Soccer in Albania
by DavidiWe heard the roar of the crowd as we neared the stadium. We hadn't planned to go to a game, and were definitely over-dressed, but we had the time and, after some careful consideration, had recently vowed to be more spontaneous. So, we headed to our first Albanian soccer match.
The police officer taking tickets, after rather obviously noting that Gina was wearing a skirt and heels, let her in free. I was charged 500 Lek. (I asked Gina if she wished to return to the officer and confront him about this obvious affront to gender equality, but she declined.) I was wearing a red shirt, and fortune smiled upon us, as we had entered the side of the stadium housing the fans supporting the red team (Skenderbeg), rather than the blue team (Tirana City). I found out later that only a brave man or a fool would have would have entered the other side wearing the wrong color.
Before I describe the game, let me give you a mental picture of the outside of the stadium: think enormous World War II concrete bunker covered in graffiti. This contrasts with the inside of the stadium, which appears to be an enormous World War II concrete bunker covered in graffiti and elementary school lunchroom orange plastic chairs. The European Soccer Federation has informed Albania that they may not continue to host games unless a new stadium is built, so a plan for a new stadium was announced, with, of course, no deadline for its completion.
We sat with a great number of serious looking, silent men in red, who would periodically burst into groans or exclamations for reasons I could not decipher. On the other side of the stadium, however, there was mayhem. The blue team fans were in various states of undress, some with body paint and others carrying signs. They were jumping up and down in unison. Periodically, they would beat their chairs with sticks or hurl something out onto the field. Usually, what they threw was toilet paper -- rolls and rolls of toilet paper. The players and referees failed to take note. They merely played the game around the rolls. Even when there was a pause due to a penalty, no one removed the toilet paper streams and rolls.
I found the toilet paper throwing very upsetting. This has nothing to do with sportsmanship, and everything to do with the lack of toilet paper in Albanian public restrooms. I surmised that my inability to locate a decent supply of toilet paper in any public restroom throughout the country was a direct result of its diversion to professional sports. I made a mental note to mention this to the government.
I turned to bring this to Gina's attention, but found her cheering loudly for a team she had not known existed 20 minutes before. "We're winning," she told me.
It was then I noticed that the blue fans were setting things on fire. Mind you, they were torching things they had brought with them, but it was real fire, nonetheless. I also noticed that police officers had surrounded the blue fans, placing themselves evenly spaced about 15 feet apart. But they did nothing about the fires, and were all facing away from the fans, watching the game intently.
It was then that the Roman candles came out. Blue fans began firing them into the air. Red and green balls of flame shot out in every direction. No police officer made a move, and the players and refs went right on with the game. Then, things got a little strange.
Some blue fans began throwing the Roman candles onto the field. Red and green balls of fire shot across mid-field. The police maintained their positions, and the players and refs .............just kept on playing, maneuvering the ball carefully past the pyrotechnics as needed. There was no apparent surprise in the crowd, with the exception of two amazed Americans.
We left the stadium before the game was over (the red team was up 4-1, so we figured we were winners). As we left for the walk home, I wondered whether baseball would now seem rather dull.
