Editor’s note: Our buddy Sergio went traveling around Europe and decided to change things up a bit when it comes to his contributions to the blog for a couple of weeks. With that said, Sergio’s posts will not necessarily be solely about Juventus, but also about his travels abroad and what kind of football-centric things he gets into during his time in Europe.
It is harder than you would think to watch Juventus play against AC Milan when you’re in Poland.
The broadcasting rights are split between several companies, none of them who will allow you to watch the game on an iPad without a costly subscription service and a Polish phone number which we obviously do not have.
We couldn’t access our Mexico streaming options without a paid VPN — which nobody wants to buy to watch just one game. The usual pirate streams that work in a pinch back home are being particularly fidgety, and we can’t tell if it’s the so-so hotel WiFi or just the cavernous environment we are currently in.
I’m sitting in a spacious, wood-covered, tapestry-filled grand ballroom at the Moszna Castle. One of my best friends got married on Saturday (the night before) in said castle. My wife and most of my closest friends with their significant others are all talking happily around a large, regal-looking oak table that has surely hosted much more prestigious people than the ones currently downing cheap Polish beers and random paprika-based snacks. And somehow, all I care about is this stupid tablet playing our stupid pirate stream so I can watch my dumb football game.
To be fair, I have another friend — who unfortunately roots for Milan — who is also stubbornly clicking around and is also the subject of mockery by the rest of the group because who cares about the game right now? How often do you get to drink around a table with all your best friends and recap a wedding in a Polish castle?
To which I reply, how often can I drink with my best friends in a Polish castle and watch some mediocre football, too?
For better or worse, football — and specifically Juventus football — is an important thing in my life and it manifests one way or another in my life. Yes, even in an old castle.
The game itself ends up not mattering that much. My friend and I talk smack back and forth for a while, I cheerfully laugh when Christian Pulisic skies a penalty kick and we mostly comment on how both of our teams are kind of mid this year. I probably won’t remember a single play of that game, but I will remember it as one of the weirdest places and occasions in which I watched a Juventus game — and that’s at least something.
There are so many stickers.
I started taking pictures of the stickers all the way back when my trip started. I wanted to make a sort of photo essay of the many football stickers I found stamped all over Europe. It was only after I noticed I had about 45 pictures in three days of being here that I abandoned the idea.
No place is safe from the sticker scrounge. They are pasted on doors, hallways, subway entrances, public signage, trash cans, bathrooms, fancy restaurants, crappy restaurants, tables, Döner places, historic monuments, boats, bars and at least in one case on the harness of a happily walking dog with an owner in a Ferencvaros kit.
They are big and small, simple and complex. Some of them are just the club’s crest, others are intricate designs with verbiage relating to a specific fan group. Some of them are undecipherable, only coming across as football stickers once you look really close and make the relation between the images, colors and words and guess that maybe it’s a St. Pauli fan club?
I especially like the ones that are very clearly inside jokes between the fans. There’s one with the face of a hefty gentleman with no teeth proclaiming his love for VFB Stuttgart that I have to assume is of one of the members of the supporters group. What a joy to just stick the face of your friend in metro stations all over Europe. My favorite one is just a dog pissing over the Ajax logo that I find stepping out of the bus near the Hungarian Parliament. Which entrepreneurial Dutch person traveled all the way to Hungary just to proclaim their hatred for Ajax?
I’m fascinated by the logistics. There must be someone in every Ultra group in charge of the stickers, whose sole purpose is to create, design and procure stickers for the rest of the crew. As intimidating as hardcore fan groups can get, it brings me immense joy to think that there is an arts and crafts department in every single one of them.
I guess there is something fairly human about wanting to signal that you were somewhere. Is putting a sticker of your favorite club in a random city all that different than getting a picture for the Instagram feed? Or buying an overpriced keychain?
Ultimately, I didn’t end up attending any football games during my time abroad. The schedule never really lined up, and other than half-watching the Juve-Milan snoozefest I didn’t even pay particular attention to any games for two weeks. But, in every city I was in, the pride and love of the people for the beautiful game is never too far if you know where to look.
From the stickers, to the bootleg national team kits in every souvenir shop to the insane pride that everyone had on their teams even if they were in the second league or are barely above a recreational side. Football in Europe is just a way of living and very different than what I was used to experiencing as a fan on this side of the pond.
(Shoutout to the Dynamo Dresden fan shop attendant who was beaming at the fact they were sold out of kits when I asked for a specific size. Guy was just so happy that a foreigner wanted to buy a jersey and that they were gone because everyone in town had sold them out because they are such loyal fans. Weirdly wholesome.)
There’s nothing that bonded all the places I was lucky enough to visit quite like a shared language of football. I’m not sure there’s many things that can do that. In the end, I’m just happy that I got to be there and see those places and do those things. Sometimes, you can tell in real time when you are living through the good old days.
My advice, for whatever is worth, try to hold on to them.