Going to the match

Report from the besieged city: during the Champions League final, fans almost smashed Rome brick by brick

Spaniard Mikel Castro arrived in Rome for only 16 hours. The owner of the hotel where Mikel was supposed to stay, left in the morning for his main job - he is a taxi driver - and forgot to leave the key to the new guest. I had to leave my suitcase right at the entrance - otherwise Mikel would not have made it to the stadium. And he could not miss the Champions League final: he is the only one among his friends who went to Rome, and did not resell the ticket back in Barcelona. “I would never forgive myself. It's better to go alone to a strange city than to be away from the team on a historic day," Miquel explained.

About 150,000 fans from different countries came to the Champions League final in the capital of Italy - they could not even theoretically fit in the 80,000-seat Roman stadium. Members of the Barcelona and Manchester fan clubs were the luckiest of the bunch, at least getting 25,000 tickets each. If we add to them the numerous sponsors and partners of the League, who also received their share of tickets, it turned out that there were practically no places at the Stadio Olimpico for “ordinary” fans.

Champions League finals are a holiday for speculators: they have this one of the most profitable events. You can ask for almost any price, someone will buy it. Two Russian fans boasted to a Newsweek correspondent that they sold two €70 tickets at €750 each in 15 minutes. “So, we didn’t go in vain,” one of them giggled. The Spaniards tried to buy accreditation from a Newsweek photojournalist. They were not even embarrassed by the fact that they were allowed into the stadium with an editorial pass and with a camera: “And we will buy a certificate! And our camera is already excellent - the new iPhone!”.

For those of the fans who were not ready to pay huge money for a ticket, nothing was ready in Rome. Two days before the final at the Coliseum, everything revolved around football: various competitions were held here, you could take pictures with a copy of the Champions League Cup, there was even a disco. On the day of the final, all this suddenly disappeared: a few hours before the game, workers were already putting dismantled metal structures into trucks and handing out league banners to everyone for free.

In Rome, they decided not to broadcast public broadcasts for security reasons, and when they began to dismantle the only large screen, a disappointed red-white-blue-garnet crowd poured into the metro and headed for the stadium: if they didn’t let them in, then at least they would hear when they scored Goal.

The Roman subway was clearly not ready for such an influx: the trains were still running at the same frequency of 3-4 minutes, because of which it was possible to get into the car only by spitting on the norms of behavior. The British did it best: they flew into trains with a run in small companies. Inside, they sang songs dominated by the single word fucking, and enjoyed the effect: ordinary Romans jumped out of the car at the nearest station, and the Catalans huddled at the end of the car and tried not to look in the direction of the English crowd. To heighten the effect, the British stamped their feet, beat the rhythm on the walls of the cars and waved their gladiatorial helmets - just like a year ago they waved their hats with earflaps, stepping from the Sportivnaya metro station to the Luzhniki stadium in Moscow.

Having escaped from the stuffy subway, the fans boarded buses and trams that went to the stadium. It was more difficult with trams: the doors here open from both sides, so those who broke into them first flew out into the street from the opposite side - without the slightest chance of squeezing back. The appearance of law enforcement was created by a single carabinieri: he walked with a serious look along the mass of fans and only made sure that someone did not fall onto the rails. The fans climbed into the buses through the windows, got stuck in them, and in this position drove to the stadium. The shock absorbers of one of the buses could not withstand the excessive load - and, “groaning”, limply sat down on the asphalt with a steel belly. Dissatisfied fans kicked the crippled car several times and went to the stadium on foot.

In the tram, from the heat and beer fumes, it became harder and harder to breathe with each stop, bare backs in tattoos towered around. The English songs coming from behind became more and more aggressive. One of the Manchester United fans seems to have decided to “finish off” the silent Catalans. “Figures to you, not Messi! Chelsea will buy Messi! he shouted. Chelsea! Chelsea! - immediately picked up the rest of the Mancunians.

From the stop to the stadium it was necessary to walk about a kilometer. Unlike last year's Moscow final, when the police cleared the area in front of the stadium from illegal sellers long before the game, the road to the Stadio Olimpico looked like a market square. On the one hand, they sold homemade scarves with hastily embroidered Champions League balls. On the other hand, teenagers sold beer from huge plastic buckets with ice.

Speculators traditionally hid behind the I need ticket signs - this is the most famous, convenient and safe way to attract a client. The Romanians were the most active in the ticket market - they winked at the passing fans and offered to step aside. By the beginning of the game, the tickets from the speculators, as often happens, were not sorted out, and they were already ready to lose money. "You are Russian? - First of all, Vlad, a Manchester United fan, asked the Newsweek correspondent. - On, brother, only for you. 500 Euro. Do not thank".

The Italian carabinieri looked at all this as rituals obligatory for the Champions League and stopped only the most outrageous violations. For example, right in front of the stadium, they silently snatched the newly bought beer from the hands of the fans and poured it directly onto the sidewalk, and threw the container into large black bags. Throughout the rest of Rome, during the league days, the alcohol restriction was unofficially lifted - the carabinieri simply turned a blind eye to this. Restaurant workers and street vendors knew about this, but just in case, they scared the Spaniards with prison if they drank beer on the Spanish Steps. The horror stories did not work: the Catalans not only drank beer, but also chanted that “Catalonia is not Spain,” and recalled Franco with an unkind word for his love for Real Madrid.

At the stadium, Barca fans were lucky - their fan zone had a small cafe with a plasma TV. Here the density of the crowd was about the same as a few hours before in public transport, but beer was sold here. The British, passing by, licked their lips enviously: there was nothing like this near their fan sector, and the British watched football on small TVs at fast food vendors.

Before the start of the match, the carabinieri, forgetting about their duty, began to tune the walkie-talkies to radio stations with live broadcasts, many connected to the Internet from mobile phones.

They began to put things in order after the game. As soon as the Roman stadium erupted with the victory cry of the Spanish fans, the carabinieri began to sweep. All those who two hours ago felt quite at ease in the city fell under the distribution. One Italian, who attracted attention with a huge suitcase and a hockey bag, shouted something, gesticulated expressively and, just in case, pushed his travel luggage away with his foot. He gave up only when they took him into the ring and forced him to open his suitcase: it turned out to be stuffed with self-made scarves and T-shirts. The goods were confiscated, and the seller himself was taken to the department.

We got to the sellers of alcohol. After the final whistle, the beer-selling teenagers rushed to the stadium, cheering each other on: the British will want to pour grief - this chance should not be missed. But after the carabinieri took the first, the rest shouted “Goats! Police! Back!" retreated into the darkness behind the trees.

The British were really not up to beer. There was no trace of their former prowess: they did not climb into buses, did not pour out curses, but silently walked to the subway, putting their gladiatorial helmets away. The Spaniards, on the contrary, rejoiced: they bathed in fountains, played football right on the streets with home-made "balls" made from improvised materials, and sang songs. At five o'clock in the morning, Michel Castro, a Barcelona fan, sent a text from the airport: “That's why I came to Rome. Could this have been missed?"