LIVERPOOL, ALEKSANDAR

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Liverpool. Aleksandar. Morin-Heights, Quebec, 2014.

Why Liverpool? I asked.

“You know why. Just write it down.”

I do know why: for the same reasons as this guySasha and I have been best friends for thirty years and we discussed football related matters about million times, so I know. He writes for living; about his literary genius you can read all over the internet. Better yet, just pick up one of his books. The latest one, The Making of Zombie Wars, is coming out in May this year and it truly is a roller-coaster ride of sex and violence. He can’t help himself so Sasha often writes about soccer/football too. He’s been quoted at the top of this page, a fine achievement I think.

We both love to play the game, not just talk about it, and were involved in many matches together, be it in Sarajevo, in Montreal or in Chicago, sometimes as teammates and sometimes on the opposite sides. The only argument we ever had was during one of those matches (we were teammates in that one). But then I tore both of my ACLs and retired from the game. Sasha still plays every week year-round, regardless of the weather, in a Chicago park.

Chicago, November 2011

Chicago, November 2011


RAJA CLUB ATHLETIC, HASSAN

Raja Casablanca. Hassan. Rabat, 2014

Raja Casablanca. Hassan. Rabat, 2014

Why Raja Casablanca? I asked.

“Best, best, best”

The initial enthusiasm of someone who thinks he is a pinball wizard quickly deflated after a machine, accustomed to someone’s else hands, hungry swallowed my coins. With great regret I made conclusion that my magic somehow vanished (I blame digital world) so I moved to the next room where local boys were attending what looked like a serious tournament in table football. To avoid further embarrassments, I choose a little boy age seven or something to play with. I use to own one of these tables and I think I’m good in it. However, it turns that the boy is not from this planet and he puts all the balls behind my wooden goalie before I even managed my tactics. I admit, in my career of promising table football player I lived though a number of humiliating defeats. The one in a dungeon just off Rue el Fassi in Morocco’s capital Rabat is probably the worst one.

So I walked away, down the street and then left to a small alley following the irresistible smell of freshly baked bread. Like a black hole, a small bakery sucks me in. One of boys inside, Hassan is his name if I remember correctly, was wearing AC Milan shirt but as soon as he saw my camera he jumped and proudly put a green-and-white Raja Club Athletic jersey over it. Naturally, I took pictures of smiling Hassan and then followed him and one Ronaldo pushing carts with bread through the labyrinth of Rabat’s old town.

Raja Club Athletic from Casablanca, eleven times champion of Morocco, had reputation of being a people’s club for which was often more important to hide the ball and humiliate the opponent than to score goals. Many of my friends will now, with a loud sigh, think of FK Velež from Mostar in Bosnia and its legendary generation of artist players. It’s not a surprise that one of these geniuses, Vahid Halilhodžić, led Raja Club Athletic to the Moroccan title as its manager in late nineties.

Hassan and Ronaldo delivering bread, Rabat's old town.

Hassan and Ronaldo delivering bread, Rabat’s old town.


LIVERPOOL, KHUN BIRD

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Liverpool. Bird. Phuket, Thailand, 2014

WTF?, I asked.

“You know, Bird loves Liverpool”, said one of his friends.

The idea and and rule of Footballists, simple and never-changing, is to talk and take pictures of people wearing shirts of their favourite football teams. This is, obviously, a special edition on our blog so let’s make an exception. If Khun Bird would be wearing his favourite shirt today the gods would be angry, that’s what his rule says. Actually, Khun Bird is a god today. More precisely, a god possess his body. It’s complicated.

