Mad for it: From Blackpool to Barcelona: Football’s Greatest Rivalries

The Corriere della Sera man sums up the relations between the Milan giants: ‘On the pitch, between the players, there is great rivalry. But it’s very, let’s say, very “English”: it’s hard competition between professionals, it means a lot, but it’s all done with fair play.’ He makes a telling point: ‘When they changed the name of the San Siro it wasn’t by accident that they re-named it the Giuseppe Meazza stadium.’ Meazza was an Inter hero whose career spanned twenty years until 1947, scoring 283 goals in 408 matches. ‘But he actually played the last two seasons of his career with the rossoneri’, says Costa. ‘He represents both clubs.’ The new San Siro museum has memorabilia and trophies of both teams exhibited together.

The derby may well serve to emphasise the original closeness of the Milanese clubs, but it also points up the peculiar differences in club ‘culture’. The old delineation of working class reds and aristocratic blues may be long gone. But Inter still hang on to that old patina of prestige, the first of the two to win the yellow star. Nowadays, however, without a title win since 1989, it is an illustrious history that weighs ever heavier. ‘Two different realities,’ is how the two institutions are summed up by Federica Zangalli, whose role as football reporter for TeleLombardia, the leading regional TV station, gives her a unique insight. ‘As a club Inter are still very much run like a family firm, dominated by Massimo Moratti. He is a fan, he loves the club. The criticism is that he loves it too much. There is no “wall” dividing the owner from the management who run the club, the team. If he sees a player he likes, he buys him.’ This is why only Inter could have tolerated for so long the Ronaldo saga. Juventus, for example would have cut their losses and offloaded the troublesome star much sooner, as they did with Zidane. ‘Moratti is a lovely man, a romantic, which football needs. But perhaps he is too nice a person for this modern business of football.’

‘The arrival of Berlusconi in 1986 revolutionised Milan. They are now run like a multi-national company. Unlike Inter everyone knows their specific role and little things don’t blow up into great big problems.’ The enormous Berlusconi-era successes – six Serie A titles, three European Cups, three European Super Cups, and two Intercontinental cups – reversed the imbalance in silverware with their neighbours. The rossoneri now have sixteen scudetto to Inter’s thirteen.

‘Whereas at Milan there’s an upbeat approach, at Inter there is this culture of suffering,’ observes Zangalli. ‘It is almost as though it’s in their DNA to suffer. The more they miss out on winning something, the more anxious they become, the fans, the club, so the more pressure there is to win something. It’s a classic vicious circle.’

But former player Corso denies Inter’s is a culture of pessimism. ‘There is a lot of irony, very self-deprecating. It’s always been like that.’ It is perhaps no coincidence that many comics and literary figures are numbered among Inter’s celebrity fans. Away from the ultra-dominated curva, Inter supporters in the costlier seats are notoriously the most impatient in Serie A. ‘Yes, it’s true, they are very negative,’ says Fabio Monti, Il Corriere’s Inter-watcher. ‘If at half-time they are not winning they start to whistle against their own players every time they make a mistake.’ Zangalli agrees: ‘That, of course, makes the players more nervous still. Several players have moved from Inter to Milan in recent seasons, and they all notice the difference arriving at AC.’ Is it just that success breeds success so the Milanisti are more relaxed and patient? ‘No, Inter fans have always been like that,’ bemoans Monti. ‘Even before this barren period they were always more negative, more critical of their side. Perhaps it comes from having such great expectations because of their history, it’s difficult to say,’ he admits with an exasperated shake of the head.

Milan and Inter, the odd couple indeed. If AC are now the laid-back slightly devilish Walter Matthau, then Inter are the neurotic Jack Lemmon, trying too hard and beset by self-doubt. Simplistically speaking, AC Milan’s game classically is founded on a patient passing approach, dubbed by detractors as gioco orrizontale – the square ball. Inter’s is traditionally built around one outstanding world-beater – Sandro Mazzola in the 1960s, Ronaldo in the late-1990s, Vieri now – exploiting the gioco verticale, the direct long ball. Peppino Prisco, the rascally former Inter vice president, once defended the team’s style by referring to the famous 1949 derby victory: ‘square ball five, long ball six.’

