March 15, 2006
A Benfica Match step by step
(to ZL who is one of the greatest Benfiquistas of all times - the kind that makes you feel guilty for not attending the upcoming match because you lost the will to go after enduring 90 minutes of a not so good performance by the team as if you were refusing to visit a old, sick relative- , closely followed by my parents)
As any Benfica supporter might testify, going to a Benfica match is more of a religious ritual than anything else. Also, I checked my blog counter stats and the Americans (23.86%) are beating the Portuguese (23.74%) so I thought I should write something about more homely matters.
Dress code: red.
Any match should start or end with a visit to the trailers outside the stadium. You have a choice between a variety of sandwiches which will increase your cholesterol to a probable-death-by-heart-attack level:
- "bifanas" - greasy pork meat sandwiches
- "entremeadas" - greasy pork meat sandwiches; can be identified by the stripe of pure fat in the middle of the rest of the meat;
- "coiratos" - greasy pork skin sandwiches; these are pure fat.
A tip: the trailer with the lowest standards of hygiene always has the best sandwiches
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Entering the stadium, it is mandatory to praise its magnificence and mock the rival team's yellow and green bowl. Ridiculous.
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An eagle (the team's symbol) flies from the top rows to a podium in the middle of the field. As it gets to the podium there is a collective burst of joy.
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On the big screen, each player is announced. The opponent's team is basically ignored unless they are big rivals in which case they are booed. The team of referees are heavily booed and cursed at by both sides. They *always* rob us.
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The Benfica hymn is played as the teams enter the pitch. It is mandatory to sing along. The hymn has been published on this same blog under happier circumstances.
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The match starts.
You bond with complete strangers.
Otherwise good mannered people insult the referee's mother.
If Benfica fails to win, you insult the player's mothers. They are obviously not worthy of playing for the greatest team in the world.
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You run into your cousin (who is a 1,90m tall married man by now but who will always be your baby cousin) who, after a brainwashing afternoon with my father 28 years ago, uttered his first word: "ben fi ca". Oh wait. That only happens to me.
Posted by claudia