“Are you coming with us on Friday?” was the innocent-sounding question I asked my uncle and nephew. As always, time, place and context determine the weight of a question, comment or conversation. They had just lost their daughter and sister. Me my niece. We are an indispensable member of the family. That hyper-intelligent and cheerful thirty-something who had his life taken completely unexpectedly. She who had taunted our yellow-black family with jokes, but secretly always hoped that things would finally work out. That we would come back up again. If only because the state of mind of our family largely depends on the fortunes of our club.
“Yes, we are coming,” they replied in unison. Those four simple words moved me. I let them sink in for a moment and realized that those two men, whom I care about so much, apparently find support and relief in our club at one of the most difficult times in their lives.
Yes. We. To go. Along. Four simple words with an incredible amount of meaning.
Hope in anxious days
Unflattering words are generally written about football supporters. And that is too often unjustified. Most football supporters are a flag on a mud barge. They form one of the few collective bastions in communities eaten away by individualism. They are – often – the hope in anxious days of solidarity and brotherhood. And even empathy.
Supporters during the Roda – Cambuur match. — © Bas Quaedvlieg
No, not always. And yes, there are horrible exceptions. Certainly. But it would be good to shed more light on the healing effect of feeling at home somewhere, of healthy community spirit and of standing up for each other. Or maybe even understand a little more before you write, talk or judge about it. You are invited. Yes, you can come too.
It is there on that stand where many beautiful things happen. Where memories are made and passed on from generation to generation. Where you help each other and stand up for each other, even for the person who is just standing there shuffle. Where you save a spot for the one who is late, but was there when all the others weren’t there. Where it doesn’t matter whether you are a director or a sewer cleaner. Where self-mockery wins every game anyway. Where you run into each other’s arms – and therefore know what someone smells like, but not what someone’s name is. Where you learn to win and, above all, lose. Where you celebrate together and suffer together. It is that enclave in which the collective usually weighs more heavily than the supremely powerful ‘me me me me and the rest can suffocate’.
Working class
Isn’t that romanticization? Doubtless. But even with a touch of football romance, it is still a thousand times closer to reality than the image of the permanently intoxicated and drunken monsters for whom we football supporters are regularly mistaken. Anyone who does not yet dare to enter the stadium, but can find the well-known streaming service via the remote control, would do well to watch an episode of Sunderland ‘Til I die to watch. He will see similarities.
Born into a working-class community, supported by a loyal following and almost destroyed by crazed adventurers. The club from the English port and former mining town of Sunderland is slightly larger than Roda and has been relegated not to one division, but even to two. At Sunderland, however, no (near) owner was ever expelled from the stadium by the supporters. Years ago, the Limburg documentary maker and presenter Leon Verdonschot had the brilliant idea to make a documentary about Roda. If he had done that, he would have been world famous by now. Sunderland, eat your heart out.
For better or worse
The serious argument is that beautiful communities in which joys and sorrows are shared, where tradition and rituals, flags, scarves and songs play a role from birth to death, are worth cherishing. And to strengthen. Even if it just seems to be a game where 22 men run after a ball.
At Roda we honor that community. In all its facets, phases of life and moods. From cheerful and optimistic to angry and dissatisfied. From a region that was and is being hit, but does not give up. Who continues and fights on. For our club, our region and, if necessary, also for our hospital. For young and old. For those who are there and who are no longer there. We don’t sing for nothing’Please celebrate everyone.
So “yes, we’re going along.” Of course we’ll come along. Shoulder to shoulder. Together. That’s how we do it in Parkstad. This is how we teach our children. Holding each other up when times are tough, encouraging each other to keep going. To reach as high as possible. To rise again. If we succeed, we will shed a tear or two. For us, for them and for her.
Go Roda!
Also read: Bas Sibum does not hang statements from Groningers in the dressing room: ‘They have said all kinds of things and above all think they are very good. Great, do it’
