Serbia: Football in Belgrade: Red scouts with stars, dark Partizan crowd

Friday evening in Banovo brdo, a district of Belgrade, home of FK Čukarički. Čuka, as his fans call him, is a workers’ club, a typical Belgrade neighborhood club without an active fan scene. Because in the Serbian capital there are only two religions: the black and white and the red and white.

Partizan Belgrade needs one more win to qualify for the Champions League as second in the league. We march up the hill to the stadium, past brutally staring police officers and black-and-white-clad Grobari, the loyal Partizan fans. The flags are not being shown yet; it could be that the hated rival Red Star has sent out scouts and thieves. Today, in addition to numerous uniformed men with big clubs, there are only a few hundred locals who behind their curtains and on the sidewalks can’t get enough of the dark crowd wearing nice T-shirt messages like “Let’s dance the wild tango of death.” to pose. Plus point: I don’t see any Grobari wearing a Putin shirt or the likeness of other war criminals.

My companion recommends a quick drink. We are turned away at the first kiosk because alcohol is not allowed to be sold within a two-kilometer radius. In the bar next to it we get a beer and the most sustainable plum schnapps in the world to make the ninety minutes of football-like hustle and bustle bearable. In the stadium, like everywhere in Serbia, there is nothing to drink. Neither alcohol nor anything else. Nothing to eat either, although you can carry bags of sunflower seeds with you. As we enter the back straight, there are around 1,000 black coats milling around. There were another 1,000 in the active Grobari’s block, and there were still small groups in the small stands opposite – along with a few hundred Čuka fans who didn’t make a peep during the game.

“Vucicu pederu,” shouted all the black and whites in our stands at the start of the game. The activists to our left are silent because their leaders are paid to agitate for Serbian President Vucic. “Unpleasant,” I say to my companion. He nods and says he is counting the days until the bosses of the curve are thrown out of the stadium by the true fans. The normal lunatics scream against the hated head of state all the more infernally.

Then everyone sings together one of the most beautiful partizan songs. In it you make fun of your own lifestyle. The ugliest flags, the dirtiest clothes, the most boring songs – it’s a mocking Red Star song (which the Red and Whites sing to praise themselves and their club, the biggest and hottest in the world, the biggest balls, the eternal winner blah blah).

The first half is football to run away from, in the second Partizan scores a goal, hurrah! Bengalos are blazing, fireworks are blazing, qualification for the premier class is secured. The fans sing a happy song and finally insult the club board (all of them) and Vucic (half). Then put your flags away carefully. You never know who is lurking around the next corner in Belgrade.