At last, I was there! The mythic Ali Sami Yem, home stadium of Galatasaray, side by side with Emin, wearing the two shirts offered by him with my name on the back and the Portuguese flag flying on the wind!
This was a moment I was looking forward since the days I’ve lived in Brussels. Every weekend and every Champions League/UEFA Cup match, Emin and I would pay a visit to the Turkish or Portuguese quarter of the town, in a ritual that included 3 of the things both of us most appreciate in life: good food, the two clubs from our hearts and each other’s company. We cried together when Gala was kicked out from the Champions; He was there preventing me from having an heart attack when Costinha scored on the last minute in Old Trafford; we religiously drunk a bottle of Port for each opponent Porto overtook in that unforgettable season, the one we won it all. In the end, my passion for Gala and his for Porto simply became another metaphor of our brotherhood. Last night I was finally given the chance to visit “home”.
The atmosphere lived in the stadium is everything one can expect and much more, absolutely different from the one that can be experienced in Dragão. Full house for the classic of world football between Gala and NK Slaven Belupo. Everyone is standing during the entire match, jumping, shouting, singing, clapping. One can only imagine how massive the impact players feel on the pitch must be. Porto fan’s are the most demanding ones I’ve ever seen. I will never forget the match we won 4-0 and still the team was “boooooed” heavily in the end of the 90 minutes. They are hard to please and the players have to earn every clap dedicated to them. Here, once in the pitch, we are no longer watching 11 man. Driven by sacred chants coming from the throat of Dionysius, the players are elevated to the status of Gods! Massive!
On the way home, I found myself surprisingly having a hard time remembering the match. In Porto I would have the entire 90 minutes movie in my head: every move, every play, everything. But here I could hardly remember how the goals had been. The conclusion seems evident: in Porto, I watch and appreciate the match. But here we are all too busy living the match to do so.
Love,
TMA
P.S. – To carry the Portuguese flag was an “experience inside the experience”. As colourwise our flag resembles the one from Kurdistan, the reaction of people was pretty much always the same: at first, looking with heavy angry eyes, not believing the dare their eyes were witnessing. After realising it was the Portuguese flags, the smiling and warm eyes were back, either joining us by shouting “Portocal, Portocal” and “Portó, Portó”, or just wondering if Gala had bought Postiga after all.
This was a moment I was looking forward since the days I’ve lived in Brussels. Every weekend and every Champions League/UEFA Cup match, Emin and I would pay a visit to the Turkish or Portuguese quarter of the town, in a ritual that included 3 of the things both of us most appreciate in life: good food, the two clubs from our hearts and each other’s company. We cried together when Gala was kicked out from the Champions; He was there preventing me from having an heart attack when Costinha scored on the last minute in Old Trafford; we religiously drunk a bottle of Port for each opponent Porto overtook in that unforgettable season, the one we won it all. In the end, my passion for Gala and his for Porto simply became another metaphor of our brotherhood. Last night I was finally given the chance to visit “home”.
The atmosphere lived in the stadium is everything one can expect and much more, absolutely different from the one that can be experienced in Dragão. Full house for the classic of world football between Gala and NK Slaven Belupo. Everyone is standing during the entire match, jumping, shouting, singing, clapping. One can only imagine how massive the impact players feel on the pitch must be. Porto fan’s are the most demanding ones I’ve ever seen. I will never forget the match we won 4-0 and still the team was “boooooed” heavily in the end of the 90 minutes. They are hard to please and the players have to earn every clap dedicated to them. Here, once in the pitch, we are no longer watching 11 man. Driven by sacred chants coming from the throat of Dionysius, the players are elevated to the status of Gods! Massive!
On the way home, I found myself surprisingly having a hard time remembering the match. In Porto I would have the entire 90 minutes movie in my head: every move, every play, everything. But here I could hardly remember how the goals had been. The conclusion seems evident: in Porto, I watch and appreciate the match. But here we are all too busy living the match to do so.
Love,
TMA
P.S. – To carry the Portuguese flag was an “experience inside the experience”. As colourwise our flag resembles the one from Kurdistan, the reaction of people was pretty much always the same: at first, looking with heavy angry eyes, not believing the dare their eyes were witnessing. After realising it was the Portuguese flags, the smiling and warm eyes were back, either joining us by shouting “Portocal, Portocal” and “Portó, Portó”, or just wondering if Gala had bought Postiga after all.
3 comments:
Continuas com o mesmo entusiasmo...
Gostei de ver a fotografia. Estão mt bem.
Bjhs para todos.
Mãe
Lanço-te um novo desafio...sem 2cv...Ou de barco com 2 cv...
Podes sempre vir ver o porto a jogar com o nacional, ou com o maritimo.
Eu sei que não é uma lista como te deram anteriormente dos jogos da liga dos campeoes, mas aqui terás todo um mundo para descobrir para além de um relvado decorado de jogadores e bola...tens uma ilha plantada de encantos...
Marina Ribeiro
hey o tiago isto é super! eu te amo mais, porque você é um membro de Galatasaray! esperança vê-lo logo... Gurbet from Alanya
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