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(mis)adventures abroad in Sweden

Posts Tagged ‘Helsingborgs IF’

Football match mayhem made meaner

Wednesday, May 4th, 2011

You have everything you need to take your kid to a Swedish football match this week? Program? Binoculars? Nunchucks?

Actually, if I were you, I wouldn’t take my kid. I’d take Manny Pacquiao. Swedish football stadiums are rougher than sandpaper thongs lately.

These days, football fans are making hockey fans look like Miss Manners. They’re often buy-a-vowel drunk, spewing cuss words and looking to fight. And the men are sometimes worse.

This past year alone:

A match in Stockholm between AIK and Syrianska was cancelled after a firework hit a referee, giving him permanent ear damage.

In August, a group of AIK fans threw stones and bottles at the visiting Levski Sofia team bus and clashed with police following a Europa League qualifier. The Bulgarian club’s media officer and a masseur were hit by stones while two players suffered cuts.

During a match between Hammarby IF anf IFK Norrkoping, the family section of the stadium, Idrottsparken, had to be evacuated after fighting broke out.

One of the co-managers of Hammarby IF resigned after being threatened… by the club’s own supporters.

Having fun, kids?

I wouldn’t take anybody not built like a side-by-side freezer to a match now. With insane popularity comes insane people, and we’re not just talking about Helsingborg IF’s Adrian Gashi. All the Allsvenskan is missing is crowds chanting, “Jerry! Jerry! Jerry!”

Don’t go. Just sit your kid in front of your HD screen with a bowl of Cheetos and the remote. Guaranteed, your HD screen won’t do the following:

(A) Follow her around blowing a vuvuzela in her ear.

(B) Throw punches at her so she misses a goal.

(C) Make just walking away a terrifying experience.

Still, if you INSIST on taking any child who isn’t at least a brown belt, here are some survival tips:

• Don’t wear a jersey.

In being a sports fan most of my life, I’ve learned one hard and fast formula: more jerseys = more mayhem. Sit at YouTube for two hours and watch all the Swedish football fights. Every single one will involve morons wearing jerseys. For some reason, fans think that once they put on that stupid 600 kronor jersey, they are now part of some army that must defend its colors at all cost.

And yet, if one of these jersey boys were on fire, the player whose name adorns the back of that jersey wouldn’t take the time to put him out with his water bottle.

For that matter:

• Don’t wear a jersey, ever. When I considered wearing my yellow Swedish national team jersey to a Helsingborg – Elfsborg match last month, my friend Martin told me that if I did so, I literally would be pummeled, even though Helsingborg has several players on the national team. So much for peace on Earth.

• Don’t bring a sign. At a Helsingborg – Häcken match last Sunday, objects were thrown at children with a large HÄCKEN sign. The oldest looked like he was maybe 12.

• Don’t sit up high. If you sit up high at a football match, more than your nose might bleed. Instead, pay through the nose and sit low, where the generally sober people are. (Exception to this rule: If you or your child is offended by the kind of language that would make a longshoreman blush, don’t sit anywhere near Halmstads BK manager Josep Clotet Ruiz)

• Don’t get within an area code of the Helsingborg/Malmö FF match. This rivalry is to Swedish football what Jennifer and Angelina are to the E! network. For a time, there were so many brawls at this game that the Malmö police installed a makeshift jail in the bowels of the stadium. Saved time.

The match is Tuesday, May 24 in Malmö and it’s the jersey-jerk capital of the world. It’s their own little World War III. For some reason, Malmö fans, especially, will risk broken hands, rearranged eyes and night court to “defend the honor” of their team. But you wonder if they realize that several of the current players weren’t even on their roster last season and probably \will be somewhere else next season, wearing jerseys Malmö fans must despise. To paraphrase Jerry Seinfeld, these people are knifing each other over laundry.

And this is just what’s in the stands. The product that’s on the field now has gotten uglier, nastier and more violent. This brings out fans who not only want to watch violence but participate in it. Against Elfsborg, Helsingborg midfielder Mattias Lidström lay prone on the field. The announcer said, “Mattias Lidström is injured.” And the Elfsborg fans cheered. How will you explain that to your little Amber?

Svenska Fotbollförbundet (SvFF) – the Swedish Football Association – to its credit, is trying to make things safer and saner with increased police presence and tattle-text numbers at every stadium to bring security. “We’re getting very positive feedback,” says SvFF President Lars-Åke Lagrell. “It’s appreciated by fans and it’s working.”

We must be going to different matches. The matches I’m going to seem more menacing every time.

There’s an easy answer, of course, but it’s the third rail nobody wants to touch: beer.

