Benfica vs. Portugal

Benfica vs. Portugal

So last night, Portugal’s 2 biggest soccer teams played each other, which in itself would be enough to cause pandemonium here, but the fact that it happened to fall on World’s AIDS Day (which is a MUCH bigger deal here than in the states) only served to increase the vibe around the game and, basically, people got very, very drunk and went ape-shit. It was the Super Bowl. It was also the Kentucky Derby, Daytona 500, Boston Marathon, Tour de France, Colts/Patriots, Lakers/Celtics, Sampras/Agassi, Longhorns/Aggies, Yankees/Red Sox, Kasparov/Fischer, Bush/Gore…you get the picture. Futbol (soccer) is the only sport that anyone plays in Cape Verde, but they have, obviously, no official or professional teams of their own, so the population has adopted the Portugal teams as their own. It is important to understand that EVERYONE in Cape Verde follows one, passionately, with an undying love, one of these two teams.

On one side there are the red-jerseyed jugadors (players) from Benfica, and their fans. For people who understand (American) football, you can think of them like the Chicago Bears of the mid 80’s. They are well-coached, crafty, tough, bleeding veterans that play good defense, and are known to sneak in a few cheap shots when the ref isn’t looking. To Benficans, David Beckham is a sissy little bitch. In years past, Benfica was a powerhouse in the European Champion’s League.

On the other side you have the blue-shirted ballers of Portugal (Port as its known here) and their fans. These, you can think of like the St. Louis Rams (when they had Marshall Faulk and Kurt Warner and Isaac Bruce and were the Greatest Show on Turf). They are fast, young, flashy, and love to talk-trash. They haven’t won a Champion’s League yet, but their star is definitely on the rise. They all cut their hair like David Beckham.

Sports fans will recognize that this is the standard script for every great game in history, regardless of the sport, much as it is the basis for many great movies and books. Fans of Port were billing this is they day that the lumbering, rusty Benfica would finally be toppled, a new, “blue” dynasty to begin. Benficans were salivating at the chance to put the impudent whelps of Port in their place. All day yesterday people were dressed in blue or red. Those that could afford a replica jersey (just like in the states, officially licensed merchandise is ridiculously expensive here) wore them with pride. Chants of “Fica, Fica!” or “Port, Port, Port!” rang through the village all day long. People were drinking very early in the day. The game was to start around 7, and on TV, ads and promos were running all day long. To add to the buzz in the air, it was actually (relatively) cold here yesterday and last night, with temps in the mid-sixties after the sun went down. They put the game on the television in the plaza in Chan di Igreja and people had sweaters and windbreakers and jackets on for the first time in a year.

Benvinda and I watched the game at Gisella’s house. I made popcorn and French fries, Benvinda made a “salad,” and Gisella made the booze. Like the Super Bowl, there were hours of pre-game coverage, and a lot of World AIDS Day tie-ins. Portuguese Sport TV has copied, exactly, everything from ESPN and so there are lots and lots of graphics and talking heads and panel discussions and shots of crazy drunken fans at the stadium. The game started promptly at 6:45PM.

Gisella and Benvinda are, without question, die hard Benfica fans. They even have jerseys. Under normal circumstances, so would I have been. But where’s the fun if everyone at a Super Bowl party is rooting for the same team, so, just to be ornery, I told them I was for Port. Trash-talking, bragging and bad-mouthing ensued. To add to the fun, I wagered the washing of a week’s worth of dirty laundry on the game, and they readily accepted.

Within the first 10 minutes of the game, there was blood. One of the Port players, wanting to prove they weren’t afraid of anyone, slide-tackled one of the Benficans from behind. Caught unaware, his head hit the ground hard and ended up colliding with the cleat of the Port player, cutting his lip. He was rushed off, stitched-up and returned later. The crowds were chanting. Yellow cards started flying. Then, about half-way through the first half, Port got a good look down the right side and one of their guys was moving with the ball, coming right at the goal with one defenseman and the goalkeeper in front of him, and another on his heels. Just outside the penalty box, the chasing defender caught-up.

Even given my marginal knowledge of soccer, I understood that the goal was exquisite. The Port guy, in true Port fashion, put some sort of wicked juke on the defender in front of him; just a stutter step and a twitch of the shoulders, and the poor bastard ran right out of the picture. It’ll be replayed on the highlight reels for a month. Three more steps and then the Port player, with an effortless-looking flick of his foot, sent the ball, not rocketing, but slowly floating on a trajectory such that it sailed magically over the legs of the 2nd sliding defender, and just millimeters beyond the reach of the diving goalkeeper, to find its home in the upper corner of the net. It was the only goal of the game. Port fans sang, and drank, well into the morning hours.

Needless to say I’m very happy to not have to do laundry for a week. (This is clearly one of those bets that you never intend to live up to should you lose, but one which you’ll certainly insist be fulfilled should you win.) Anyway. It was really a lot of fun to experience a popular sporting event like this over here. Sports and rivalries are definitely some of the things that transcend cultural boundaries, things to which anyone can relate.