, how the personalities of its founders shape its culture and, at the same time, the twists of fate lead it to a dead end.

But also an adventure book and a compendium of characters who lived several lives in one.

Francisco Bru, for example.

Soccer player, coach of a women's team in 1914, the first coach of Spain, strongman in a circus, journalist, lecturer, accidental professor of protocol, referee with a pistol, coach of Peru and Cuba.

And coach of Racing de Madrid, whom he embarked on the American tour with the aim of facing the debts generated by the construction of a stadium whose general stands could hold 12,000 spectators;

another 4,000 in the stands.

It had ambiguú, "great toilets for ladies and gentlemen", a room for the referee, a room with a telephone for the press and even a two-story hotel for the residence of the players.

The location was the same one that the Rayo Vallecano stadium occupies today.

That tour —in which goalkeeper Platko embarked among others— made stops in Peru, Cuba, Mexico and the United States.

The racinguistas would enter based on the box office.

The profits were not fat, but the anecdotes and misfortunes were.

Massive tanganas, invasions of fields, throwing stones, arrests, defeats, pyrrhic victories, mercenaries who were not so mercenaries added to the adventure, couples to whom a postcard was written from each stop, a clash of submachine guns with the New York mafia, telegrams asking for money to be able to return to Spain.

And the last Apache goal: on November 3, 1931, in a three-to-one defeat against the New York Hakoah All Stars.

Five days later, they would play their last game (1-0).

They returned to Spain.

The club, ruined, disappeared.

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