Without beer, football would dry up and blow away, not unlike U.S. sports. But how about stopping sales after a certain point? How about telling the TV networks to stop showcasing single-brain-celled fans like Fireman Ed and Can’t Feel My Face Shirtless Buffalo Guy, dolts who give the impression that this game is slightly more important than their next breath?

Until then, leave the kids home. Let them do something safe and happy and nonviolent.

Like Halo 3.

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Match night madness, pt. 3

Monday, April 18th, 2011

The Ass was on the move. Or rather, THE Ass. He was a large, overly obnoxious Swedish man, and I loved him.

I was with my friend Martin at Olympia Stadium in Helsingborg and, as usual, I was waist-deep in confusion.

It was April 10, and I was at my first Allsvenskan – the highest division in Swedish football – match. Before the match even started, I was more wound up than Tea Partiers at an abortion clinic.

I had been to Superattan matches in Växjö – and even seen the national team play – but I had never seen anything like the madness that is Helsingborgs IF – If Elfsborg.  

The whole day had an eerie Heaven-Hell vibe to it: Helsingborg itself was one of the most beautiful cities I had ever seen in my life (truly, the harbor is a sight not to be missed), but the match itself filled me with feelings of hatred I never knew I had, much less for a team who prior to my friend purchasing tickets a few weeks earlier I had never even heard of.

But there I was, in the madness of it all. Martin and I took our seats, and for 30 seconds all seemed calm. Then the drama began to unfold.

Drums. There were drums in the distance. Sudden, booming, they reverberated throughout the bowl-shaped stadium and back into the sea air, wafting about in a thunderous loop. Chants soon followed, and suddenly I saw an explosion.

As any good journalist would do, I whipped out my camera and started taking photos. What was happening? Was this a riot? There were more explosions, followed by throngs of people waving banners and marching in unison.

These were the Kärnan, Martin told me, the most fanatic Helsingborg supporters. They were entering the stadium with their usual ostentatious show of force, and we were standing right in their section.

 Within minutes, we were surrounded.

A sea of red and blue flags surrounded us, flapping through the air seemingly held aloft by the roar of the 12,000+ in attendance. The insanity was all around us, and there was no way out.

And in the middle of it all was the Ass. His voice rose above the others, leading them on, setting the tone which the entire stadium mimicked. He seemed crazy, deranged, a horrible caricature of the leader of a mob and all that is morally reprehensible about humanity.

But I loved him. He whipped the crowd into a frenzy with masterful execution, and for every vulgar chant he started, I found myself joining in. When the fired-up masses began to make fun of the city (Borås) Elfsborg was from, I participated with just as much fervor.

The Ass and his mob had taken hold of me, and wouldn’t let me go. And I wouldn’t have had it any other way.

I was glad before leaving campus back in Växjö that Martin had advised me not to wear my Swedish national team jersey: a seething distaste for anything relating to the mainstream government was clearly evident, culminating in the unfurling of a giant blood red Skåne flag during player introductions instead of the Swedish flag, and the singing of the club anthem instead of the national anthem.

The entire stadium seemed to vibrate with the ebb and flow of the game. For the whole 90 minutes the deafening roar never let up. Like waves pounding against the coast, the sound crashed against me time and time again. Though I could feel my throat tearing as I screamed at the top of my lungs, I couldn’t even hear myself.

It was official: I had lost all emotional control. Shameful as it is to say, if the frenzied mob had decided to storm out and set the entire city ablaze, I probably would have joined in.

Somewhere in the midst of all this decidedly unwholesome frivolity bordering on violent flashpoint was a football match, but in the heat of the moment the fact escaped me. While I managed to join in the celebration when Helsingborg scored to start the second half, and joyously jeered when Elfsborg missed a potential equalizing penalty shot late, these actions were more or less involuntary actions stemming from a severe case of mob-induced sports psychosis.

To my surprise, the match concluded with little disruption. The roar slowly died down, and supporters slowly made their exit – not in one massed army, but in small groups of twos and threes.

Gradually my mental state began to return to normal. I turned to Martin.

“Was that the craziest match ever, or what?” I asked in my usual very broken, very American-sounding Swedish.

“Actually, it’s usually a lot louder,” he told me in a precise British accent so perfect it took me a moment to remember he wasn’t actually a Brit. “Most of the time we’re much more enthusiastic.”

Lord knows what would have happened to me if it had been one of those other times.

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Blog Update: Stripes News

13 May 22:40

Week 20 matches »

"Div5 v IF Olympia Farsta: 2-2 Having come back from 1-0 down then 2-1 down, 10-men Stripes earned a worthy point from todays fixture. Lascelles took charge in goal after the keeper was red-carded and made some vital saves and interceptions. Robbie G scored from a low over head kick and then a penalty goal by..." READ »

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