Opinion
All words and images by Gabriel Wisniewski
For Coritiba fan and photographer Gabriel Wisniewski, football has never been just a sport—it has been a companion through every stage of his life. Home and away, through heartbreak and glory, he has followed Coxa with unwavering devotion, capturing unforgettable moments through his lens. But few experiences could compare to Coritiba beating Amazonas FC 2–1 and securing their long-awaited return to Brazil’s top flight.
What follows is Gabriel’s personal, emotional reflection, a testament to what it means to love Coritiba.
More Than Just a Trophy
More than just a trophy on the shelf, being champions of Série B is a recognition of the absolute dedication of the players, the coaching staff, and—above all—the Coritiba fans. Over the last two years, we went through difficult times and setbacks, moments when we could have lost hope. But that didn’t happen. Whenever the team needed us, the fans were there. We gave everything for the history and tradition of what it means to be Coritiba.
The Team Who Wore the Shirt With Honour
The team also responded—not only with results, but by truly honouring our green and white jersey. Players like Sebastian Gomez, Josué, Pedro Morisco, Lucas Ronier, Maicon, and Jacy were key figures in achieving our goal.
Knowing that we were champions with our biggest rival finishing in second place, and remaining undefeated in the three derbies we played this year, makes everything taste even sweeter. It’s definitely among the best feelings. Seeing my team lift the trophy brings me true pride and an indescribable sense of hope.
A Fan’s Mosaic of Memories
The truth is, I can’t choose a single “favourite memory.” A fan’s passion is a mosaic.
Every time I stepped onto the Couto Pereira pitch with my family, with the people I love; every time I celebrated a goal with strangers; every time I got showered with beer; every time I took a photo with that passionate gaze—those were moments I will never forget.
Back to the Elite — And Ready for More
Now, we are back where we belong: the elite of Brazilian football. The title we won in 2025 is just the beginning of the redemption arc for the most traditional team in Paraná.
Bring on 2026.
In 2025, the unity between players and fans reminded us, more than ever, that Coritiba is no joke. And the championship title brought a mixture of relief, a feeling of mission accomplished, and a renewed ambition to see the club achieve much more. The celebration was well-deserved by everyone—an achievement built by many hands.
As our beloved team anthem says:
“Meu Coritiba é campeão do povo, ó glorioso, como é bom te ver campeão!”
All words and images by Gabriel Wisniewski
Latest
All images by Jesse Ilan Kornbluth
Vancouver Whitecaps survived Son, nine-man extra time, and a penalty shootout to earn their first-ever spot in Major League Soccer’s Western Conference final — and photographer Jesse Kornbluth was there to witness it all.
Jesse Kornbluth spent all of Saturday in Vancouver, walking with supporters, slipping into pubs, photographing the buildup, and then capturing every minute of a semi-final that wouldn’t sit still. The next morning, over coffee and rain-soaked windows, he tried to make sense of it.
The day after the semi-final, Jesse Kornbluth still looks like someone trying to make sense of what he witnessed. He spent Saturday moving through Vancouver, wandering downtown, drifting in and out of pubs, walking with supporters on their way to BC Place, camera in hand, soaking up every detail. Then he was on the pitch, behind the net, along the touchline, photographing a match that stretched all the way to penalties and refused to follow any script.
It’s Wild to Think About
As the rain drummed against the windows and we settled into the warmth of the café, Jesse leaned forward, already smiling, eager to relive it. From the way he talks, you can tell he isn’t just recounting a match; he’s replaying an entire day.
He remembers the streets slowly filling, supporters finding each other in pubs, voices rising as kickoff approached, and the sense that Vancouver was carrying something bigger than a game. Then came the chaos itself: Los Angeles FC fighting back from 2–0 down, Vancouver surviving extra time with nine men and multiple shots crashing off the woodwork, and the weight of 53,957 people refusing to give up. Jesse tells it all like someone who still can’t quite believe he got to witness it.
