Sundays are for football. Any good American man can tell you that. You eat crappy food, drink shitty beer, annoy your girlfriend, wear your ratty old jersey, and scream mercilessly at the television. If you're lucky (and rich), you can actually go to a game, and do all of the aforementioned activities. For lack of a better phrase, it's the American way.
So what happens when you leave America? No more rowdy Sundays? No more shitty beer and snacks? No more merciless screaming and taunting? No way. If you have a pulse and you live anywhere outside of the United 50, you know that Sundays are still for football, their football. The football where you actually use your feet. Call it what you will; soccer, futbol, fusbol, calcio. It's the world's most popular sport, and a Sunday tradition for millions worldwide.
This Sunday, I went to my first Argentine "futbol" match. Independiente vs. Velez Sarsfield. Both teams are from the greater Buenos Aires area, which fittingly boasts the record of having the most teams, 24, in any single city in the world. Imagine if New York City had 4 teams in Brooklyn, Queens, and the Bronx, plus another 8 or so in Manhattan. That's kind of how it would break up. Each team represents a neighborhood, sometimes so close to their rivals that the stadiums are within earshot of each other. In the case of Independiente, they actually play in their rival's (Club Racing) stadium while their stadium undergoes renovations.
I was invited to the game by a friend of a friend, Brenda, who's a die-hard Independiente supporter. I'd be lying if I didn't admit to having ulterior motives for going, but if you saw Brenda you'd understand. Besides, what else am I going to do on a Sunday? Watch NFL scores scrolling slowly by on espn.com as I sip a luke-warm coffee and try to decide whether I want rice or pasta for dinner? No thanks. Give me a hot girl, a national past-time, and I've got a reason for leaving the house.
I've learned from living in Europe that the passion for this sport is ravenous. It's hard to compare to any of our popular spectator sports. The passion is just different. Futbol fans have a distinct comradery with each other and the team which is very separate from the love they have for the actual game itself. This is evident long before you even reach the stadium. As soon as you're within walking distance from the stadium you can feel the fans' energy.
Sunday's match was a home game for Independiente, also known as the Red Devils, and the streets were full of red-clad supporters. Many wore red jerseys, red t-shirts, red bandannas, and even the occasional red cape with devil horns. The only people not wearing red were the swarms of riot police who lined the outside of the stadium, some on horseback, patrolling the crowd before the game.
"Put away your money." Brenda said to me as we got closer to the stadium, "Be careful with your camera, and don't draw attention to yourself". These are all fair warnings, and any good gringo can tell you that one can never be too careful when entering a 3rd world sporting event, but I knew I'd be fine. I've been in the depths of the hooligan section for Rome's SS Lazio club as well as a Nine Inch Nails show, so in comparison, this would be a cakewalk.
The game started at 7:30. Typically the fanatics sit in the curved parts of the stadium near the goals. The home supporters occupy one side, the visitors on the other. Opposing fans never sit anywhere near each other, and visiting fans are flanked by police for the entire duration of the game, and then escorted out of the stadium when the game's finished. It's also typical that the home fans must remain in the stadium for 20 minutes after the game has finished so that the opposition has time to leave the neighborhood safely. Unfortunately, fan violence is a huge part of the game, and it's not uncommon to see fights in or around the stadium.
We sat in the upper terrace of the Red Devil's section. Below us was a sea of red, swaying, singing bodies. As soon as the whistle blew for the kick-off the party began. It's hard to pay attention to the actual game when the crowd's so involved. They sing and jump in staggered unison. It's like a loud red wave that continuously smashes the sides of the concrete oval where the game's being played. If you're not used to it, it can be kind of scary. For me it's an incredible rush. The crowd ceases to be a group of individuals, but rather takes the form of one giant entity. You feel compelled to jump and sing even if you don't know the words.
The game itself was actually rather boring. The Argentines play aggressively, which is exciting, but their speed and natural talent is far less than what I'm used to seeing in Italy. Brenda looked disinterested, and explained to me that she's mad at her team for not finishing higher in the standings. I explain to her that I've never been to a match where the home team lost, and minutes later the Red Devil's were down 1-0. So much for my luck.
After a few questionable calls by the referees the crowd got a bit aggressive. The game was nearing its end and the Red Devils hadn't scored yet. You could feel the frustration in the air. Some of the fans began to throw sticks and piss-filled balloons at the opposing players, prompting the riot police to shield them at the corners of the field. To keep the fans from charging, the field is surrounded by a moat, about 6 feet wide and 10 feet deep. The player's side of the moat is lined with barbed wire, and the water is green and covered with debris.
With only a few minutes left in the game the Devils score. Bedlam ensues, and the stadium physically rocks and sways with the pounding of jumping bodies and flare cannons. I'm off the hook, Brenda's happy, and the game ends in a tie. It takes forever to get out of the stadium. Every bus heading back into the city was crammed with screaming, banner-waving supporters. The singing and dancing hadn't stopped, it just spilled onto the streets, and moved into the city's buses and cars.
After parting ways with Brenda I headed home. Football day was over, and this sleepy gringo needed a bite to eat and some rest. Though the game ended in a tie, the outing was ultimately a success. My lucky streak is intact too. I can still brag that I've never been to a losing match.
