I embarked under leaden skies, clouds heavy and low, but unwilling to share their burden.
The forecast had been ominous all week, with the threat of a massive downpour and potential flooding looming just two days prior.
Thankfully, the dire predictions didn't materialize. Instead of a deluge, we were treated to a sporadic light drizzle and unseasonably cool temperatures, a pleasant surprise considering the situation further south.
As I made my way from our place in Warsaw’s City Center to Legia Warsaw’s stadium along the west bank of the Vistula, memories of the early-season MLS matches I attended as a DC United Season Ticket holder came flooding back.
Those early spring afternoons brought with them the promise of warmer weather and the hopes of a new season. As is often the case, whatever warmth there may have been was fleeting. Spring in the Mid-Atlantic was a clever little thing. And as for DCU’s season, well, it almost always ended in futility–either never living up to its promise or never having any at the outset.
But this was early July, and Legia’s season is starting with a Europa League Qualifying Round matchup against Aktobe, a club from Kazakhstan. While I enjoy a solid spring-like day with overcast skies, I am a writer after all, I do prefer the summer months to be a tad warmer than 60 degrees.
In all honesty, I hadn’t anticipated going, but tickets were easier to obtain than the hoops I jumped through in Beijing. With my knowledge of Polish and Legia soccer limited, I figured this would be a good opportunity to test the waters.
My understanding of Legia revolved around three things: 1) their ultras had one of the best tifo games in Europe, 2) they were once the military’s team, and 3) there was some sort of conflict between the ultras and the owner, the former had announced a boycott of matches and displying the previously mentioned tifos.
So, as I marched my way down the hill along Mysliwiecka (do not ask me how to pronounce that, I’m not there yet, okay?) and under an overpass onto Łazienkowska (that Ł is pronounced with a W sound), I was joined by more fans. It was early enough before the match that the sidewalks weren’t overflowing.
Merchants selling team scarves and hats hawked their goods at regular intervals and even did so right up next to the official team shop. Each table was covered with a transparent plastic sheet in the event of rain. Police were scattered about, too. Some as tandems, but most in groups of four or five, sporting catcher’s shin pads as if there were a threat of violence. And maybe there’s always a latent hazard, one I’m unable to diagnose as a newcomer.
I ducked into the Legia Sports Bar, the club’s main indoor pre-match hangout on the north side of the stadium. The lighting was that familiar level of low, one only sports fans can appreciate. Fans, mostly men in groups of 2’s or 4’s, milled about, claiming seats, commandeering bar stools, and catching up after a few months away. A low hum of conversation fought a losing battle with the playlist.
Fans clutched pints of Krolewskie ordered from the three women behind the bar. It was once a locally made beer, but after being gobbled up by a much bigger conglomerate, production has moved elsewhere. Others ordered plates of chips, fries, or burgers. Above the bar and on several other televisions across the space, highlights from the day at Wimbledon were shown.
After two pints, because somewhere I had read there was no booze in the ground, I left to make my way inside. I had already missed warm-ups, something I am generally loath to do, but willing to countenance because I wanted to get a feel for the place. Entry was easy, even if there was a line.
In the process, I walked past the pre-match fanzone. It was an open-air gathering place for fans, and it's probably where I’ll hang out next time around. It seemed hipper and warmer than whatever was happening inside the bar. Maybe that was projection.
I grabbed a hot dog and a bottle of water, one of those flimsy plastic things that spill half their contents as you open them, at the nearest concession stand after climbing a steep staircase to the mezzanine area where other fans had gathered. The two beers, both basic pilsners, were hitting me harder than I wanted. That’s what I get for passing on an early dinner with the family and instead downing two pints on an empty stomach.
After gobbling it up quickly, I made my way to my seat. It was a decent sightline, just a few yards shy of midfield. There were some crush bars and barriers that blocked the first five meters inside the touch line. It was annoying trying to wiggle my head during the match to see around it. But if play was on the far side, my view was unimpeded.
The stadium had several empty sections, owing mainly to the match being one of those early midweek ties against an unfancied club. The boycott didn’t help either, but if Legia makes a deeper run in qualifying and pulls a more prominent opponent, that may change.
The atmosphere, despite the chillier-than-normal temperatures, seemed easy and light. Folks around me were joking, smiling, and there appeared to be joviality in the air. With no chanting before kickoff, however, it felt more like a friendly or testimonial than the season’s opening match.
Once the match kicked off, though, fans seemed more about the business than the few minutes before had indicated. Several fans around me, led by a few innocent-looking older men, heckled the medic team who, for some crazy reason, had been posted right at the base of our section and were blocking our view of the plays on the near side. A few tit-for-tat exchanges and the medics moved.
But then, Aktobe put one in, and the mood soured slightly. It felt almost as if the fans had resigned themselves to getting dumped out of the competition. I didn’t hear any jeering or shouts at the players to do better. Maybe the sentiment was that it was early enough to pull the match back. Or it could have been that they all saw what I couldn’t, because VAR would ultimately disallow the goal.
A few fans to my right started some chants, but they never really took off, even if they were catchy and leaned on the same beats and melodies that fans around the world would find familiar. It was clear that the ultras were needed, that the rest of the fans leaned on them to create the energy necessary to support the club. I could be wrong, as it was my first match and, as I’ve already said, I don’t know much about the club or the culture.
I did worry for several minutes that I’d be treated to a snooze fest, which wouldn’t necessarily be a problem, as I’d already answered a lot of the questions I had walking into the evening. Aktobe looked like a team lacking the quality necessary to compete at this level, but aided by the fact that it had already played 19 games. It was holding off a far better side (Legia), albeit with several second-stringers on the field, as it played its first match of the season.
Then out of nowhere, a series of interchanges that looked at best superfluous and like leading to what footballing folks often describe as a defensive cul-de-sac turned into a very saveable shot on goal that hit the back of the net.
The game ended 1-0. And except for a few exciting breaks that never quite lived up to expectations, there wasn’t much else to write about in terms of match play.
It was clear that Legia has a decent team. That the playing style is less frenetic and annoying than whatever I would watch during my time as a season ticket holder with DCU. They weren’t quite EPL either, but then again, what league is? And do I go to matches for that? Or am I going for the vibes and cultural experience? As a former DCU season ticket holder, it’s clear I’m going to these things for the latter.
And I did, in fact, find out that they do sell beer at the stadium. Although, it’s a much lower ABV version of the beer I had in the club’s sports bar. And they have this weird token thing that I never quite understood. When I first bought the beer, I got a little plastic coin. It was my impression that I brought it back for a free beer, but all it got me was a discounted beer the second time around. But then they gave me the coin again. Given that halftime was only fifteen minutes and I wanted to get something else to eat, I didn’t have time to sort out the specifics.
I left with everyone else at the final whistle. There was crowding at the steps closest to the exit, but several others were wide open. Unlike at the DCU match, but somewhat similar to Beijing Guoan, the exit was quiet and orderly. No shouts. No chants. Just a group of fans from a half-empty stadium on a midweek night walking home under a pitch-black sky.
I wasn’t sure, and I’m still not, what to make of the whole experience. But that’s yet another reason to go back for another match, especially if they make it to the main stage of the Europa or Conference League.