Milan sold more than 53,000 season tickets for this current season. Inter, despite not having lifted that championship shield since 1989, and despite having inexplicably thrown it away by losing to Lazio on the final day of last season, sold only a shade fewer. The odd couple look destined to share domestic life for some time yet.

The Mother of All Battles Al Ahly v Zamalek, January 2003 (#ulink_85e9ca9a-f135-51af-a9b0-4e1fe143d066)

In the land of the Pharaohs, behold a ritual as immense as the pyramids yet mysterious as the Sphinx: this is the Al Ahly–Zamalek derby.

In a city as crowded and polluted as modern day Cairo it is easy to lose any sensation that you are in the midst of the world’s oldest civilisation. Cairo houses a quarter of Egypt’s seventy million people alongside the only surviving Wonder of the Ancient World, the Great Pyramids, still standing after four and half millennia.

Cairo is a Middle Eastern city where Christian and Muslim live together in something close to harmony. A city that can be seen from space – not because of any mammoth feat of human ingenuity but thanks to the enormous cloud of pollution that pinpoints it on satellite pictures. Cairo’s exploding population has already engulfed a dozen towns that were once a desert away from the capital, and within twenty years the Great Pyramids will no longer be a coach ride from the city but in the heart of downtown.

While the unrivalled chaos of the last century has left a city coming to grips with its collapsing economy, a youth culture trying to drag its elders into the 21st century, and all the inherent issues that having Libya and Israel as your immediate neighbours brings, one thing has remained a constant – a footballing rivalry that can genuinely claim to dwarf Real v Barça and Boca v River Plate.

Al Ahly v Zamalek goes beyond fanatical. It is part football match, part political rally, part history lesson and generally a good excuse for the locals to hurl rocks at each other. Throughout most of the Egyptian league calendar Al Ahly and Zamalek appear to be no more than successful teams in an average league. Neither club have a huge home ground. Zamalek’s Hassan Helmi stadium holds a shade under 40,000 while the larger club, Al Ahly, paradoxically hosts less than 20,000 in their Mokhtar el Tetch. Yet come derby day the supporters abandon their homes to descend upon Cairo’s 100,000-seater national stadium for Likaa El Kemma – ‘the Meeting of the Best’. What the contest may lack in technical quality and international superstars, it makes up for with unbridled obsession.

For fifty weeks a year, Cairo’s tour guides, cab drivers, strangers in the street, hawkers selling plastic pyramids do little but regurgitate tales about pharaohs and mummies, but for two weeks surrounding the match, any excuse to talk about football is seized. Here, as in many places around the world, English football is an international language, ‘ah…Beckman, Manchesta Uniteed’. But get Egyptians onto the subject of Ahly v Zamalek and you see them as they were decades ago as wide-eyed children.

When no less an expert than Scotland’s World Cup referee and Ahly v Zamalek veteran Hugh Dallas refers to the game as ‘bigger than the Old Firm,’ you know that it has to be a wee bit special. ‘You just don’t realise quite how big it is until you see it for yourself,’ he enthuses. ‘I’ve done 14 or 15 Old Firm matches and even they don’t come close to this. I genuinely believe that this is as big as it gets…’

Football arrived in Egypt during British rule a century ago. Although none of the English clubs survive from that era, Zamalek was formed to represent the expatriates of the time. Originally founded in 1911 as Kaser-el-nil (Place on the Nile), in 1923 the club was renamed Al Mukhatalat, meaning ‘Mixed’, signifying Egyptians and Europeans playing together, representing the ideal of Egypt as a conduit between Europe and Arabia. Meanwhile, Al Ahly was founded in 1909, their name meaning ‘national’, the club coming to represent students and the rising nationalist movement that craved an independent Egyptian republic.

In World War II, tensions were rising to unprecedented levels. Although both clubs had tried to retain an apolitical veneer, when King Farouk, who all too frequently used football as his PR tool, leant his considerable patronage to Mukhatalat there could be no denying the club’s political allegiances. When Farouk was deposed in 1952, the league was suspended and the club was forced to change its name once again – reflecting its affluent roots, to Zamalek, after Cairo’s wealthy island district in the Nile. The political seesaw having tipped its way, Ahly appointed the newly founded Republic of Egypt’s new ruler General Gamal Abdal Nasser as club president in 1954.

