There's no reason for me to pledge allegiance to one of Istanbul's big three soccer clubs: Galatasary, Fenerbahce or Beskitas. I didn't go to any games, I can hardly name a single player, and finding English language news on Turkish soccer requires more digging than I'm willing to do. Yet choosing one helps me identify with not just the city itself, but a specific part of the city, and does something that going to the Blue Mosque can't, which is to get a Turkish taxi driver talking animately enough in broken English to convince me that he's taking us straight to where we said and not on some roundabout route for a bigger fare. Which is why I've chosen my squad, sealed my Turkish fate, and just bought the club's patch on eBay to sew onto a grey t-shirt.
I have reasons to chose any of the three. I remember reading in Soccer America way back when, when hardly any Americans played abroad, that Brad Friedel said the Galatasary fans were the absolute craziest of any he'd seen, that they regularly ripped up the seats they sitting on and threw them at their own players, Brad being one of them and, as a goalkeeper, usually the closest to those fans and the flying seats. Had Fenerbahce fans not stormed the field a few months ago to protest the jailing of their chairman, one of Turkey's richest men, resulting in their first two home games being played in an empty stadium, Baleen and I would have seen their league opener with a dedicated fan, a friend of Jimmy Orozco's. Then there's Besiktas. Of all the nights I have slept in Turkey (three), all were in Besiktas. So Beskitas it is.
One, Baleen and my first Turkish breakfast was in a randomly selected cafe in the cute side streets of old Besiktas. It was simple and wonderful and the walls were full of black and white photos of a hundred years of Beskitas greats. Two, they're supposedly the underdogs with the fewest titles of the big three, the smallest budget, and the most fervent fans. Three, whatever they're doing, they fully do it. When Fenerbahce fans made fun of a Besiktas coach's father, a former janitor, the fans unfurled a huge black banner at the next game that read, "We Are All Janitors." And when Pluto got demoted, those same fervent fans unfurled a huge black banner that read, "We Are All Pluto." Aren't we all?
I have reasons to chose any of the three. I remember reading in Soccer America way back when, when hardly any Americans played abroad, that Brad Friedel said the Galatasary fans were the absolute craziest of any he'd seen, that they regularly ripped up the seats they sitting on and threw them at their own players, Brad being one of them and, as a goalkeeper, usually the closest to those fans and the flying seats. Had Fenerbahce fans not stormed the field a few months ago to protest the jailing of their chairman, one of Turkey's richest men, resulting in their first two home games being played in an empty stadium, Baleen and I would have seen their league opener with a dedicated fan, a friend of Jimmy Orozco's. Then there's Besiktas. Of all the nights I have slept in Turkey (three), all were in Besiktas. So Beskitas it is.
One, Baleen and my first Turkish breakfast was in a randomly selected cafe in the cute side streets of old Besiktas. It was simple and wonderful and the walls were full of black and white photos of a hundred years of Beskitas greats. Two, they're supposedly the underdogs with the fewest titles of the big three, the smallest budget, and the most fervent fans. Three, whatever they're doing, they fully do it. When Fenerbahce fans made fun of a Besiktas coach's father, a former janitor, the fans unfurled a huge black banner at the next game that read, "We Are All Janitors." And when Pluto got demoted, those same fervent fans unfurled a huge black banner that read, "We Are All Pluto." Aren't we all?
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