We are now at the height of the sporting calendar. A bit like the seasons, sports events are cyclical and there is really no way of dodging them.

In view of this, I found myself reminiscing about one of the most incredible sports-themed paintings I can ever recollect: the painting of a stadium, which stood at the entrance to the long-gone Café Estádio in Lisbon.

Not everyone will remember it. Maybe only a few. Those who went to Café Estádio, in Rua São Pedro de Alcântara no. 7, for as long as it was around. We cannot say under what circumstances, but we can only guess that its fate was similar to many others: one day O Estádio shut its doors.

It had beautiful pastel-coloured tables with contoured Thonet style chairs. No logos, the table tops were made of hardwearing Formica and the seats were of stone-like plastic. O Estádio had a gloomy feel to it that we will soon lose track of. It was breezy because it was not exactly bright, it had a faithful clientele, coffees and pints, and sparkling water with ice and lemon. Not much more you could ask for. It was a place for locals who did not live there, but who dwelled in Chiado at all times of the day and night. I used to hang out there in the afternoons after college classes, and there was always someone around. I would find myself sitting in such a way as to be within sight of the door, but I really only wanted to see the painting. I will never know if the painting-Estádio led to the name of the café-Estádio, or vice versa. It’s nevertheless an interesting exercise to imagine that the café owner was so enamoured with such a simple and radical painting that he decided to honour it by naming his café after it; or whether, on the other hand, he came upon that magnificent painting depicting a stadium and decided to bring it into his establishment. Or whether the painting was ordered specially for the café, or was a gift from a former student of the Lisbon Fine Arts influenced by Luc Tuymans’ striking views. That is the crux of this article. It’s a superb painting by an anonymous author of unknown date that could be admired in an ambiance suited to slow observation. Without any restrictions.

It was a horizontal painting, the usual setting for landscape representations. It depicted an empty football stadium, a green pitch with white lines, earthy surroundings and a pulpit-like stand. Its composition was intriguing as the stadium was seen from above, but close enough for us to recognise details and a certain degree of perspective. A chopped-up view, a bird’s eye look. It also revealed a glimpse of the sky, a colour that went well with the table tops. The stadium represented could be an archetype of the idea we have of these infrastructures. But apparently it was a stadium that does exist and is familiar to us: the National Stadium, also known as Estádio do Jamor. Its importance is relative, because its pictorial appeal was not that. It was the fact that we could see an empty stadium, attracting a crystalline silence in the painting itself. As if it had not been fully fulfilled, in a suspended breath. The painting captured that expectant instant: the silent stadium, before we could see it achieve its purpose – to be used. But the lack of any human referent is precisely why the painting was so good. The bottle-green pitch had a sense of immensity. No real scale could be found in that stadium. And it certainly didn’t need it. Because painting-O Estádo lived in the café-O Estádio. A place where chatter from the bar, lively conversations and the usual bustle rounded off the sound the painting’s muteness provided. In this sporting age of eternal return, I’m often reminded of one of the most beautiful unheralded paintings that I have ever had the joy of enjoying, without compromise. If anyone knows its location, kick it this way.