Football is Sweat and Flight

Football is huge here, bigger than anything comparable in the U.S., and all the stereotypes about South American football are true. They really do say 'GOOOOOOL!' and they do get into fights frequently. Choosing a local team is a serious consideration, and everyone wants me on their side. Adenir has his own approach. Football pervades every aspect of his life. He wrote a thesis, his 'monogram' as he calls it, unsolicited and by himself on how the public education system, the placement of football fields and the impact of football on society interact. Basically what I understood is that football is both capitalist and communist, whatever that means. Based on this 'monogram' he then produced a book of football poems and songs, the main work entitled "Football is Sweat and Flight." He sang it to me and after I congratulated him on his creativity his daughter said, "only my father writes poem-songs about football," to which Adenir replies, "it is very hard to write about football."

The furthest Adenir has taken the football metaphor is for explaining how he feels about Shakespeare. After lunch today I learned about goiabada, a cheese and guava paste dessert. It's pretty good, but not as good as knowing that the cheese part is called 'Romeo' and the jam 'Juliet.' This was Adenir's cue to clue me into another part of his 'monography,' where he wrote, "Shakespeare, he comes at you like a football, then, he send you away like a football." He gestures a triangle and explains, "You, and the Shakespeare, you take and he take, like in football." [Update: it turns out that's an actual quote more or less from the Comedy of Errors] Thinking about it later that idea actually makes sense in a way, but how he came upon the simile of football to describe the hermeneutics between text, author, and reader baffles me.

I got to see my first match ever last Sunday. I am not a sports fan and find it terribly boring when on the TV, but being at an actual game is surprisingly fun. It was between Vasco da Gama, the 'underdog' team of the poorer classes (which was also the first football club to allow blacks to play) and Fluminense, the current tournament leader and supposedly the 'aristocratic' team. The last time these two teams played, a Vasco fan died and there were riots. I was advised to wear muted colors and avoid raising my hands when near the hardcore fans of either team.

Arriving at the stadium was a little stressful, as there were hundreds of people jammed into a one-way street with cars trying to poke through the crowd. Cops were everywhere, but clearly outnumbered by the hooligans. The crew I arrived with was split between Vasco and Fluminense fans, although of the same family so nothing got rowdy. I went with the Vasco fan all the way around the stadium to the Vasco entrance, where it was markedly less crowded and crazy. Vasco was in 12th place and playing the 1st place team, so nobody expected much.



The game itself was pretty fun, but what was much more entertaining were the fans. They waved giant flags, played samba and team songs in the stands, and chanted insults at the other fans. The chants for both sides were pretty much like 'Ole, ole ole ole, fuck you [other team], fuck you.' They screamed ridiculous insults at the players, gestured what plays they should make, and almost went into a frenzy when Fluminense players started pretending to be injured to waste time. Listening to them, I learned words I'm glad I don't remember lest they slip out at the wrong time. My favorite fan was a little girl with vocabulary of a grizzled old sailor on shore leave.

After the match fans flooded the streets and tension was high. Around 20,000 people were shuffling out of the stadium, most of them drunk. Fluminense won 1-0, but faked lots of injuries, and Vasco had more shots on goal. To diffuse any unruliness were tons and tons of cops, just like in the movies. They had horses, giant nightsticks, and M4 carbines. The people living around the stadium in a near favela-like neighborhood took great advantage of this huge influx of drunken money and tried selling almost anything they had; music, water, drinks, snacks, and probably children if you asked. I didn't. The Vasco fan I was with looked physically defeated, and deflated even more as his uncle (a Fluminense fan) ragged on him the whole way home. I kinda zoned out during that part, so I all remember from the rest of the evening was seeing a paintball arena that also advertised itself as a sex-shop. I'm looking forward to visiting that establishment sometime.