Different F-word, Same Sentiment
And I mean “Football”.
It was Armenia vs. Portugal yesterday, and, man, I tell you, this can be summed up in one plain and simple “khaydaragoutiun”. Not the match, not the playing. We drew 1:1, which made many people very happy, so I’m glad, but the organisation and logistics were COMPLETELY… what word should I use ? Ridiculous, humiliating, dangerous, insane…
My group and I got there perhaps twenty minutes before the match was to start, so, maybe we were a bit later than we should have been, I admit it, but nothing could justify what we had to go through before we managed to get inside. There was one set of officials or cops or what-have-you checking tickets before the gates leading to the stadium, and then there were the gates themselves, which were closed. Closed. Only one would creek open a bit every once in a while.
Now, we are Armenians, and if there is one thing Armenians have in common all over the world, it is that we genetically are encoded to not be able to form a queue. Such was the case last night. The match had already started, and still the piles of people pushing and pulling remained more or less where they were, aggravating an already-unbearable situation. I cannot forget the face of that little kiddy, barely past one, hoisted on top of somebody’s shoulders so as not to be asphyxiated, crying for his mommy. So cute, yet so scary.
There are tons and tons of tourists and bunches of young sports enthusiasts here because of the Hamahaygagan Khagher. They had come to see the match in their groups, and one bunch of Tashnags broke out into song. Pretty soon, the Hnchag kids started up their own songs, and the two of them tried to outhoarse one-another. Funny and sad at the same time… There were odars around, and I expect most of them were afraid for some reason or other. Many people there did turn back, by the way.
We must have stood like sardines there for a good quarter of an hour before there was any movement at all. Then there was even more pushing and shoving before we could finally make it. We – everybody in our line, really – actually had to climb over that iron railing separating the paths to the different gates. One guy even climbed up a gate, but was stopped by the police before he could get in.
The police were complaining about us, we were complaining about them. Everybody’s complaining, cursing, pushing, pulling, smelling… I had my two hands on my wallet and cellphone the entire time.
We finally managed to make it in. There was another hassle getting into the actual stadium itself. It was SO packed, I can’t begin to describe it, and I felt truly scared that a mob would form and a riot would break out. Really. If it hadn’t been for my brother, I’m sure I would have turned back not too soon after arriving in the first place.
Of course, there were people in our seats, so we kicked them out, but, then again, there were people everywhere, all over the stands, in between them, on top of each other… I did not enjoy the match one bit. We missed our goal anyway, having to hear the thunderous applause and shouting stuck to each other beyond the gates. The Portuguese goal got me down a bit, too, although there was plenty of time and hope that we would score another and win.
Actually, now that I think about it, everybody being happy in the end makes sense because the Portuguese had time to score another goal and win, too, but they couldn’t, so drawing with them is something of an achievement, I suppose. But the organisation of the match was so deplorable that, even if we won, I would have felt like, “Oh, yes, ho-hum, so we won… Get me home now!”
It was Armenia vs. Portugal yesterday, and, man, I tell you, this can be summed up in one plain and simple “khaydaragoutiun”. Not the match, not the playing. We drew 1:1, which made many people very happy, so I’m glad, but the organisation and logistics were COMPLETELY… what word should I use ? Ridiculous, humiliating, dangerous, insane…
My group and I got there perhaps twenty minutes before the match was to start, so, maybe we were a bit later than we should have been, I admit it, but nothing could justify what we had to go through before we managed to get inside. There was one set of officials or cops or what-have-you checking tickets before the gates leading to the stadium, and then there were the gates themselves, which were closed. Closed. Only one would creek open a bit every once in a while.
Now, we are Armenians, and if there is one thing Armenians have in common all over the world, it is that we genetically are encoded to not be able to form a queue. Such was the case last night. The match had already started, and still the piles of people pushing and pulling remained more or less where they were, aggravating an already-unbearable situation. I cannot forget the face of that little kiddy, barely past one, hoisted on top of somebody’s shoulders so as not to be asphyxiated, crying for his mommy. So cute, yet so scary.
There are tons and tons of tourists and bunches of young sports enthusiasts here because of the Hamahaygagan Khagher. They had come to see the match in their groups, and one bunch of Tashnags broke out into song. Pretty soon, the Hnchag kids started up their own songs, and the two of them tried to outhoarse one-another. Funny and sad at the same time… There were odars around, and I expect most of them were afraid for some reason or other. Many people there did turn back, by the way.
We must have stood like sardines there for a good quarter of an hour before there was any movement at all. Then there was even more pushing and shoving before we could finally make it. We – everybody in our line, really – actually had to climb over that iron railing separating the paths to the different gates. One guy even climbed up a gate, but was stopped by the police before he could get in.
The police were complaining about us, we were complaining about them. Everybody’s complaining, cursing, pushing, pulling, smelling… I had my two hands on my wallet and cellphone the entire time.
We finally managed to make it in. There was another hassle getting into the actual stadium itself. It was SO packed, I can’t begin to describe it, and I felt truly scared that a mob would form and a riot would break out. Really. If it hadn’t been for my brother, I’m sure I would have turned back not too soon after arriving in the first place.
Of course, there were people in our seats, so we kicked them out, but, then again, there were people everywhere, all over the stands, in between them, on top of each other… I did not enjoy the match one bit. We missed our goal anyway, having to hear the thunderous applause and shouting stuck to each other beyond the gates. The Portuguese goal got me down a bit, too, although there was plenty of time and hope that we would score another and win.
Actually, now that I think about it, everybody being happy in the end makes sense because the Portuguese had time to score another goal and win, too, but they couldn’t, so drawing with them is something of an achievement, I suppose. But the organisation of the match was so deplorable that, even if we won, I would have felt like, “Oh, yes, ho-hum, so we won… Get me home now!”
posted by Nareg at 8:36 AM
3 Comments:
i'm surprised no one died trying to get in. That was really sad and embarrassing for the country and people! What business do the incompetent police have in checking entry tickets?? That stadium should get its act together and hire trained staff to check tickets and create at least 50 entry sections with lines for future large crowds to flow smoothly and in an organized manner. Is there an authority for Vazgen Sargisian stadium we can complain to? this is a matter that serious attention must be paid to.
Ya, we almost died.... kids and women were crying... someone fainted and got trampled over and the crowd wouldn't even make room for the paramedics to pass...
It's amazing to me how 30,000 armos couldn't peacefully enter a stadium when almost 100,000 people can go in and out a stadium anywhere else in the world!!!
The place to lodge a complaint is the Football Federation of Armenia (FFA), the owners of the stadium. At the moment they don't have a working website, but if you go here www.yerevanunited.com and click on the 'hero email' banner, you can leave a message that they will forward to the FFA.
Abris to our boys again for their outstanding effort, and to Ian Porterfield, who, despite having to go to the UK for further cancer treatment, flew back to Hayastan for the match!
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