Years of bitter struggle followed. As Zamalek strived to keep up with Ahly’s dominance, the rivalry became less a sporting contest and more about politics. And just to sharpen things up, Ahly established a permanent home for themselves – in the heart of the Zamalek district. The enemies were now sharing an island less than three miles square.

Events reached crisis point in 1966 when a game between the two was halted as the army stormed the stadium. In the ensuing riot over 300 people were injured and an unspecified number killed. Just a few months later the Arab–Israeli Six-Day War broke out and the league was suspended.

Normal service wouldn’t be resumed until well after 1973’s Yom Kippur War, Ahly immediately re-establishing their superiority, winning seven of the next eight titles. In fact, when Ismaily sneaked the title last year it was only the fourth time since the Yom Kippur War that one of the Cairo giants hadn’t been crowned champions. During this time Ahly had not only won eighteen out of twenty-seven league titles, but had also secured three African Champions Leagues and four African Cup Winners’ Cups. As the century closed, Ahly received almost unanimous support across the continent when they were voted African Team of the Century. No guesses as to which was the only club to challenge the vote.

But who supports which club and why? Perhaps surprisingly, religion has no place in this rivalry. Even veteran fans claim not to be able to see an obvious divide between Muslims and Christians. Walid Darwish, a regular Egyptian football observer and key figure in Ibrahim Said’s transfer to Everton, is stuck to find a real pattern in club loyalties over the last twenty-five years. ‘The ’50s, ’60s, and ’70s were about politics, not sport. Back then families had a clear choice – Nationalist or Royalist, and so Ahly or Zamalek, but it was never religious. Today’s interest is purely sporting. Traditional family loyalties certainly go back to the politics, and the tradition is for children to grow up supporting the team of their parents, regardless of where they live.

‘The older generation has moved on from the hatred that divided our country. Egypt is a liberal society by Middle Eastern standards and even those that were in the middle of the political fighting are enjoying the relative stability, so they don’t want to live in the past. The only people that still contribute to any political divisions are the press, because for the last forty years almost each and every one of the papers has had a visible loyalty to one of the camps. These days young Egyptians are deprived of any proper political orientation, so the historic meaning to the Ahly–Zamalek rivalry is likely to be forgotten. They cheer their team and hate the others, because that is what they do. It is a tradition embedded in the Egyptian consciousness that makes us classify everyone in the simplest terms: man–woman, Muslim–Christian, northern–southern, Ahlawy–Zamalkawy. My guess is that we will soon have this club classification on our national ID.’

While today’s fans enjoy a relative truce in hostilities, two players have proved an exception to the rule: Hossam and Ibrahim Hassan. The twins have dominated Egyptian football for nearly fifteen years. Hossam is the most celebrated player in Egypt’s history, a 157-cap and 76-goal international, inspirational leader, immense physical presence and supreme poacher, while the less prolific Ibrahim, a full-back, has on numerous occasions provoked the ire of the Egyptian FA. Two years ago they became the first players for a generation to cross the great divide when they quit Ahly for Zamalek. The transfer started when Ahly offered Hossam just a one-year contract extension, while pressing Ibrahim to retire altogether. With both out of contract, there wasn’t even a fee involved when Zamalek came knocking. The double move provoked a reaction in the red half of Cairo compared to which Sol Campbell and Luis Figo both got off lightly. Death threats are taken seriously in this part of the world, and the twins still have to be accompanied by armed guards to this day.

In El-Fishawi (the cafe that claims not to have closed once since opening 300 years ago) waiter Kareem still takes it personally. ‘We loved them. We would have done anything for them. They moved to Europe – we were happy for them; they returned – we were happy for them. If they had wanted to retire we would have given them a party and lined the streets. But to move to Zamalek? Unforgivable. Like selling the Sphinx. Even for money you do not betray your mother like that,’ he says.

