I felt a little uncomfortable. My black shirt and increasingly giant, not to mention greek-looking, hair stood out amongst the sea of soft blue jerseys and skin heads. Teams of riot police stood a few meters back from each entrance. A quasi eroded concrete wall and rusty blue fence posts engaged the tired looking stadium. The odd colour and floor to ceiling aspect of the turnstlye rendered it's resemblance to a weird, smurf-torture device.
We found the beer line quickly enough. It seems Slovaks have yet to understand the concept of monopoly, as beer within the event was some of the cheapest in town. A far cry from Sens games. My boss had copped some free tickets to the Slovian vs. Olympiakos 3rd round Champions League Qualifier. Rather than do much needed laundry and get a good nights sleep, my arm was twisted enough to coerce me into participation. Mostly I don't like soccer (sic) that much. I figured it might be a cool experience though so I checked it out.
As the kick off edged nearer, the increasing pace of a beating drum made it feet like the pulse of the crowd was going into tachycardia. I learned we had tickets directly across from the realest of hooligans. Despite a quick 2-0 deficit their hollers crescendoed throughout the match. Their determination was admirable, and might have helped the home team had it been bestowed upon them instead.
We went out for some beers after, sat on a patio and watched supermodels walk by.
It Can All Go To Zero
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