The city of Bilbao is known across the world for its steel, its shipyards, its Guggenheim, and above all, its football. Athletic Club, one of the most historic teams in Europe, is more than a football club to the Basques—it is an identity, a way of life, a deep emotional bond handed down from one generation to the next. And while the ninety minutes played on the pitch inside San Mamés are what ultimately define victory or defeat, the real magic begins long before the referee blows the first whistle. For Athletic fans, matchday starts with a ritual that is as powerful as the game itself: the famous march to San Mamés.
To understand this ritual, one must first appreciate the role of the club in Basque culture. Athletic Bilbao’s unique philosophy of fielding only players born or raised in the Basque Country is a badge of pride, something that sets them apart from every other club in modern football. This philosophy strengthens the bond between the supporters and the team, because the players truly represent their people, their land, and their heritage. It means that the fans don’t just watch strangers wearing their shirt—they cheer for their neighbors, for sons of the region, for players who grew up walking the same streets they did. It makes the emotional connection far stronger, and it makes the collective journey to San Mamés more than just a trip to a football ground. It is a pilgrimage.
The matchday march begins in the heart of the city, where red-and-white scarves and jerseys flood the streets hours before kickoff. The journey does not have an official starting line marked on a map, but most people gather in the bars and plazas of Casco Viejo, the old town of Bilbao, or at the bars along Licenciado Poza, the famous street that transforms into a living sea of fans. From these spots, the supporters begin their collective walk toward San Mamés, singing, chanting, waving flags, and building an atmosphere of anticipation. It’s here that strangers become brothers and sisters, united by the colors they wear and the songs they sing. The closer you are to the heart of the march, the more you feel the electricity in the air, a current that grows stronger with every step toward the stadium.
The songs are the lifeblood of the march. Old chants that have been sung for decades mix with newer anthems created by the younger generation. Some are passionate declarations of love for Athletic Club, others are taunts aimed at the visiting team, but all are sung with full lungs and open hearts. The sound echoes down the narrow streets of Bilbao, bouncing off the buildings and flowing like a river toward San Mamés. Even before the players warm up, the city itself is alive with the rhythm of the supporters. For first-time visitors, it is almost overwhelming: the way the chants grow louder, the way the red-and-white shirts seem to multiply, the way the march takes over the entire landscape. For locals, it is home, a feeling that nothing else can replicate.
Children on their parents’ shoulders wave flags, learning the words to the songs and absorbing the ritual that they will one day pass on. Grandparents walk alongside grandchildren, remembering the marches of the old San Mamés before the new stadium opened in 2013. The march, like the club itself, is timeless. It belongs to every generation, evolving but never losing its essence. Even the scent of grilled chorizo and fresh beer from the bars along the way becomes part of the sensory memory. For many fans, the ritual of stopping for a drink and a bite before joining the march is as sacred as the game itself.
As the march winds its way toward the stadium, the anticipation builds. The sight of San Mamés, known as “La Catedral” of football, rising in the distance always sends a shiver down the spine. The modern stadium may be newer, brighter, and more advanced than the old one, but it has retained the aura, the identity, and the spirit of Athletic Club. Seeing its lights shining against the Basque sky feels like reaching the end of a journey, like approaching a temple after a long pilgrimage. And yet, the real beauty lies not in the arrival but in the shared journey itself. Each step, each chant, each embrace between fans, is part of what makes the magic so unforgettable.
Ask anyone who has experienced it, and they will tell you: the march is not just about walking to a football game. It is about belonging. In a world where football often feels dominated by money, global brands, and players who move from club to club like mercenaries, Athletic Bilbao and its supporters remain different. The march embodies that difference. It is organic, born from the people themselves, not from a marketing department. It is a ritual of pride, of defiance, of joy. Even if Athletic are not favorites to win, even if the opponent is stronger, the march fills the supporters with a sense of power and unity. By the time they reach the stadium, the fans are already part of something greater than themselves, something eternal.
Tourists who stumble upon the march often find themselves swept up in it. Many describe it as one of the most authentic football experiences in the world, something that cannot be bought with a ticket alone. You can sit in the stands of many great stadiums and watch a match, but few places offer the same communal pre-match ritual that Bilbao does. It is not just spectacle; it is lived culture. To march alongside the locals is to feel what football truly means when it is inseparable from identity, history, and community.
It is also worth noting that the march is not limited to the biggest matches. Whether Athletic are facing Real Madrid, Barcelona, or a smaller side fighting relegation, the march happens. Of course, the atmosphere reaches its peak on derby days, especially when Real Sociedad come to town. Those nights, the songs are louder, the march is thicker with emotion, and the passion is almost combustible. But even on a rainy Sunday against a less glamorous opponent, the march still goes on, because for the fans it is not about the opponent—it is about Athletic, about themselves, about the ritual that defines them.
The march is also deeply connected to the idea of resilience. Athletic Club have never had the financial resources of Spain’s biggest clubs, yet they continue to compete at the highest level, relying on local talent and the strength of their community. The march symbolizes that strength. It says: we may not buy the world’s biggest stars, but we have something money cannot buy. We have a bond that cannot be broken, a heartbeat that keeps pulsing no matter the result on the scoreboard. Win, lose, or draw, the march will happen again at the next game, because the essence of the club is not defined only by trophies but by identity.
When the fans finally enter San Mamés, the energy they built during the march explodes into the stands. The singing continues, the flags wave, and the players on the pitch can feel the weight of that journey behind them. Many Athletic players have spoken about how special it feels to walk out and hear their supporters roaring with a passion that began hours earlier on the streets. For them, it is not just noise—it is the living proof of what they represent. They know that the fans walked together, sang together, and came together for them, and that knowledge fuels every tackle, every sprint, every shot.
Even after the match, whether in celebration or in defeat, the spirit of the march lingers. Victories are carried back through the streets, with songs and laughter echoing late into the night. Defeats are softened by solidarity, by the knowledge that the march will happen again, that the ritual endures regardless of results. In this way, the march transcends the match itself. It is a story of continuity, of community, of unwavering devotion.
So where does the magic begin? It begins not at the gates of San Mamés, not at the first whistle, not even in the dressing room where the players prepare. It begins in the streets of Bilbao, in the bars of Licenciado Poza, in the plazas of Casco Viejo, in the hearts of the people who put on their red-and-white shirts and set out together. It begins with the first chant, the first embrace, the first flag waved high above the crowd. The march is the heartbeat of football culture in Bilbao, and for anyone lucky enough to be part of it, it is unforgettable.
In truth, the march is more than a prelude to football. It is football itself, in its purest form: a game that belongs to the people, a passion that cannot be confined to ninety minutes. The stadium may be the cathedral, but the streets are the path of pilgrimage. And on those streets, with the red-and-white tide flowing toward San Mamés, the magic of Athletic Bilbao is born anew every matchday. That is where it starts, and that is why it will never end.