The bizarre vegetarian festival on Phuket, the island known to be a tourist heaven in southern Thailand, easily tops otherwise very bizarre list of events I normally attend in my wanderings through Southeast Asia. In short, the festival, featuring face and every other piercing, spirit mediums and strict vegetarianism is a part of the local Chinese community’s belief that will help them obtain good health, and the rest that comes with pleading with Nine Emperor Gods. However, the original idea somehow developed into a spectacular festival of mind blowing rituals. Besides usual self-mutilation that is known to other religions in other parts of the world, what makes veggie fest in Phuket very special is variety of objects that are used to piece bodies. Car exhaust pipes and alloy wheels, chandeliers, nunchakus, models of racing cars and sailing ships, umbrellas, barbed wire and every possible kind of spikes, knifes and screwers plus M16s and other weapons – it is all pierced through cheeks and mouths of devotees of different Chinese temples as they parade through Phuket. That and many other unimaginable objects sharpened to cut through flesh. If you are in the mood, probably not, for some more pictures and attempts to explain the unexplainable, please look here and here.

Khun Bird, god for a day, loves Liverpool. I had no chance to talk to him directly as he was in trance with two metal rods carrying LFC flags, oranges stuck at their sharp ends, pierced through his mouth but members of his entourage, all wearing original Liverpool shirts, briefly explained his passion to me. So I took some pictures and then followed another god, fishing net coming from his mouth, into the crowd. For true believers this would be another strong proof that if you choose the right team, here and elsewhere, You’ll Never Walk Alone.

Bird Phukets

The gods never walk alone.


BARCELONA, JOHN

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Barcelona. John. De Maisonneuve/Wilson, Montreal, 2014

Why Barca? I asked.

“I hate Barcelona. My club is Chelsea.”

In front of a local carwash, this Labour day early morning, John and his two colleagues were waiting for the first customers to arrive. As I passed by I just said “Nice shirt” with my thumbs up. “No, not really.” he replied to my surprise. After he told me that Chelsea is his team I asked, obviously, why Chelsea. “Anybody can play in Chelsea… black, white, you can be green, anybody. Not in Barcelona.” He got this jersey from someone as a gift.

John’s been living in Montreal for a few years now. He comes from South Africa.


ECUADOR, CAMIL

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Ecuador. Camil. Sherbrooke/Regent, Montreal, 2014

Why Ecuador? I asked.

“And I’m not even from Ecuador… I got it as a gift a few years ago.”

The rain had just started and I only had my phone on me (‘the best camera is the one you have with you’ as someone famously said) but I decided to stop Camil anyway. He grew up in Montreal but his parents come from France and Morocco. He supported France in the World Cup. I sensed his sympathy for Spain as well as he claimed that ‘Spain will bounce back’.

Camil then asked me how did Liverpool play earlier in the day since we met a couple of hours after LFC match with Tottenham. It gave me much pleasure to report the score and a nice Balotelli debut. As we parted, just a block further into my walk, I ran into an advertising display at the local bus station. There was Mario Balotelli, larger then life, unreal, in this hockey city. This unexpected encounter must be a good omen for the season to come.

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Montreal, Aug 31, 2014


ARGENTINA, YANICK

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Argentina. Yanick. Sherbrooke/Hampton, Montreal, 2014

Why Argentina? I asked.

“I have many friends that are from Argentina.”

I walked into a store and there was Yanick, working. He was kind enough to step outside so I can photograph him. Yanick is from Montreal but has a strong connection with South America, his girlfriend is from Peru. Along the way he befriended a few Argentinians and started following their national team. Our chat was brief since he had to go back to work and I needed to go and get some flowers.

 


VENEZUELA, BORIS

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Venezuela. Boris. Sarajevo. 2014

Why Venezuela? I asked.

“A friend from the States sent it to me as a gift. He liked Chavez and sympathized with Venezuela while Chavez was still alive.”

Venezuela’s national team, nicknamed La Vinotinto, has never qualified for the World Cup. I imagine, there is not much space for football in the nation crazy about baseball. But La Vinotinto jersey made it all the way to Sarajevo. Boris is my brother and these days our Bosnia and Herzegovina team plays in its first World Cup tournament in Brazil. So will Venezuela one day, I hope.


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