April 16, 2004

Gooooool!!!!

Last night I had the opportunity to go to a professional soccer game here in Sâo Luís. For those of you who have never had the privilege of seeing first-hand a Latin soccer match, I will try to describe my experience to you.

First off, let me say that comparing a Brazilian soccer game to a US sporting event is like comparing the San Fransisco riots to a kindergarten class. Words cannot express the level of excitement and adrenaline that permeated the air as we approached the stadium. That and the smell of alcohol.

The game was between two fairly evenly-matched teams from the same city. As we entered the stadium (the game was free), it became clear to us that we should have left earlier. A lot earlier. There was not a single seat available to us, so we found a place to stand fairly close to the fence which divides the bleachers from the sideline. The place we finally settled on was also occupied by several vendors, selling everything from soft drinks to barbequed chicken.

Samyr, my companion on this adventure, made it very clear to me that I should only cheer for the team with the red jerseys. The wisdom of this advice was soon to be seen.

One thing that stuck out in my mind was the presence of the police. They were everywhere. Military police, civil police, shock troops, mounted units--they were out in force. As we entered the stadium, I noticed a paddy wagon large enough for at least 20 people parked to one side. Overkill, I thought.

The game began with fireworks, literally. As the teams were announced, rockets were launched in the colors of the two teams. At one point there was a misfire, and one of the firey streams headed straight for one of the bleachers. It was amazing to see how fast those people cleared out. What had once been a sea of crazed soccer fans became empty bleachers in a matter of seconds. Apparently nobody was hurt, because the area filled with people again quickly.

Two goals were scored in the first few minutes of the game, one for each team. Then the game settled down into a rhythm of attacks and counter attacks.

There were also some attacks and counter attacks in the bleachers very close to us. I was engrosed in the game when suddenly about 10 police officers ran past, headed for the seats behind us. They disappeard into the sea of people, and then returned with five irate fans in tow.

The officers did not waste any time with formalities. A mere five feet from me one of the officers grabbed a resisting detainee's shirt, spun him around, and gave him a good smack on the back with his billy club. This seemed to have a calming effect on the others, and they were led from the stadium without further incident. Suddenly I began to wonder if one paddy wagon would be enough.

It is really no wonder that violence breaks out at these games. When you have thousands of people within a close proximity, 90% of whom are quite lubricated, and all of whom are passionate about their team, disagreements are bound to occur.

Disagreements were not limited to the fans. The game continued tied until the end of regular play. Then, it went into overtime. During overtime, the red-shirted team made two consecutive goals. This was very frustrating for the white-shirted team, who began to demonstrate their frustration in ways not in accordance with official soccer rules. In fact, they had more to do with boxing than soccer. Suddenly, the field was full of shock troops, in full body armor, who positioned themselves between the players of the two teams. It was kind of comical to see the fully protected soldiers going up against guys wearing shorts, tee-shirts, sneakers, and long socks.

Needless to say, it was the soldiers who carried the day. Play resumed--after the expulsion of two players--and all returned to normal. As normal as anything gets at a Brazilian soccer game, that is.

The gentleman who had been standing next to me had left, and in his place two drunken fans were now lowdly singing the praises of the red-shirted team. It was at this moment that I made an important discovery: drunk people stink at math.

"Two to zero!!!" screamed one, in a voice which I was sure could be heard outside the stadium.
"You idiot, it's three to zero." replied his companion.
"Wait, it was tied, then we scored two goals, so now its two to zero."
"Oh yeah."
"The score is three to one" interjected a helpful bystander.
"Right, three to one! We are the BEST!!!"

The score indeed ended up three to one, and we beat a hasty retreat. Our hast turned out to be in vain, as we discovered that the busses had stopped running for the night. As we waited on the curb and tried weighed our options for getting home, the paddy wagon drove by us...full.

We finally decided to take moto-taxies (motorcycles acting as taxies) home, and arrived shortly after midnight.

I am sure that many sermon illustrations will come from this evening, but for the moment I was just happy to be alive.

Posted by Andrew on April 16, 2004 8:29 PM.

Comments

Posted by: Tom at April 20, 2004 12:14 AM