This past weekend I witnessed the immense influence a sporting event can have on a crowd and a culture.
Russians are known to be resigned and emotionally uncomplicated on the surface. The unforgiving climate, unstable political system, and lack of infrastructure that in turn leads to daily hardships have all conditioned them to endure silently and gracefully. Emotional outbursts are rare. Russian men, in particular, elect to hide their emotions behind the steely walls of fixed gender roles or the redundancy of daily life that hits even harder during the dark winter months. This Sunday, however, I witnessed how a simple game can give rise to and dictate emotions. Soccer games are one of the few times that allow for vulnerability, excitement, tears, and pure happiness.
Earlier that Sunday, I received a call from an acquaintance, named Vladimir, informing me that a friend of my father’s was in St. Petersburg for the weekend. He insisted that I join his daughter and a pair of 60-year-old Russian businessmen for dinner. They wanted to hear about their country from the perspective of an American college student. I agreed with no hesitation—Russians make for good company.
I was taken to Dick’s Pub, a British-style tavern on the outskirts of St. Petersburg. These bizarre cultural imports are not uncommon, as Russia has a complicated, but real, love for the West.
Plates of calamari, fries, and steak, along with a few classic Russian appetizers were served. Two soccer games were being played simultaneously. Zenit was playing Mordovia, a city near the Volga River, while Chelsea was playing Manchester United. A throng of unshaven, burly men crowded around the television showing the Zenit game, shouting at the screen and each other. One yelled at a waitress, “Turn off the Manchester United game. We need a second television to watch Zenit!”
My father’s friend then leaned over to me and whispered, “How about we get them to turn off Zenit. Moscow Dynamo plays in fifteen minutes!” Vladimir smacked his arm in response, reminding us that we were in St. Petersburg and that the rivalry between the two cities often resulted in violence.
The first half ended in a tie and the palpable frustration in the room took form in the fans’ faces. Two older men at the next table began cursing in a way that utilized the richness of the Russian language. Various prefixes were added to basic verbs to create swears only appropriate for two events: soccer and hockey. Their vulgarity was so raw it was almost impressive.
While scents of beer and sweat blended together, Zenit came alive in the second half and the fans in the bar followed their lead. One goal followed another, until the team was leading 4-0. People were shouting, hugging, punching each other’s arms, and cursing even more enthusiastically than when spirits were low. I looked over at Vladimir, whose stoic face had softened into a smile. The room was full of giddy men.
Grabbing at my earmuffs and gloves, I left the table soon to meet the biting, cold air outside. The game had ended and it was time to go home and return to our real lives—school and work. The final score was 5-0, with a last goal in extra time. Though a few stuck around to continue celebrating, the bar emptied out quickly and reminded me of the Russia I had come to know: barren, quiet, and subdued.
The soccer game revealed to me a part of the culture that I rarely come in contact with. Emotions were high and erratic, but there was a steady and unique happiness to it all. I had been familiar with soccer’s influence and yet, I wholly underestimated the sport’s importance and effect on culture. I realized that it allowed people to take a break from the difficulties or the monotony of daily life and just enjoy the sport. Though complicated in its own right, there is beauty in its simplicity. It ignited rivalries and induced friendships across socio-economic and generational boundaries, excited a crowd of jaded working men, and allowed for the cultural integration of a foreigner.
