Hazy
Trip Start
May 23, 2005
1
8
36
Trip End
Mar 25, 2006
Sao paulo,
Brazil
Friday, July 8, 2005
A Hazy Shade Of Clear
It's difficult to get a clear picture of what's going on in the world anymore. Maybe this has always been the case, but as my mind becomes aware of so many different perspectives, it entertains more and more alternative notions. What is really happening? There are so many different organizations and groups and parties and corporations competing for my conviction that they must all use a filter or convincing propaganda in order to sway my decision-making process until I am thoroughly confused to what is the truth of any matter. For example, Islamic fundamentalists (now mostly identified by the media as terrorists or insurgents) accuse the west of originating violence and oppression in their territories, while the west claims that it is the militants who initiate the violence and terror. Also, conservatives with oil interests state that the US needs to reduce its dependence on foreign oil by drilling into the supposedly vast reserves contained inside of the Artic National Wildlife Refuge, the largest unspoiled area of land remaining in the US. Meanwhile, opponents say that the US should invest in alternative energy resources, and that the refuge has just a relatively small petroleum reserves. Worst of all, both sides have their own versions of data and facts to back these claims. Even the most recent Star Wars installment had me wondering if good and evil aren't relative terms. Because when the politics of interest (read: greed) are thrown into the mix all kinds of dirty tricks tend to preclude rational, moral, and constructive dialogue. Ya know, it's nice in this world to, once in a while, have an issue at hand everyone can agree on. Something indisputable and pure. Last Wednesday night I was fortunate enough to see one of these rare occasions where an all-encompassing, generalizing statement can be made about a subject. Yes, there is maybe only one summarized statement that can unite the entire population here in Brazil: Football is Life. Well maybe two. Football is Life, and every decision George W. Bush has ever made has had mostly negative consequences on the majority of the people that the decision effects (take that, Dubya). And that's just clear.
Football Is Life Is Futebol
Now there are certain things about football - and if you are reading this in Alabama, I remind you that football is a sport that is played with your feet - that do divide the masses, like when two opposing teams from various cities play a match, fans of one side will go to nearly sadistic lengths to harm the opposing fans both mentally and physically (example: dumping plastic cups of urine from the stadium's expensive upper deck onto the poor fans in the cheap seats down below). And judging by the intense prayer session attended by both teams before and after all games, and then the massive celebration by the winning team and the massive mourning session by the losing team, it's blindingly clear that god hates the losing team, loves the winning team, and has shown this through via the outcome of the match. What else could this mean, if both teams have prayed and are equally faithful, yet the lord has chosen but one team as victors? This could cause enormous religious divide amongst the faithful. But regardless of what colors they wear and where they are going to spend their afterlife, all fans from everywhere in the world can agree that they love their sport intensely. It's one of the few dependable things in life, besides "The W" sucking ass at his job.
Wow, I Am Really Going After That Poor, Innocent Draft-Dodger Today. What Gives?
The game was one of the most important in the last few decades for the city of Sao Paulo, the semi-finals of the Copa de Libertadores. This is essentially the Western Hemisphere's yearly championship for club teams. The best club teams from most Latin American countries can qualify and battle through the stages of the tourney for a big trophy and some international bragging rights. In this case the bragging rights were even more valuable, because the evening's opponent was a club team called River Plate, one of Brazil's hated-rival Argentina's finest squads. GGGRRRRR!!!! One of my local friends had skipped work to go to Morumbi Stadium the week before in order to stand in line with the impatient masses waiting for tickets. In a city of 20 million potential fans, the custom of ticket buying becomes almost as competitive as the match itself, taking on a game-like intensity a week before the match is even to be held. But I had the luxury of him picking me up at my house tickets in hand. As he reached over to hand me one of his extra Sao Paulo Futbol Club jerseys, he looked at my red, white and black Nike jacket and said, "Oh good, you already have on the right colors." I asked him why wearing the right colors or wearing a jersey was important. He told me that if I showed up to the stadium with the wrong colors on I could be perceived as the enemy. And enemies get beat up and sent to the hospital. It reminded me of something from LA gang warfare and I wasn't sure how much stock to take in this potential threat. But I remembered what had happened at the Brazil-Argentina game I watched at a sports bar a few weeks back, when an Argentinean fan had walked in with his Argentina jersey on. He was quickly covered in beer and forced to strip off the jersey, not to be worn the rest of the game. If that wasn't enough preparation, on the radio as we drove to the game, broadcasters were reporting that some of the River Plate supporters had begun to feel the hostilities of the Sao Paulo fans already.
