Sunday Night Fútbol

When I first arrived in Saõ Paulo, the hostel owners and locals living here all told me that if I were to do one thing during my weekend stay, I had to see the Saõ Paulo fútbol team, Corinthians, play against Rio de Janeiro's Flamengo.

Approaching the stadium, scores of singing fans in black and white Corinthian colors filled the paved streets while the green bulletproof vested Policia Militar (riot police) stared stone faced from their sidewalks perches. The stadium itself has a large bleacher section down a sideline opposite the TV cameras that climbs up two hundred rows. The rest of the field is enclosed by about 75 rows of preferential seating, but above these short stands sits the entire city's skyline. On top of the closer buildings, people hung out balconies or sat on lawn chairs on the roofs to catch the match.

Right before kickoff when the announcers mentioned the home team's starting attackman, I recognized the Corinthians' pride and joy, Ronaldo. This is the man who led Brazil to two World Cup championships and was one of only two players to ever be named Fifa's Player of the Year three times. Now, in his old age, after a successful career in Europe, Ronaldo decided to return to play for his hometown club.

From the start, Rio clearly dominated play. Brazilian style of fútbol involves very disciplined, patient ball movement, followed by extremely explosive foot skills. There wasn't much running from either team, just individuals showing off precise ball control and perfectly executing tricks, repeatedly making opponents fall to the ground baffled. As drizzle and downpours sporadically rained on and off, with every player to fall in the mud on the pitch, the crowd erupted and play gained intensity. This style of fútbol easily explains the lackadaisical Ronaldo and other past their prime Brazilian stars (Ronaldinho). When their youthful fire runs dry, they revert back to their original fútbol mentality which involves less running but more ball tricks.

The hooligans in the stands roared chants nonstop from kickoff until well after the Corinthians lost. I have no idea how they know so many different songs, all about the greatness of the Corinthians and organized vulgar responses to any Rio cheers. Leaving the stadium was like leaving a concert, my ears still rang from the volume of the wild, singing fans. These fans were so over the top crazy about their team, their enthusiasm showed with their nervous hopping up and down whenever a black and white Corinthian touched the ball or the tense stares when the ball snuck into the defensive zone. Flags and banners fluttered the entire game. At every single touch of the ball, even idle dribbling, every single fan had something to yell with hoarse voices at the player and coaches. Somehow fireworks rocketed from the stands at seemingly random points throughout. And everyone stood packed to tightly together that emotions rippled from person to person.

After a long series of yellow cards all game, a Corinthian player tripped another in the box. When a penalty kick was awarded to Rio, an angered fan jumped from the stands, ran across the entire field to the ref, and began repeatedly punching him. When the security finally caught up to the man and wrestled him to the ground, they five fully outfitted police very visibly beat him in front of all the onlookers. The Policia Militar made their warning very clear. Nobody else ran onto the field to dispute a later red card -- the crazed fans only threw flares onto the pitch.

After the game, I watched the Brazilian Police movie Bope (locals recommended it as being on par with City of God). If anyone wants to see an extremely well done police corruption movie, Bope is it. It reveals the Policia Militar's reputation for brutality, corruption, and bribery. I saw their liberal use of force against the angry fan who made his way onto the pitch at the fútbol game. But I also saw the police's lack of response when, in broad daylight, I strolled through a small public park outside the famous Sé Cathedral in the heart of Saõ Paulo.

In this small park, crackheads and other junkies openly smoked their pipes and shot-up in the middle of the day. The present police just watched, they didn't intervene. As opposed to the fancy streets in the wealthier parts of the city, this was a very shocking scene. We walked out of there as quickly as we possibly could without bringing attention to ourselves. I wish I had my camera so I could have been a photojournalist and captured the scene with the Police just talking and watching the bums. Later, a Brazilian friend at the hostel told me that since no individual business wanted to pay the cops for the removal of these bums, the police did nothing.

Sunday Night Fútbol