‘People started talking about the old rivalries of politics and nationalism for the first time in years,’ comments EgyptianSoccer.com’s founding editor, Mohammad Safi. ‘In footballing terms it was such a waste of time. Ibrahim is past his best and Hossam’s touch has gone. Besides they have always been too much trouble.

‘A few years ago in Morocco, Ibrahim tried to incite the home fans by giving them the finger. It may not seem much to a European, but with North African tensions the way they are, that is just plain crazy. He also stormed Ahly’s directors box a while back. When they crossed the divide things got even worse. During last year’s 6–1 victory for Al Ahly, it was madness out there. The Ahly fans had really turned on them. I mean really vicious, but the twins didn’t care. After the game Hossam waved his shoes at them, which is a huge insult over here.’

One person better placed than most to judge the defection is former Ahly hero now of Everton, Ibrahim Said. ‘I can’t say I was happy, but to me it was a professional decision and I understood. Good players will always be in demand and some will end up making such moves for personal reasons. You can’t change it, but you can beat them to show them the error of their ways!’

Things have spilled over on the pitch for years. In 1996 local referee Kadry Azeem caused chaos by not disallowing a legitimate Ahly goal – after a quick conference Zamalek walked off in a huff, just the latest in a long line of player walkouts, the most serious being in the early ’70s when an Ahly exit resulted in the most destructive football-related violence since 1958. Today, with no Egyptian referee daft enough to want to stand in the middle, a who’s who of Europe’s top whistle-blowers have been drafted in for the occasion. Not that the players seem any more respectful of imported officials. In 1998 France’s Mark Bata made his mark when, five minutes into the game, Ayman Abdel Aziz hacked down the then-Ahly hero Ibrahim Hassan from behind. Bata didn’t hesitate to show Ayman a red card, and he left the pitch after a few minutes. The trouble was that, yet again, the entire Zamalek squad and management followed him. Ahly were awarded the match 2–0 and Zamalek received the heaviest punishment in the league’s history – a nine-point deduction, a two-year ban for their coach and bans for players Sabry and Khaled of a year and three months respectively.

One man though has managed the improbable task of not upsetting anyone: Hugh Dallas. ‘The first time I refereed the match was a bit spicy,’ he recalls. ‘It was the first match since the brothers (Hossam and Ibrahim Hassan) had made the move and I walked straight into it. The players were fine, but the fans were a little more lively. I did have to stop the game a couple of times to remove rocks from the pitch. Fortunately the field is quite a way from the crowd so I wasn’t too concerned for my own safety and I’d had a good game, which helps.’ It did: the Egyptians loved him. ‘He was a credit to referees everywhere,’ says Walid Darwish. ‘He is the only one that we have actively sought to bring back. Coming into this atmosphere is so tough, but he looked after both matches almost perfectly. After every derby, players and coaches give interviews complaining about the officials, but after Mr Dallas’s games no one could find a bad word to say about him.’

This year our very own ninja-ref Uriah Rennie has been given his chance. When his appointment was announced the Cairo media pounced on his reputation, portraying him as a cross between Wyatt Earp and Bruce Lee. The papers ran pictures of him manhandling Roy Keane, and TV pundits revelled in his status as a karate blackbelt. It all adds to the excitement of the build-up.

It is difficult to imagine an event with a heavier police presence. Three hours before kick-off a double ring of policemen in full riot gear surrounds the stadium. Once inside, at the end of every row sits a policeman with helmet, baton and shield. Soldiers guard every exit and half a dozen dog teams patrol the running-track separating the fenced-in crowd from the pitch. But as a show of strength it’s deceptive: most of the uniforms seem more concerned with smiling for the camera, smoking and watching the game than getting stuck into crowd control. Only when I try to take a photograph of a teenager with blood gushing from his head do they intervene in an attempt to prevent such an image reaching the world’s media.

This year’s event is apparently a little quieter than usual. Many Zamalek fans evidently feel too humiliated to show up following last season’s historic 6–1 defeat. Given that Zamalek won the African Champions League in December it seems incredible that they carry such a defeatist air. When the teams emerge their body language mirrors their fans. Ahly players and supporters strut into the match as if the result is a foregone conclusion. When Zamalek trot out they look like they believe it too.

