A Brazilian Soccer Game . . . Enough Said!

We have been told that Brazilians were big into soccer: or futbol as it is called anywhere outside of the United States. We have also been told that if you are going to experience a professional soccer game that you should go to a Brazilian soccer game. Well, who said we don't follow the advice of others who have come before us. The game was crazy!

It was like any other afternoon after school. As usual on Wednesday afternoons the English teachers were having a meeting when Novenio (No - veen - yo), a Brazilian who lives at the Alcance and helps with the youth, asked us if we were going to the soccer game that night. It was 4 and they were leaving at 5:30. It reminded me so much of when we were in high school and a group was bored on a Friday night. Sitting around, getting anxious, when of course someone pulls out something wild to do. Something that normally takes at least a few days to plan for and anticipate, but no, it was to happen now!

About 19 people crammed into a van made to hold 12 for a 2 1/2 hour ride to the game in Recife. Though we finally arrived at the stadium, we still didn't have our tickets. Counter-intuitively, it is apparently cheaper to buy them at the stadium than prior to the game. So, we gave our money to a Brazilian who frantically bought our tickets from a scalper outside the stadium walls. People were running everywhere, and per Brazilian custom, cars and people were competing for spots in the road all trying to get to our final destination: THE GAME! There were around 10 in our group all following each other periodically raising our hands to indicate where each other were in the mad scramble. Finally we found ourselves in what looked like a riot crowd trying to get up a parking garage car ramp. There weren't gates, fences, or stairs: only a line of a half dozen police officers on horseback looking menacingly down at the crowd and about eight officers holding back the crowd. As we were pushing and bumping each other around, we had to lift our shirts to show we weren't carrying a weapon while waving our ticket in the other hand. At the release of the police officers a mad rush of the crowd poored forth through their make shift barrier of bodies, stopping the next crowd when they felt enough had come through for the time being. Finally, after running our way up the ramp (looking like the mass crowd in the streets of Spain running from the bulls ) we made it to a ticket gate. We gave the men our tickets, pushed through the revolving gate that you push with your hips, and off to the races once more.

The bottom section was of course full; therefore, the mass of bodies had to be corralled like starving cattle up yet another ramp to the upper level. This was an experience like we've never seen. We grabbed each others shirts and shoulders to keep our group together. I (Paul) held to Ruth's shoulders so hard I was fearful that I was honestly hurting her. For five minutes up the ramp we constantly felt the pressure and push of fifteen bodies on either side all jockeying for position. This does not even count the countless sweaty men pushing from behind as if they were going to use YOU as their battering ram through the mass of bodies. We went through puddles, for it had rained a bit, filled with dozens of lost sandles not dared to be retrieved for fear of being trampled to death.

Once we made it to the top, it was quickly realized that no one had assigned seats. It was mass ticketing and we ran from opening to opening searching for openings to seat our group. The 'seats' were simply gaps in the crowd because the stadium had large stone steps for seating. Finally, we had made it. And what a game it was. Though 'our' team was in the 4th division out of four and the other was in the first division, they played very well. The proffessionals were so impressive to watch. The ball skills, feet skills, and tenacity with which they played was very exciting. We could not help but catch the fever and really get into the game. Chants? you might ask. Oh yes, we chanted! It was great. Everytime the crowd would scream vai ! ( Go) we would join in the urge. We screamed our approval when the other team got a red card, and we screamed our dissapproval when we felt the ref had unjustly denied our team a foul call. It was great to have passion fed off the passion of others around you despite having no investment in the team or players. Plus, we had worked so hard to even get to the game, you couldn't help but enjoy the very fact that you were there.

It was very cool to go to the game. But I must say, I think this was the experience that Ruth and I were hoping for that would open up doors to relationships with the church family. Since then, we have been able to join in the forever long debate about who's team is better, or recieve invites to a game of another persons favorite team, and so on and so forth. We have talked more in general with some of the people who had gone to the game, as well as relish in our shared experience. I become more and more convinced all the time that it truly takes shared experiences to bring people together. It allows an opportunity for the Lord's Spirit to work at connecting people. And it was truly accomplished. May we praise the Lord together for how He works through all experiences and blesses us at the same time.

P.S. Notice in the picture the moat around the field and the guards with guard dogs! Intense eh!