Is home girl really going to talk about Greek football? Help us.

Growing up in America, football was a sport in which I held season tickets, and soccer was an unknown sport with a black-and-white ball.

I then did an extensive European trek in winter 1997 and reprogrammed myself to say ‘football’ — a word that the rest of the world recognizes as not just a game, but a religion by which some fans literally live or die with fervor.

My first fervor

My limited Greek language skills prevented me from saying Panathinaikos the first year, so I just called them the green team, much as I called Olympiakos the red team. Weak, I know. Football slowly forced its way into my life over the years because most of my friends are men, though I have no loyalty to any team, cannot quote hard stats and have never painted my face. I’ve also lived in PAO neighborhoods, which I figured out by reading graffiti and listening to men scream and swear at televisions on balconies.

My association with the three-leaf clover is accidental.

Tinos had two tickets to see Panathinaikos vs. Aris at the stadium on Alexandras, and I volunteered to go since his buddies had previous commitments, and he didn’t want to go alone. For me, it was the day I realized I owned nothing green and coins could be weapons. For him, it was a chance to see a team he loved and recapture a childhood spent attending games with his grandfather.

I was tricked into believing Aris’ colors were “red and blue,” so I avoided those colors and put on black. Of course, I discovered Aris’ colors are black and yellow once inside the stadium — my friends can be sneaky mo-fos, sometimes — and cursing and slapping Tinos only made him laugh harder about the possibility of me being lynched if Panathinaikos lost. At least we weren’t sitting in the G13 cage.

The most memorable thing about that game was seeing Tinos get both stoked and sentimental, whether it was the charm of a crumbling stadium, makeshift carts with burning hot dogs, fans cursing various mothers, the raw mania of G13, seats that made our asses hurt or memories of his grandfather. At one point, he got choked up and I with him.

It may sound ridiculous, but a part of me saw how love for football could spill over to life, and our friendship grew stronger because of it. Or maybe we were high on the tireless, infectious energy of G13 singing my favorite PAO song.

Oxi, den einai to horto magiko!

Trifilara s’agapo
Kai pantou s’akoloutho
Giati eisai i zoi mou!
I anapnoi mou!
Kai gia sena tragoudo.

Pao leo leo leeeeeey
Pao leo leo leeeeeey
Pao leo leo
Pao leo leo
Pao leo leo leeeeeey

(Repeat infinitely, while shirtless and beating a drum)

Translation: Three-leaf clover I love you, and always I follow you, because you are my life! My breath! And for you, I sing.

Congratulations to the 2009 Euroleague Champions!

See you at Nou

Years later, a bunch of friends asked if I wanted to attend an away game when Panathinaikos played Barcelona. I think they sometimes forget I’m a woman because it was going to be me and four men sharing a plane ride, a 3-bedroom apartment and one bathroom. They didn’t forget, however, that I could speak Spanish.

So off we went for four days and three nights. Oy. It’s when you spend continuous blocks of time with people that you truly get to know them, and I realized that I brought all the ills of Athens with me. It was like we weren’t in Spain.

The majority smoked, talked on the phone (which they later regretted upon seeing the bill), ate only Greek food and McDonald’s, smoked some more, drank coffee and absolutely refused to try any local food or see Gaudi. After all, they were only there to buy BCN jerseys and see the game.

On game night, the guys gussied me up in green and we entered an empty stadium three hours in advance, a measure to protect ‘away’ fans from clashes with hooligans. Police escorted us to our seats, just as they would take us out an hour after Camp Nou was deserted and BCN fans were gone. We were few but loud. Unfortunately, we were not more clever than die-hard BCN fans who came armed with banners bearing insults written in Greek.

I called Tinos at home in Boston to let him know he was there with me because although Panathinaikos was not victorious, lingering memories of our first game together still made the moment glorious.

Miss you, T.

A shout out to the cool guys at www.greeksoccer.com, where I’m fortunate to have a few fans.

In the news

“PAO stadium put on ice” — Kathimerini
“Panathinaikos vs. Olympiakos: A Night of Greek Drama” — NY Times Sports

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“Cockroaches and courthouses, leases and landlords”
“More windows on Greek TV than in my house”
“Panathinaikos”

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