‘You have to understand that winning the league is the only thing that counts in Egypt,’ Nile TV’s Mohammad Rahim explains. ‘The Champions League is a bonus, cups are good, derby wins are important, but if a coach wants to keep his job, it is the league or he’s out. Ahly have won all twelve games this season and with just fourteen to go most people feel the league is already over. If Zamalek look like they are beaten it is because as far as the league is concerned, they probably are.’

As the game approaches it is bedlam in the red half, and the noise is near deafening. You would have thought that not having a roof on the stadium would lessen the atmosphere, but such is the incessant din of the Cairo traffic that the crowd has to give its all to be heard. ‘You stand in the tunnel and are deafened by the noise,’ Ibrahim Said recalls. ‘You get goose-pimples and a sickening nervous feeling through anticipation, knowing that for the fans and players nothing else matters or exists in the world. It’s wonderful! Even as a child I have never missed a derby. There were times when my father would not let me go, but I would sneak out and go anyway. You are in awe of the event and its atmosphere. It is impossible for impartial observers to understand what it means to be a part of it and to play in front of 100,000 people. I have been fortunate to score in these games, and the feeling is indescribable. There are very few better feelings. I’ve got the taste for derbies now, so I hope I get the chance to play in April’s Merseyside derby.’

Right from kick-off it is evident that despite instructions from their Brazilian coach to play something close to a natural game, the Zamalek players’ priority is to avoid at all costs a repeat of last year. Despite their apparent inferiority complex, Zamalek somehow manage to score after five minutes when El Hady finishes off a counter attack. But within a matter of minutes Rennie seals his fate as the Zamalkawy’s new voodoo figure by awarding an obvious yet still frenziedly-contested penalty to Ahly. After a flurry of yellow cards for dissent, Gouda’s penalty sends El Sayed the wrong way.

With both sides surrendering possession with a frequency that would make England’s Euro 2000 side blush, no real pattern emerges. Individuals display odd flashes of skill but nothing sustained. Belal and Gilberto continue to squander chance after chance in front of the Zamalek goal and are duly punished when another counter allows Abdelwahed to restore the lead.

It is unseasonably cool and the match is played at high tempo, but even as Ahly make it 2–2 you wonder if they can keep it up. Sadly the answer is no. From here on the crowd provide the most entertainment. Both sides waste far too many chances to report, making Rennie’s performance arguably the best of the match. Managing to keep control as players writhe around on the floor and dive for penalties is remarkable given his notorious hair-trigger in the Premiership.

After the game several people approach me – the only European journalist in the press box – to apologise for the match. They offer excuses such as both sides were missing key players. Zamalek are without the out-of-favour Hassans and ‘the Egyptian Zidane’, Emam, while Ahly lack Bebo, who scored four in last year’s match.

But few big games ever live up to the billing and no doubt by the time the next Likaa El Kemma comes round, tonight’s will have gone down in legend as another classic. After all, who would ever doubt the claims of a nation with 5,000 years of storytelling history, or a referee from Motherwell?

The One That Got Away Southampton v Portsmouth, March 2004 (#ulink_ecf7a9c0-d0bb-5815-98da-42181eba3d9f)

It’s the South Coast Derby that hardly ever happens. And when it does, ancient maritime rivalries get out of hand…

Portsmouth fan Steve Woodhead grimaces at the map hanging in the hallway of his home, little more than a decent defensive punt from Fratton Park. Dated 1829, it shows the town and surrounding area. In a spidery, old-world hand are scrawled the following words: County of Southampton. ‘I sent off for that,’ says Woodhead contemptuously, as if he’s been palmed off with something contravening the Trade Descriptions Act. ‘I only keep it because it matches the wallpaper.’

It may be a throwaway remark, but the devil is in the detail. Scratch the surface and this snapshot illuminates a deep-seated set of local grievances, existing not only geographically, but on cultural, social, and economic grounds. For many Portsmouth fans, the insularity resulting from the city’s island status and their perception of a raw deal from Hampshire down the centuries have driven a wedge between themselves and neighbouring Southampton – or ‘skates’ and ‘scummers’, to give them their disrespective sobriquets.

