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| The Dinamo Stadium's imposing floodlights in the background. |
An afternoon in Moscow suddenly became freed up at 1.45. Why couldn't I have found out earlier... there was a match starting at two. I asked the hotel where I'd stayed if I could store my bags there until later and they kindly agreed... then told me it was 200 roubles (about £4). I made a dash for the nearby metro and saw I was just two stations from the Dinamo stop. This is Russia, having a stop named after a stadium was surely too good to be true. I asked this at the counter. "I don't know" Great! I asked the woman by the entrance whose affirmative reply was accompanied by a look of incredulity at such a stupid question.
I got to the stadium with 2 minutes to spare. I asked a policeman, one chosen at random from a worryingly long line, where the ticket office was only to discover it was a sell-out. The chance to see a game in Russia; I was not going to be denied. I asked elsewhere: same response. Maybe I was. I started to return to the metro but caught sight of a tout. I wondered how much and went over. He was asking for the face-value of 150 roubles which surely defied the logic of touting. The exchange completed, I made for the entrance and the crowd roared. A goal. Bugger!!
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| The missed goal |
I missed the first 15 minutes but I wasn't too bothered. Frankly the match was a non-event on the field until the last 10 minutes when CSKA had a number of chances as Spartak went all out for an equalizer and consequently their defence had more holes than the dirty white seats. I'd never been to a stadium like it: crumbling concrete and flaking paintwork which no longer masked the rusting ironwork of the safety rails. Like the Spartak defence, it was coming apart at the seams. Thank god there wasn't a roof... what would hold it up? Rust? At least the massive floodlights hovering over the ground gave an impression it might once have been glorious.
The atmosphere in the ground was one of the plusses: a Moscow derby and an appropriate amount of venom. Some chants were completely lost on me but the number of obscenities indicated that the welcome for away supporters was far less than warm. The Spartak fans came back with a mix of drums, clapping and deep, bass voices which should have been in some Russian Orthodox church glorifying god not their sporting heroes. They stopped and the CSKA fans chanted, "Myasa, myasa" or "Meat, meat", a derogatory term when aimed at Spartak fans but an affectionate one for themselves.
I wondered if there was always this level of security or just for derby games. The stadium was divided into sectors of typically 200-300 seats. To go into a section you had to show your ticket to any of the 2 ordinary police, the 2 riot police or 2 security guards who, on hearing the question, "Is this the right section?", squinted at the ticket and took the cigarette out their mouth to say "Da" like they didn't care... but they certainly did when someone tried the wrong area. Then the squint became a scowl and they waved the ticket in a vague direction. No wonder it took me almost 10 minutes to get it right.
The game was dull enough to make off-field events interesting and the first of these was a streaker, of sorts, though he didn't go on the pitch; butt-naked man was, to a huge cheer, simply held aloft by supporters. He appeared to enjoy his several seconds of fame and I concluded that those holding him up by his arms or legs had had a better deal than those holding him up somewhere in-between. A one-man Spartak pitch invasion happened and I feared the worst for him. How did he ever get past the hundreds of dogs between running track and perimeter fencing? The number of Alsatians at least provided the answers to why butt-naked guy hadn't gone on the pitch. There was still time for more insanity as the same section as before held aloft another guy. Clothed this time but bound from around his thighs to the top of his head in Sellotape, he was passed backwards and was clearly enjoying the crowd-surfing until they just stopped passing him and he plummeted backwards, headfirst. Ouch!!
Finally time for the slowest ever release from a football ground. Sections were let out on by one until the ground emptied. Unfortunately, those behind the goals had the longest wait... and that's where I was. A policeman sitting near the front waved a Spartak scarf and the CSKA fans jeered angrily. Looking ready to riot, the fans were instantly appeased when he used the scarf to polish his boots. There was an almighty cheer.
Video of the goal
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