Cry Me A River Plate
Busloads of the club's hardcore backers had made the 20 hour bus ride from Buenos Aires to the hostile Paulista environment in order to root for the their team. Normally, the team bus and the boosters' buses are routed a certain way through the city toward the stadium - a proven safe route meant to prevent any possible run-ins with belligerent fans. But in the mess of roads that is Sao Paulo, the buses had made a wrong turn somewhere and had instead run directly into the heart of the angry, drunken mob outside of the stadium, who were pre-gaming it by drinking cachasa, devouring barbecued meat and were, for some reason, equipped with throwing rocks. Needless to say, the mob felt their prayers had been answered as the buses arrived. They proceeded to hurl stones at the opponents' vehicles, breaking all the windows and probably screaming every known obscenity in their state of intoxication. Now that's unity. As for us, after parking about a mile away and jogging all the way up to the gates, we stopped outside the now full stadium to grab a quick beer to calm our nerves. The anxious anticipation of kickoff was in the air. And this could even be felt outside the stadium where the crowd had left deserted hundreds of folks with carts selling jerseys, hot dogs, meat sticks, beer and liquor. Just before we entered, the whistle blew and the crowd erupted. Firecrackers blasted inside the stadium and all around the city. Walking into the lower section - full of the rowdies who paid the least for their tickets but were the most riled up - I could see across the packed stadium. The color was brilliant: 60,000 plus red and white clad fans all standing, crammed into the sections so tight there was no space to move. Steam and clouds of smoke rose from the chanting, singing, and jumping fanatics in all three decks of the old stadium.
Eh, Juiz! Vai Tomar No Culo!
The actual game really wasn't as important to me as the sights, sounds and smells which were created by the event. At this point I hadn't committed to being a fan of any one team yet. But as the game went on, I couldn't help but to take on the behaviors of all the fanatics who I was crammed against. I learned the load bass drum-driven chants of the Sao Paulo Futbol Club. I learned how to tell the referee - when he made a bad call - to go get f*#$ed (it sounds better in Portuguese, I swear). I learned how to yell and swear and overreact to every little detail of the game. Soon I was on the band wagon and it was nearly heart-stopping to watch 75 minutes of scoreless football, with several near-misses for both sides (shouldn't a "near-miss" mean a make?). The hooligans were becoming restless in my section. Some were jumping or falling out of the stands onto the hard concrete ditch 15 feet below them (the 15 feet drop is meant to prevent them from charging onto the field. Upon inspecting the area after the game I saw several pools of blood that had no doubt resulted from falls that night). Some were attempting to climb the metal fences that separated the sections in order to harass the upper-class women in the expensive seats in the next section over, or to berate the fans in the adjacent non-lively sections to cheer more for the home team. And although alcohol was not permitted in the stadium, some had become so drunk that they were dragged out of the section unconscious by their friends or by security. And many unidentified objects and fluids (urine?) dropped from the upper levels onto our heads.
GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Finally, near the end of the second half, as hopes were beginning to fade and fatigue was setting in, a ball bounced out of the penalty area towards a Sao Paulo midfielder, who had a clear shot from 20 yards out. He netted it nearside and there was a thousandth of a second of silent disbelief followed by another thousandth of recognition, followed instantly by an eruption similar to the sound of a fighter jet tearing through the stadium. The crowd went berserk. Everything in anyone's hands was tossed into the air. People were jumping up and down, dancing, screaming, waving flags, running in circles, high-fiving. Men, women, children, people of all ethnicities and social levels smothering each other with bear hugs. All the time emitting a defining, low-pitch roar. I wasn't 10 percent as excited as they were, I don't know if I can be. But I did my best to pretend. It was like they just won their independence. As such, enormous fireworks with huge reports - usually reserved for pyrotechnitions - began exploding...in the stands. Other fireworks which looked like fountains lit up areas of the crowd and seemed as if they would catch a section of fans on fire.
It took about 10 minutes for the pandemonium to die down but the chanting and singing would not stop till hours after the game ended. Just as things had quieted to a dull roar Sao Paulo was threatening again. The ball was bouncing around in the penalty area and it glanced off of one of the Argentinean players hands. The stadium's entire crowd seemed to simultaneously leave their feet at the same, all throwing an arm toward the sky and screaming, "PENALTY!!!!" I couldn't even hear the ref blow his whistle but he must have because the party started up again in the stands. This party was even more fun because there were only a few minutes left on the clock and the victory was sealed. Also, we had the security to know that another goal was yet to come. The Sao Paulo goalie came running up all the way from his penalty area to take the shot. There was silence for a brief second. Then he blasted it in and the crowd erupted for a third and final time. The partying in the stand continued for the remainder of the game and as we exited the chants could still be heard. As we drove away, many of the cars had the Sao Paulo flag waving out of the back of their cars.
Adding Injury To Insult
As if the trashing of the buses wasn't enough, the next day I read reports that the Argentinean fans - who were assigned to their own section in the stadium - had just as tough of a time inside the stadium as outside. Apparently, when the customary smack-talking and scuffling between the two teams' fans began in the upper section of the stadium, the Sao Paulo riot police moved into the section quickly and with unnecessary force. They supposedly unfairly targeted River Plate supporters with their night sticks and fists and boots. Several fans didn't make the bus ride home to Buenos Aires because they were being treated in local hospitals for injuries sustained in these brawls. Such is life. But I ain't seen nothing yet, because the finals of the Copa are this week. Stay tuned.
