Fans without borders | User content
What started as a security necessity has become a symbol of dedication: Israeli football fans continue to paint the stands across Europe, proving that even when home is left behind, you can take it with you everywhere. Do you have something to say too? Send us columns to the address: kick@ynet.co.il
A few years ago, if you had told an Israeli football fan that he would fly to see a "home game" of his team, it would have sounded like a paradox. In the complex reality where the security situation does not allow Israeli teams to host in the country, this phenomenon takes on a deep meaning. This is the third summer that Israeli teams have become "wandering national teams," and the fans find themselves crossing countries and borders to give them a sense of home. Last week we saw impressive displays: about 2,200 Beitar Jerusalem fans flooded the streets of Bucharest; about 1,500 Maccabi Tel Aviv fans arrived in Georgia for a game that was only for the protocol after the 5:0 in the first game; and Hapoel Tel Aviv fans, after a tremendous display in the "home" game in Miskolc, Hungary, also filled the away stand in Razgrad against Ludogorets and provided a hot and noisy atmosphere much more than that of the local crowd. From personal experience, sometimes getting to these destinations is very complex, so much respect is due to everyone who makes the journey. Despite the sporting rivalry in Israel, it is moving to see an Israeli crowd waving scarves, painting streets, and representing their teams with such power, thousands of kilometers from home.
"What did you lose in Ashdod on a Sunday evening?" or "Why do you need these traffic jams on the way to Teddy?" are the constant questions that I — and I assume many other fans — deal with from my immediate surroundings. For those who are not fans, the idea of burning half a day on a trip, standing in lines, eating out before or after the game, and returning home after midnight seems like complete madness. Luckily for us, in Israel the distances are still reasonable, and even an especially long trip usually amounts to three-four hours each way. A big shout-out to the Hapoel Be'er Sheva fans who traveled for years to Kiryat Shmona, and vice versa. Over the years, those hours on the roads, along with a glimpse of the tremendous cheering displays in Europe, have created a deep urge in the Israeli fan to cross the borders.
Just last week, for example, about 6,500 Hansa Rostock fans from the third league in Germany flew to a friendly match against the English Watford as part of the club's 60th anniversary celebrations. All tickets were sold out about half a year in advance. Back in the early 2000s, we saw Maccabi Haifa fans flooding Old Trafford by the thousands and filling the forced home games in Nicosia; Hapoel Tel Aviv fans turning the away stand at the Tardini Stadium in Parma into "Sha'ar 5" during the unforgettable UEFA Cup campaign; and Maccabi Tel Aviv fans visiting iconic stadiums in the Netherlands, Italy, and Germany during the 2004 Champions League.
In my feeling, what started then as an experience reserved for "die-hard fans" has become a legitimate family experience over the years. In my personal trips to Piraeus, Turin, Rennes, Debrecen, and small towns in Hungary, I saw up close all types of compositions: parents with young children, fathers and sons, and groups of friends planning connecting flights, trains, and buses just to get to the game. For many of them, the game is only part of the experience. They combine it with a trip, another game, or a visit to a neighboring country. There is something liberating about going outside the country's borders to follow your team. On one hand, it is the pride of being the "dedicated fan." On the other hand, it is a kind of compensation for all those times you parked far from Bloomfield or Teddy, passed through courtyards on the way to the Yud-Alef Stadium, or climbed the endless stairs in Netanya in the August heat. A few hundred or thousand fans in red, green, or yellow, marching together on a European pedestrian mall while the locals look at them in bewilderment and don't understand where they landed on them from — this is the moment when the feeling intensifies that you are representing a small, private, and special community in the heart of the big world.
And in today's Israeli reality, this feeling takes on an even deeper meaning. Quite a few fans arrive at games with signs in memory of friends and family members, dedicated fans who fell in the war and will no longer be able to accompany their team. There, in the foreign streets, the true meaning of fandom is revealed. It is much bigger than 90 minutes of football. May we continue to see such displays later in the season as well.
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