If any Brazilian ever read this, I would be in so much trouble. Oh! here it goes…soccer/futebol isn’t really my thing. When I come to think about it, neither are sports in general. Well, except for tennis and sometimes volleyball…
But after trying out a volleyball “class” offered by my new university, my appreciation for the sport has suffered somewhat of a blow. It’s because sports are taken very seriously here in Brazil, even when you’re supposedly just learning how to play the sport. I learned this the hard way when I walked into the gymnasium under the pretext that I would solidify my volleyball skills and satisfy a desire of mine to finally play the sport that I had enjoyed so much during physical education in high school. Well, it turned out that this volleyball class wasn’t much of a “class” at all when you consider the most basic definition of the word. Instead, it was a chance for young Brazilians who had been playing volleyball their whole lives, but whom just didn’t have the time to go the beach at that time of the day due to classes, to show off their strength and athleticism to their peers. The moral of the story? Brazilians play rough. Too rough for my fragile psyche anyways. There’s no way around it…
But I digress.
In any case, there are a few things that I feel as though I can’t leave Brazil without saying that I experienced them at least once during my stay. Futebol (or, foo-chee-bawl) is definitely one of them. It is one of the things that could leave a Brazilian on cloud nine for days, or sunken into a deep depression for weeks on end. What appears to be a normal stadium can instantly become a battleground where rival teams face off from opposite sides of the stadium, waving flowing banners, chanting, cheering, and, my all-time favorite, jeering. You always want to make sure that you’re on the right side. Only the bravest fans boldly advertise their allegiance to any which team by wearing its colors. So with that in mind, since I had no allegiance whatsoever, I wore a neutral blue windbreaker and white t-shirt. My hair already attracts enough attention as it is. I definitely did not need any more.
The game I went to was what is referred to as a clássico here in Rio de Janeiro, or Fluminense (maroon, green, and white) vs. Flamengo (red and black), due to the intense rivalry between the teams, which are two of four local teams that continually fight for the right to be called the one and true carioca team. My friends and I ended up on the Flamengo side. For someone that prefers to stick to silent fist pumps during matches and impassioned “come on’s” during Wimbledon, quite another being manifested itself as I cheered with the best of them for a team and a sport that I knew nothing about.
That notwithstanding, the game lived up to its name: it was a classic nail-biter that would eventually end up in a tie. Whenever Fluminense scored, or had possession of the ball, the Flamengo side would boo, whistle, groan, and yell out heartfelt cries of “FILHO DA PUTA!” and “VAI TOMAR NO CU!” The atmosphere was so full of hatred and disgust that this fútbol match in Maracanã, the largest football stadium in South America, had me feeling the least safe I’ve felt thus far in Rio de Janeiro. And rightly so…people have died when the wrong team lost…but on that day, when Flamengo fans thought that defeat was near, only a little blood was shed when a bitter group of Flamengo fans jumped a lone Fluminense fan outside of the seats. Oh, but when Flamengo scored…the celebration could have equaled New Year’s Eve…fireworks, sparklers, hugs between strangers. It was AMAZING!
However, as the Flamengo’s final point was scored during the last minute of the match, the celebration didn’t last for too long as getting out of Maracanã is about as long and uncomfortable as the torment would be of a Flamengo fan sitting all alone on the Fluminense side of the stadium. Miraculously, my friends and I were able to cut this time in half by joining an immense conga line (I swear that I’m telling the truth) that screamed and jogged its way out of the stadium in record time.
Overall, I had a great time and although the conga line at the end was a very nice touch, I don’t think I’ll be making it back to Maracanã again any time soon. But at least now I can say that I experienced a real live Brazilian soccer game.
