The sport didn't fail; the culture around it did.
Hay deportes que encarnan una época y luego la sobreviven con dificultad. El squash vivió su apogeo en la España de los años ochenta como símbolo de estatus, cayó en el olvido cuando la exclusividad se convirtió en estigma, y hoy regresa silenciosamente de la mano de jugadores como Borja Golán y Marta Domínguez, cuyas victorias internacionales están logrando lo que ninguna campaña de marketing consiguió: devolver al deporte un lugar en la imaginación colectiva. Es el viejo mecanismo de la excelencia: cuando los tuyos ganan lejos, lo que practican deja de parecer anacrónico.
- Un deporte que llenó pistas y clubes privados en los ochenta lleva décadas al margen, víctima de su propia imagen elitista y del auge de las actividades colectivas.
- La llegada de nuevas tendencias de fitness desplazó al squash hacia los márgenes, convirtiendo sus instalaciones en reliquias de una moda pasada.
- Jugadores como Borja Golán, Iker Pajares y Cristina Gómez están compitiendo al más alto nivel internacional, y sus resultados están generando una atención que el deporte no conocía desde hace años.
- La federación y los propios deportistas apuestan por convertir ese prestigio exterior en membresías, nuevas pistas y una cultura de participación renovada.
- El squash ofrece lo que el deportista moderno busca —intensidad, eficiencia, exigencia mental—, pero necesita dejar de parecer un vestigio de los ochenta para consolidar su regreso.
El squash tuvo su momento de gloria en la España de los años ochenta. Era el deporte de moda: los clubes privados proliferaban, las pistas se llenaban de ejecutivos y la práctica funcionaba como señal de estatus. Pero esa misma exclusividad acabó siendo su condena. Cuando llegaron las clases colectivas y la democratización del ejercicio, el squash empezó a parecer anacrónico, demasiado asociado a una élite. El interés no decayó gradualmente: se evaporó. El deporte pasó a ser algo que la gente recordaba, no practicaba.
Sin embargo, algo ha cambiado en los últimos años. Jugadores como Borja Golán, Iker Pajares, Marta Domínguez, Bernat Jaume y Cristina Gómez han comenzado a cosechar resultados en competiciones internacionales, y esas victorias están haciendo lo que ningún presupuesto de comunicación había logrado: despertar la curiosidad por un deporte casi olvidado. El mecanismo es conocido: cuando tus compatriotas compiten al más alto nivel, el deporte que practican deja de ser una rareza y se convierte en algo que merece la pena probar.
La federación española y los propios deportistas confían en que ese impulso se traduzca en nuevos socios, nuevas instalaciones y una cultura de participación que el squash perdió hace décadas. El deporte tiene argumentos propios: es intenso, eficiente y exige tanto al cuerpo como a la mente. Para quien lo prueba, el atractivo es inmediato. La pregunta es si el actual ciclo de éxitos internacionales durará lo suficiente para reconstruir lo que se perdió. Por primera vez en mucho tiempo, las pistas vuelven a llenarse. Si ese impulso se consolida o se desvanece como antes es lo que está por ver.
Squash had its moment. In the 1980s, it was the sport to play in Spain—a marker of status, a thing that mattered. Private clubs sprouted across the country. The courts filled with executives in headbands. It was fashionable, exclusive, alive.
Then something shifted. The sport's very exclusivity became its liability. As new fitness trends arrived—group classes, collective activities, the democratization of exercise—squash began to feel dated, too rarefied, too much the province of the wealthy. The clubs that had seemed so vital a decade earlier started to feel like relics. Interest didn't just decline; it evaporated. The sport became marginal, something people remembered rather than practiced.
But in recent years, something quiet has been happening. Spanish players have begun winning at the international level, and those victories are doing what marketing budgets could not: they're making people notice squash again. Borja Golán, Iker Pajares, Marta Domínguez, Bernat Jaume, and Cristina Gómez have carried the Spanish flag into serious competition, and their success is creating a small but real resurgence of interest in a sport that had nearly disappeared from the national consciousness.
The mechanism is simple and familiar: excellence abroad creates prestige at home. When your countrymen are competing at the highest levels, the sport they play stops being a curiosity and becomes something worth trying. The Spanish squash federation and the players themselves are banking on this momentum—that the international wins will translate into new members, new clubs, new courts being built and filled.
What's driving the renewed interest isn't just patriotic pride, though that plays a role. Squash itself, as a physical activity, offers genuine benefits that align with what modern fitness enthusiasts are seeking: it's intense, it's efficient, it demands full-body engagement and mental sharpness. A match is a conversation between two bodies, a problem-solving exercise at high speed. For those who try it, the appeal is immediate and visceral.
The question now is whether the current wave of international success can sustain itself long enough to rebuild the infrastructure and culture that squash lost. The sport needs not just champions but participants—people willing to join clubs, pay membership fees, show up on weekday evenings to hit a ball against a wall. It needs the sport to stop feeling like a relic of the 1980s and start feeling like something contemporary, something that belongs to now.
The Spanish players are doing their part. Whether that's enough to transform a quiet resurgence into something more durable remains to be seen. But for the first time in decades, squash in Spain has momentum. The courts are beginning to fill again.
Citações Notáveis
The sport became marginal after being labeled elitist and losing ground to newer group fitness activities— reporting on squash's decline in Spain
A Conversa do Hearth Outra perspectiva sobre a história
Why does a sport's reputation matter so much? Squash didn't change—the sport itself is the same.
Reputation is everything in sports. In the 1980s, squash meant you had money, status, access. When fitness became democratic—when anyone could take a group class at a gym—squash looked like a relic of exclusivity. The sport didn't fail; the culture around it did.
So these Spanish players winning internationally—that's enough to change how people see the sport?
It's a start. When your neighbor's cousin is competing at the world level, squash stops being abstract and becomes real. It becomes something worth trying, something that matters.
But won't it just become exclusive again? Won't the same people who abandoned it in the 1990s come back and make it elitist?
That's the real risk. The players and clubs have to be intentional about keeping it accessible. If they rebuild it as a status symbol, it'll collapse again in twenty years.
What makes squash different from, say, tennis or padel, which are also having moments?
Squash is more intense, more intimate. It's just two people in a box, moving at speed. There's nowhere to hide. That intensity is either thrilling or exhausting—there's no middle ground.
Is this resurgence actually happening, or is it just wishful thinking from the federation?
It's real but fragile. The international wins are genuine. Whether they translate into sustained club membership and new courts—that's the test ahead.