Suddenly, there are all these football matches, I mean soccer games, at the little stadium behind our house. You know there's going to be a match when, Sunday morning, an Algida umbrella appears and then they start testing the sound system for an hour, first with explosions of the national anthem when they're discovering it's too loud, then intermittent bursts of Shakira and Turkish pop.
Usually the turnout is okay. They let the local fans in first, and then about 20 minutes after kickoff, the other team's fans are allowed in. I guess there must be a history of inter-fan shenanigans, because the ratio of away team fans to cops is about 2 to 1. And usually we know who the away team is, because they bring a banner. A couple of weekends ago it was Eyüp Spor. Then it was a team whose banner just had a slogan I couldn't make sense of, but I'm sure it was very manly and supportive and stuff.
Because the Sarıyer Spor's training field is off the other side of our balcony, I know those guys work their asses off, in all weather, every night after work until around midnight. I mean, I'm assuming they have day jobs, since I'm guessing an illustrious career with Sarıyer Spor doesn't pay the bills unless they all live with their parents and don't pay bills.
Still, this past rainy, freezing Sunday, I don't think I would have felt very good if I had been playing for the away team.
|They didn't even have a banner. And I guess the cops decided to knock off for the day.|