Red Boots

As mentioned in a previous blog, I was lucky to be in Lisbon when the city's two big futebol clubs, Sporting and Benfica were due to play each other. With the help of João, a guy who worked at the hostel and a huge Sporting fan, I forked out €30 for a ticket to the biggest game in town. I bought my bright green Sporting cap in preparation and checked on the website to see what I was allowed to bring to the game. The usual things were banned: flares, bottles and cans, and as you would imagine (and hope!) weapons were also frowned upon. The website also made it pretty clear that you were allowed to take cameras into the ground, so I eagerly swung my DSLR over my shoulder and headed off to the game.

I arrived at the stadium over an hour before it was due to begin and the crowd outside was mental. The match was taking place at Sporting's home ground and so you could only catch a glimpse of someone in Benfica's red amongst a sea of bright green. I was yet to put my new Sporting cap on, because I like to see who I am sitting next to before I declare allegiance to a club in a foreign country. Some might say this is wussy behaviour, but I like to think of it as prudently ensuring that I survive the entire year.

I joined a mass of people who were trying to push their way through the narrow barricades, so they could get through security and then into the ground. After twenty minutes of squirming my way through the throng, I triumphantly arrived at the front of the mass only to be informed by one of the security personnel that I was in the wrong section. I panicked slightly when I turned around to leave and was confronted by at least 1000 people trying to push their way past me. Thankfully, a kindly policeman escorted me out the other end and I made my way to the correct gate, where there was yet another mass of people trying to squeeze through.

At this point there was only forty minutes until the game began, but I figured that it wouldn't take me more than twenty minutes to get through security. My guess was right, because after twenty minutes of breathing in second-hand smoke I was finally at the front. I got my ticket scanned and then I was directed towards a female security guard so that I could have my bagged searched and be patted down. Unsurprisingly, she confiscated my bottle of water and she was about to send me through when she spotted the SLR camera case in my bag.

Security Guard: What's this?

B: My camera. Do you want to see it?

Security Guard: Yes. Take it out.

Bronwen lifts her SLR out and shows to the woman.

B: See? Just a camera.

Security Guard: No, only photography cameras allowed. You can’t bring in video cameras.

B: But this isn’t a video camera! It only takes photographs!

Security Guard: You can’t take this in.

Bronwen may or may not have turned red in the face, in any event her voice definitely got higher and a touch of hysteria coloured her tone.

B: What?! It’s just a camera.

The security lady calls over her supervisor and they both discuss Bronwen’s camera.

Supervisor: You can’t take this in. It’s too big.

B: Too big?! It’s just a camera.

Supervisor: You can’t take big things in, you might throw them.

B: THROW MY CAMERA?! I love it! And it’s expensive! Why would I throw it?!

Supervisor: You can’t take it in.

The Supervisor just shrugs his shoulders and Bronwen begins to hyperventilate, thinking to herself that this is definitely worse than the time that she got on the wrong bus in Granada.

B: (wailing tone) But what am I supposed to do?!

Supervisor: Take it the lockers at the other gate and then you can pick it up at the end of the match.

Bronwen looks at the huge number of people that are in the line behind her.

B: Do I have to line up again after I put it in the locker?

Supervisor: (smirking slightly) Yes.

END SCENE

I sprinted off to the lockers and checked my camera in and then raced back to the line. There was only fifteen minutes remaining until the start and I only just managed to get through security again and then climb the ten flights of stairs to the top of the stadium, just as the siren sounded for the game to begin.

The atmosphere was amazing, every fan was screaming and singing and the crowd actually clapped and cheered each time their team missed a goal, like they were encouraging them or something. What I found most interesting was the ridiculous number of flares that were let off around the stadium. If Sporting missed, a couple of flares went off. If Benfica missed, a couple flares went off. If a player got yellow carded, flares went off. If a player fell down in that wussy way that soccer players do when they have been slightly bumped by the opposition, then some more flares would go off. At one point after Sporting scored, so many flares went off that the haze they created meant that no one could see for the next five minutes.

Not only did I fear slightly for my hearing (and my life) when flares were going off around me, but I was also getting angrier with each one that was lit. I could not believe that my SLR was confiscated, but meanwhile all of these flares (which were clearly banned) were getting smuggled in. What a half-arsed job security were doing. I felt completely ripped off.