The city of lost souls
It turns out the universe was not joking but sending a warning message. You are going to need two Calathes jerseys. But there was only one on the court, and at the end of the day it was not enough to fill the big gap in the middle.
You win, you lose, all part of the game. But as a fan it was hard to watch the 4. Q unravel as PAO players snatched this one away, out of pure will, they wanted it more and it showed. You can be outcoached, outplayed, but you go down fighting… The fire in a couple on this particular night was no match for the intensity of this PAO team.
But if there was one moment that epitomized it all, it was Lessort stripping Sertaç for an easy 2 at the start of the 4th quarter. But there were more to come and it was brutal to watch.. Up until 51–50 it was anybody’s game and then it wasn’t. Fenerbahçe failed to take the lead when the rhythm of the game dictated and paid for it…
There is a reason I do not like certain teams no matter how well they play… I can not stand the off the ball acting, and the whining, and the flopping and the posing. Just play the game. Not the referees, or the fans, -or the media for that matter. Just play… Mr. Papapetrou could as well join Real Madrid on Sunday so I can cheer for Panathinaikos to my heart’s will… Contrary to what they make you believe how you win and lose matters at the end of the game.
As a basketball fan, I had a great time cheering for this team in the stands this season. Being in the stands is more than anything about a collective experience shared over the love of a game, a team, a club… And it is the ball bouncing around the court that makes it possible. You take your eye off the ball long enough, that collective experience starts fragmenting.
In the game that mattered the most, eerily echoing what was happening on the court, things were unraveling in the stands too. It had the feel of a football game really, with an almost fight between FB fans, ample swearing and an unhealthy fixation over the opponent coach masterfully stoked by the coach himself… Fenerbahçe fans already scattered with a puzzling disorganization over the arena, were further fragmented over their love, or lack thereof, of the game.
Of course we stayed for the next game, and we lost another one. In a game with painful echoes of our own, Olympiacos at least went down fighting.
And finally, shaking one of my trusted models to the core, the organization, starting from the arena gates to the court, was over the board mind bogglingly abysmal. German planning, which we even factored in our own, failed spectacularly and mysteriously. “It is Berlin” Katja, a German friend of my brother, said thoughtfully, the day after, when asked to help revise our model. Then added, “Berlin, a friend of mine once called, The city of lost souls..”
