Cheering for Fluminense
An American’s view of the cult of futébol (fu•chi•bol) in Brazil
To the Pub, World Cup 2006
There are more Brazilians than you might imagine living in Portland, Maine. In fact, until the 2006 World Cup, I had imagined only one, my husband Mario. However, to my surprise, it turned out there’s is a small but vital population of Brazilians who have forsaken the tropical climate of Brazil for the frozen tundra that is hibernal Maine. And, through some movement of the cilia of the collective soccer unconscious, the local Brazilian population seemed to congregate at the same bar, Brian Boru’s Irish Pub, for games.
That, or else, like us they had sampled their fair share of local bars to find the one with the right set of criteria: biking distance from home and work; large flat screen TV; decent sound system; ample seating; and Alagash White Ale, my favorite Hefeweizen and a product of Maine.
Brazil and Football: What it Means
At this point Mario and I had been together for only two years, and I didn’t know a lick of Portuguese. (I am now proudly up to half a lick and, maybe, an affectionate nibble.) So my reading of what took place among the fans at Brian Boru’s during the games was gleaned from what I could convince Mario to translate for me when he wasn’t, shall we say, “encouraging” the players.
He expressed a disillusionment with the players, a bunch of pretty boys (and if you’ve seen Ronaldinho, you know I mean that figuratively) who abandon Brazil during the regular season to make their fortunes playing for the more prosperous European teams.
If you were looking at an illustrated map of the world, the sort of little prejudice primer you can find for children, the Brazilian would be holding a soccer ball just as sure as the French kid would be there baguette en main.
England has its hooligans, sure, but they also have rugby and lacrosse, not to mention fish and chips and tea. The higher European latitudes have their winter sports and the world’s finest examples of social democracy in action. Australia has… well, Australia has baby-eating dingos.
And on the Other Side of the Equator…
And the American? He would probably have a little American flag in hand because all the requisite sports equipment could never fit in the illustration. The United States is a sort of sports superstore: football, basketball, and more extreme sports than you can shake a stick at. (In fact, stick shaking is probably an extreme sport itself.)
The fanatics are out there with their foam fingers and pennant-laden home offices, but the difference is in the language. You say, “I’m a Yankees fan.” In Brazil, you say, “I am Flamengo,” or, “ I am Botafogo,” or, if you’re at my house, “Eu sou Fluminense.”
Play It, Then Say It
It’s important to note the difference between estar and ser, forms of to be in Portuguese. Estar is the transient version of the verb. As in, “Eu estou com frio.” (I am cold.) That is, you are cold now, but you probably won’t always be cold. You would even say, “Eu estou vivo.” (I am alive). Now, but not forever. However, ser is immutable, so when you say, “I am Fluminense,” it means for keeps.
Playing by the Rules
There are 20 or so teams in Rio de Janeiro alone, and each has its adherents who support their team through good times, bad times, and on occasion, morally ambiguous times. Take for example the aforementioned Fluminense, my husband’s family’s team, and, by extension, my team.
National football in Brazil functions in tiers. Every year, the bottom three teams in the Campeonato Brasileiro are bumped down a tier, and the top three teams in the second tier are bumped up. This in theory provides fresh blood and promotes healthy competition.
There are four teams, Flamengo, Fluminense, Vasco, and Botafogo, that are by far the most popular in Rio. They are what you might call legacies. In 1999, Fluminense was demoted to tier two, and the following year, Fluminense dropped yet another level. In the meantime the desperation of Fluminense’s numerous fans was palpable.
The YouTube clip below shows some news footage of the game that knocked Fluminense from the second tier. The video also contains a shot of one desperate fan kissing his Fluminense jersey as one might kiss a cross.
Did Someone Say Foul?
Later in 1999, Fluminense won in the third division of the Campeonato Brasileiro and rejoined the second tier. However, that same year the championship was conveniently reformatted, and Fluminense was invited to rejoin the prime league. The ruse, the sporting world’s equivalent to skewed election redistricting, was largely accepted without qualm, except, perhaps, among Flamengo fans.
Bringing It
Ultimately, vehement hatred of the archenemy is just as important, if not more so, than fierce loyalty to your team. For Fluminense fans this enemy is Flamengo. The rivalry is so famous that it is merely called Fla-Flu. Nelson Rodrigues, a noted Brazilian journalist and playwright, dates the emergence of this term in the football lexicon to as early as 1911.
Having an enemy team greatly multiplies your enjoyment of the game. You are not merely limited to enjoying, for example, Fluminense v. Other games. You also have Flamengo v. Other to relish. In the latter case, with the hope that Other will royally crush Flamengo.
What’s the Deal Ref?
To be sure slavish devotion to the home team can be cause for joy. It inspires brotherhood among strangers, it brings poepole into the streets to dance and sing and rejoice. However, it is also the divisive force behind many a bar fight and even spousal abuse. And sometimes it’s the reason people turn a blind eye to corruption. But, hey, if the call goes your way, why question it?
