The rain is dampening the freezing air. But nobody's cold.Embraced in a song that seems never-ending, only to be interrupted by cheers.
One, two-nil.
And the song goes on until half-time. It doesn't stop even then. This festival goes on in the midst of this cold, as the scarves leave the necks naked and start dancing in the air. Their voices keep them warm.
Three, four-nil.
All they are waiting for is the final whistle. The score does not matter anymore. No need to worry or argue. They are already fantasizing the goals on tonight's news, their father stunned while listening to their stories, their friends afraid of their rag, looking for a place to hide. They think about tomorrow's happy Monday at school, at college, at work. This next happy week, full of laughter, until next Sunday comes and then the next, until the league is over and then the last Sunday of May with the title, then the transfer season, the summer break and then the first Sunday of September.
Five, six-nil...
Thoughts dancing around the Sundays to come and the songs that don't stop. They all go down the corridors, out of the stadium, back home, to the bars and cafes where the neighbours are waiting for an account of the triumph.
But the doors are shut.In front of them, the Sundays of the ones ahead are tumbling down the stairs. Behind them, the Sundays of the ones to follow are pushing them forward. Their own Sundays, stuck in the middle, crumble, trip and fall. The eyes fill with fear, that six-nil disappears, tonight's news, the rags and laughters, the league and their father waiting, they 're all pressed against the walls. All their Sundays condensed into this single afternoon, all their memories become one...
That of their mother, a few hours ago, as they were getting ready for the game, when she straightened their scarf around the neck, before telling them...
"Take care my son"...
PS. This message goes out for the 20 Olympiacos and one AEK fans who died a day like today, back in 1981. (Thanks to anonymous referee V. for reading, commenting and correcting)
I recall that day; it was a few days before the major earthquake that shaked Athens in 1981. We could not find tickets so we had to listen from the radio (no TV at the time). A few months ago "we" had lost by 6-1. Winning with 6-0 washed away our "shame" and brought the pride back. For just a few minutes, I guess.
ReplyDeleteFor the record, one of the 23 was a fan of "them". Perhaps he had sneaked in to see his club pretending to be one of "us" - or perhaps at the time fans of opposing clubs could openly sit next to each other without any fear of violence(but I don't think so). It doesn't matter after all, does it?
Who are "we", anyway?