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Published: November 20th 2011
They say soccer is a religion
I believe it after seeing this fan repeatedly cry out to God. All I wanted was a private place to change into my jersey; a bathroom, a dark corner, an empty alley. I'm not picky or overly modest. This shouldn't be so difficult. I bought this jersey from a guy on the street and was so excited to put it on and just blend in, as if it were possible for a blanch white American girl in a pony tail to blend into streets crowded with hundreds of hot, perspiring, faux-hawked, die-hard soccer fans. Everyone was streaming to the same place--the stadium in Puntarenas, Costa Rica.
My third grade level Spanish and sweet smile were getting me nowhere. No shop owners would let me in to change. Finally a waitress took pity on me and said I could use their bathroom. The game was going to start any minute, Jeremy was getting impatient with me, and the bathroom door was locked. ARGH!!! Forget it. Time to implement plan B. In a city where every woman was wearing unforgiving spandex, purple bras and lace shirts, would anyone really notice if I just changed right here? The waitress gives me a "what are you doing?" look. In my sloppy Spanish I said something like,
"I really need to hurry. The bathroom door is locked and I'm just going to change back here in this corner." She smiled and said, "Si, no problema." She rushed over to me and held up a towel so I could maintain privacy from the other patrons. As I got my old shirt off I saw the bathroom doorknob start to turn. "NO! Somebody is going to open the door and find a half naked American standing here!" This was a stupid idea. I threw the old shirt on the floor and quickly slipped on the jersey as the bathroom door opened revealing a sweet old Costa Rican man who had no idea what just happened outside his door. Whew.
I had no intention of attending a soccer game while in Costa Rica but the day before I overheard a young man in Quepos say he was going to the game in Puntarenas on Sunday morning. Jeremy and I looked at each other and without saying a word knew that's where we would be going too.
After buying our hawked tickets we tried finding an entrance into the stadium. We could see a long line forming close to
us so we waited there. As our turn approached we handed the ticket guy our tickets and he said something like, "This is not your entrance. You must go down farther." We walk farther down and stand in another shorter line. That ticket guy said the same thing. I see one more entrance with no one in line at the very end of the stadium. "Oh great, Jeremy," I say, "we're probably stuck down here with the hookers."
This time they let us in and what a sight to behold! Inside the packed stadium were 10,000 cheering, screaming, singing, noise making, fanatical futbol fans. No, we weren't with the hookers. We were right underneath the marching band on the home team's side of the field. I spotted a clean cut father with his little boy sitting on the concrete steps and thought that looked like a good place to plant myself for the game. Turns out he spoke a little English. "Senora, you wear opposing team jersey..." he points out. Is that going to be a big deal I wonder? My fears are instantly abated when I see a row of helmeted, shielded, baton-bearing, bullet proof vested police officers
standing at attention facing the crowd. Yeah, this may be a big deal. My first thought? "I'm so glad my mother can't see me now."
What followed was two hours of travelers' bliss. Searing under the tropical sun til my sandals sloshed in sweat. The nonstop heart-pounding drums. The stomping feet of the crowds til our concrete seats shook. Over zealous fans climbing the chain link fence. Religious fans crying out to God while others said their Hail Mary's. Babies sleeping soundly in their mother's arms oblivious to the ruckus around them.
I had no idea soccer was such a contact sport. I had no idea
watching soccer was such a contact sport. But for that matter, life itself is full contact. You can get roughed up for cheering for the other team. It can get loud. You can feel crowded and start climbing the fence. You can even get trampled on, shins kicked and take a few well aimed blows to the head or heart. Its inevitable because its life. So when this happens to you, I suggest you find a private place to change your jersey and just keep playing.
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Good, fun blog :)
The guy you enjoyed photographing so much is the spitting image of the famous Brazilian actor Wagner Moura..... actually, I think it probably is him ;)