Fútbol or baseball?
That was our dilemma.
Although Esteli was only an overnight stop on our itinerary to break a long journey from Granada to Somoto Canyon, we had a couple of hours to kill in the evening, and the town was hosting not one but two professional sporting events. So, what game should we attend? Esteli’s baseball team, Tren del Norte, was playing Gigantes de Rivas, while FC Real Esteli was taking on Diriangén FC from Diriamba. And I had not heard any of these names before.
Help came from a staff worker at the hostel.
“Fútbol, of course!” He replied enthusiastically and pointed to the stadium just a couple of blocks from the hostel. “Baseball is our sport # 1, but tonight is just a regular season game. You should go and see a fútbol final!”
As it turned out, we were in town for the first leg of the final of Liga Primera de Nicaragua between two archrivals and the most successful Nicaraguan fútbol clubs. Both teams finished at the top of the standings and were now set to play two final matches of Apertura to determine a champion (In Nicaragua, like in Mexico, two winners are crowned each year, and the season consists of two parts: Apertura and Clausura).
Three hours before the starting whistle, we were in front of the stadium, and it was a surreal sight. The plaza by the stadium was bookended by monuments of Comandante Francisco “El Zorro” Rivera and Augusto Sandino, and FSLN’s red-and-black flags greatly outnumbered the Nicaraguan national blue-white-blue flags. The grinning face of Hugo Chavez was also staring at us from a nearby wall mural. We were deep in Sandinista territory.
Game tickets were still available and had very simple two-tier pricing: 100 cordobas (USD $2.5) and 200 cordobas (USD $5). We went for more expensive tickets. At these prices, why not? Also, because this was the final, I even decided to buy the home team’s jersey at the team store. Red and white stripes reminded me of Atletico Madrid’s colors, and on the back, the jersey had a logo of the most recognized product of Nicaragua - Flor de Caña rum. So, if years from now, I forget what country Real Estelí is from, this ad will surely remind me that it is Nicaragua.
The jersey purchase came with a gift of an extra ticket to the game. But because we already had our tickets, we tried to give it away before the game. Yet, every time we approached someone, people became spooked and thought we were new scalpers in town selling tickets. In the end, we just placed the extra ticket on the pavement, and minutes later, one lucky girl “discovered” it.
Inside, the stadium was cozy, and with 5,000 capacity there was absolutely not a single bad seat in the house. But what was very surprising is that instead of natural grass, the pitch had an artificial turf (that is usually associated with higher injury risks), and the stadium did not even have a scoreboard! How do you even know what the score is? What if you are late to the game and don’t know if any of the teams have already scored? Do you just ask someone at the game? Do you check online? We had more questions than answers as we were settling in our seats.
To say that the game was intense is not to say much. I don’t know if every game of the Nicaraguan league is so heated, but the game was absolutely bananas. A lot of physical contact, fouls, pushing and shoving, yelling, etc. On at least several occasions, opponents were just slapping each other in the face, all without even triggering a yellow card. You could tell that there was a fierce rivalry between these two teams, and there was more than just a simple trophy on the line.
Real Esteli’s active supporters, called Barra Kamikaze (“Kamikaze Gang”), occupied one of the stands behind the goal and supported the team non-stop throughout the game with chants, songs, and pyrotechnics. The guest fans were located on the opposite side, and equally passionately supported their team. We were not sitting in the ultras part of the stadium, but even in the general public section, the support was fiery and relentless. I’ve never heard the words “puta” and “mierda” uttered so many times in a matter of 90 minutes. Even little kids yelled obscenities and flipped birds, which I found both hilarious and disturbing. This was wild! The perimeter of the pitch was guarded by special force cops armed with riot gear ready to jump into action, if needed.
As players were pushing and shoving each other, Julia wanted to know what money they were making for playing the game so intensely. The Internet had the answer. Apparently, FC Real Estelí has one of the highest salaries in the league with local Nicaraguan players earning up to $800 a month. Not much for a professional athlete by U.S. standards, but in a country where the average monthly salary does not exceed $200, that’s decent pay. Seated not far from us, I spotted several well-dressed young women with heavy makeup intently watching the game. If I got the type correctly (from my time attending soccer games in my native Belarus and seeing similar types of fans in the stands), these were “trophy” girlfriends or wives of the players.
The game ended in a 1:1 tie, raising stakes for the second game to be played in Diriamba several days later even higher. As the game clock was winding down, nobody headed for the exit, and even after the ref blew the final whistle, people remained in their seats. Due to security concerns, the home team’s fans were kept inside the stadium for at least half an hour, allowing the visiting team’s fans to board their bus and leave the stadium. The locals knew this ritual and obediently waited in their seats until they were allowed to be let out.
Several days later, while camping overnight on top of a volcano, I got Internet reception on my phone and learned that Real Esteli lost in the second leg 3-2 in a very dramatic fashion at the end of the game. Diriangén FC won the title. I broke news to Julia as we were making our way down the volcano at sunrise, and she thought that our fútbol chapter in Nicaragua was closed. But we were not done yet. Driving from Leon towards Ometepe Island later that day, the road took us straight through Diriamba. As a newly minted supporter of Real Esteli, I had a real kamikaze move up in my sleeve. Ignoring all safety precautions and momentarily ditching my sense of self-preservation, I drove into town, parked the car right by Diriamba’s town hall, donned the red-and-white striped jersey, and jumped out of the car.
Julia had exactly 30 seconds to snap pictures of me posing by the enemy’s town hall before the locals had a chance to spot me and beat me up.
I escaped intact and lived to tell the tale. Vamos Real Estelí!
