Having
been delayed two hours on a train (cos two trains were coming the other way, a
problem I’d have thought the Hungarian authorities could have figured out by
now) I should have hurried up to check-in and set off for the match. Instead, I relied on KO being 7, not 6. My gamble paid off.I’d
planned on walking to the Illovszky Rudolf Stadion, but it was a simple journey
by public transport. Take the M3 to
Forgach Utca. then turn right and right again out of the metro and walk down
Forgach Utca itself until you reach the stadium. 10 minutes, easy.
I see a stadium!
The
ticket office and turnstiles are right in front of you as you arrive, and basic
affairs they are too. No need for too
many turnstiles in Hungarian domestic football; tonite’s ‘derby’ would bring
around 4,000 people to a stadium which holds 4 times that.
Still, there’s an atmosphere. The fans
are either side of the pitch, with the end curves unused. Keeping their powder dry for a BIG game,
whenever that may be. After worries
about needing my passport to buy a ticket (I didn’t; good job since it was back
at the hotel) I was in, via my first of 3 searches at the stadium. Basically, every time you entered a new sector,
you got another search.
The ONLY (home) turnstiles.
As
the match had just kicked off, I went into the nearest stand. Turns out they were the ‘posh’ (only)
seats. Only seats in the home end,
anyway, though the away terrace had seats plonked at the back, though,
presumably, anyone wanting to sit wouldn’t be able to see for those in front,
standing.The
Main Stand was small, the half or dozen or so rows at the back seemingly added
as an afterthought. At least this bit of
cantilever is covered, unlike the vast amount of seating in front. The rest of the stadium is uncovered, though
the terracing didn’t show the neglect I expected. One quirk is a scoreboard at one end,
splitting the terrace. Odder still, the
players must march underneath this to reach the changing rooms, which are
technically outside of the stadium perimeter.
Cameraman, and behind him, the scoreboard.
Tonight,
the visitors were Honved, who brought a respectable 1,000. Respectable in Hungarian terms, but this was,
after all, a derby and they’re only a few stops apart on the metro. But, like many a secondary European football
nation (these days) it must be a mission of love and devotion supporting your
local teams when all the best players are schlepping around in some
economically superior foreign league.
Flicking through a few Hungarian football books earlier, the decline of
football in that country is apparent; black and white photos from the 1950s
showing packed stands and massive crowds juxtaposed with modern statistical analysis
showing anything but the size of the crowd.
Too embarrassing to mention these days. And
looking at players’ biographies, the A-Z of Hungarian footballers began and
ended with Ferenc Puskas and Zoltan Gera.
Looking towards the away fans.
Stadia
such as this at least contain some character.
I sat on the back row, though, having pushed past a few people to get to
my seat, I could hardly now leave for a beer.
That would wait till half time.
There was a buzz in the air.
After 5 games, Vasas were top of the league. Heady stuff.
Though I have to admit, I’d not heard of them till checking out the
fixtures. Ferencvaros, Honved, MTK,
Ujpest…yes. But Vasa played some good
football, before taking the lead with an absolute screamer. 25 yards out (at
least), it curved all over the place, giving the keeper no chance.
Half time, the players and officials head off.
At
half time I walked around the outside of the curve, behind the scoreboard. The beer queue was too long and I wanted to
see the rest of the stadium, as well as avoiding the intermittent screeching of
whoever the bugle belonged to in the main stand. There was also a drummer, yet the ultras were
to be found opposite, on the terrace.
Scoreboard and changing rooms.
In the same building as the changing rooms was the club shop. Small and busy. I’ll come back at full time. (Yes I would, and it’d be closed.) The main building of Vasas sportclub (a large
building behind the terrace) held refreshments facilities…as well as a
sportshall where the ladies handball team were practicing. I was tempted, but chose the beer
instead. I’d have welcomed a sausage
too, but the closest they came to a savoury snack was some bread.
Refreshments this way.
The
second half was mainly characterised by Vasas being unable to take any of a
myriad of opportunities on the break.
Honved were no threat and the match was finally sealed in comic
circumstances, as a soft shot dribbled over the line as the keeper caught it
and somehow dropped it through his legs.
I don’t think he’ll be getting an English lower division contract
anytime soon.
On the terrace.
Full-time,
and the Vasas players virtually did lap
of honour before finishing in front of the 100 or so ultras, spurred along now
by the PA announcer, who implored us to jump around like loons while he and the players stood in a line,
arms around each other. After struggling
last season, perhaps Vasas have the feeling THIS could be their year!
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