Skate, slang for sailor, supposedly has its roots in the fevered imaginings of how naval types might take the concept of fisherman’s friend to the nth degree as they whiled away lonely months at sea. Slightly less far-fetched is the derivation of the term Scummers. While details may be sketchy, the most popular version centres on a dock strike across the two cities by workers from the same firm. As the Portsmouth faction stuck to its guns, the ‘Southampton Company Union men’ swallowed their pride and went back to work – one acronym later and their brothers in arms had become the Scum. However fishy these tales, the schism between these old maritime towns – one Royal Navy, the other merchant – just seventeen miles apart, has become, for Pompey fans in particular, a chasm when it comes to football.

In the Artillery Arms, favoured watering hole for many of Portsmouth’s 600-strong Internet supporters’ group, the Pompey Anorak Brigade, Woodhead, a founding editor of the now-defunct fanzine Frattonise, takes a deep breath and lets me have it with both barrels. ‘The rest of Hampshire repudiates Portsmouth,’ he says. ‘Southampton might as well be the county town, even though it’s officially Winchester. The rivalry predates football by a couple of hundred years. Portsmouth has always been subsidiary to Southampton – until 1835, they owned the docks – and there’s always been that thing of the navy having bred Portsmouth. The rise of the town from a collection of villages was at odds with the tenor of the rest of the area.’

Woodhead believes the city’s history of ‘breeding people for war – with the blessing of the Crown for the most part’ is almost woven into the DNA of anyone born on Portsea Island. Its status as an island club makes Pompey unique in the English game. He admits to being simultaneously ‘proud and horrified’ of the more vociferous side of Portsmouth’s resolutely working-class support, and he’s not alone.

‘Aesthetically, there’s not much to the place. I wish it were more cultural. I can’t stress that insularity and tribalism enough. But there’s affection, big-arsed shaven-headed blokes will cuddle you. It’s cheerful and violent. It’s the end of the line – us against the world, out on our own little limb. It’s a Portsmouth attitude. You trust your family, the people you went to school with and grew up with in your own little area, and no one else. There are a lot of parallels with the East End.’

Attempts are being made to gentrify the area. On the seafront, the Gunwharf Quays development has a cinema multiplex, retail outlets, bars and restaurants galore – to be capped off by the £8 million Spinnaker Tower project. But for all the facelifts, the inescapable feeling is of a city with a distinct edge. Rough-and-ready Paulsgrove, to which many Pomponians moved following the huge swathe of postwar slum clearance, made the headlines in August 2000 for the residents’ week-long protest against ‘paedophils’ (sic) in the wake of the Sarah Payne name-and-shame campaign in the News of the World.

Crime writer Graham Hurley is a former producer of TV’s The Big Match, a resident of Portsmouth since 1977, who worked in Southampton for twenty years. The hero of his books, DI Joe Faraday, is based at Fratton nick. Hurley describes Portsmouth as ‘a gift’ to the novelist, a diamond in the rough. ‘Southampton is much less distinctive,’ he says. ‘It’s wealthier and has, by and large, attracted a better quality of business. Portsmouth’s lack of wealth has led to a particular kind of culture – it has no side. It doesn’t matter what you do, if you’re a brain surgeon, judge, novelist. People are not impressed. You’re judged on what you are, and I think that’s increasingly rare.’

Pride is not peculiar to the eastern end of the M27, however, as Nick Illingsworth, editor of Southampton fanzine The Ugly Inside, explains. ‘Southampton has had its bad years. The city was built on the shipping industry, and because of that it has a very cosmopolitan feel. But it went into steep decline in the 1970s as the great liners slumped. Throughout the ’80s, there was desolation, but the spirit of Southampton shone through, a spirit born in the days after the Titanic went down with the loss of so many local lives, and cemented in the Blitz as the town was flattened. That spirit resurfaced in the 1990s. We have a very open outlook on life. We don’t go for the insular mentality of our neighbours, but we are fiercely loyal and willing to stand up and be counted.’