“It’s wild to think about,” he says, half laughing. “Five or six years ago, I feel as if the MLS and its fans were still trying to figure out what it was.”
He pauses, searching for the right phrasing.
“Last night, it felt fully formed.”
The Heartbeat of a Matchday Across the City
Before the goals, before the madness, there was the build-up, the streets, the voices, the sense that something was gathering. “It could have been a derby day in the UK,” Jesse says. “Pubs were packed with Whitecaps supporters, (friendly) ultras marching to the stadium. The whole city was buzzing.” He loved that the match didn’t exist in isolation. It spilt into sidewalks, crosswalks, and storefronts. That mattered.
“Something that I think detracts from the football culture in North America is that so many stadiums are situated well outside city limits,” he says. “The Whitecaps play in the heart of downtown, you can feel the heartbeat of a matchday across the city.”
The Passion and Dedication of the Fans
Once the game started, Vancouver looked like a team prepared for its moment. In the 39th minute, Yohei Takaoka launched a goal kick three-quarters of the field to Emmanuel Sabbi, who made it 1-0. Then, just before halftime, Mathías Laborda made it 2–0, and BC Place was electric.
When Jesse starts talking about the night, he doesn’t go straight to tactics, goals, or refereeing decisions. He goes to the people. “What impressed me most? Two things,” he says. “First, the passion and dedication of the fans. From the pre-match pub culture to the organised march to the stadium.” Then he shifts to what unfolded on the grass. “Second: the quality and pace of play on the pitch. It’s exciting to see some of the rising ballers like Sebastian Berhalter mixing it up with world-class veterans like Sonny and Müller.” For him, that blend, young MLS players holding their own against global stars, said as much about the league’s growth as the final score did.
The Entire Stadium Stood up and Held its Breath
Son Heung-min, of course, refused to let Vancouver coast, scoring in the 60th minute and again deep into stoppage time, with a sublime free kick that forced extra time and flipped the energy across the stadium from confident to anxious. Then came the red card to Tristan Blackmon, and the injury to Belal Halbouni after all substitutions had already been used. Suddenly, Vancouver had nine players, and more than 50,000 people willing them to hold on. LAFC hit the post three times. Lloris and Takaoka traded saves. It felt like football in its most unfiltered form: desperate, tense, unpredictable.
Jesse smiles when recalling the talent involved. “The last time I saw Sonny in person was lifting the Europa League trophy for Spurs in Bilbao,” he says. “He’s the type of player that no matter who you root for, you’re going to respect. Last night he put on a masterclass, and the Whitecaps fans gave him his flowers.” Müller, too, left an impression. “I’d never seen Müller live,” Jesse says, “but now I understand how he got his nickname, ‘Raumdeuter’ (‘interpreter of space’). Every time he cut towards the middle, the entire stadium stood up and held its breath.”
By the time penalties were reached, nobody in the stadium was breathing normally. Son, who had dragged LAFC back into the match almost single-handedly, stepped up and missed, and suddenly the momentum shifted. It felt like the entire building leaned forward. Then Mathías Laborda, already with a goal to his name, walked toward the spot. One strike, past Hugo Lloris, and it was over — 4–3 on penalties. For a moment, there was silence, a collective exhale of disbelief and relief, and then BC Place exploded. And just like that, Vancouver had reached the Western Conference final for the first time since joining MLS in 2011.
This City Will Never Forget
When the conversation shifts from the match to the city itself, Jesse looks out toward the wet pavement outside. It’s a great place, but it could do with a little less rain,” he says. “A big city with a small town feel: Friendly people, walkable, and sports-obsessed. A perfect city for a football team to be fair.”
And he’s certain the culture is real, not manufactured. “I think football culture in North America varies city-by-city, but Van City has got to be one of the more robust football cities I’ve been to in the US or Canada.”
There’s still another match to play — San Diego FC, but it doesn’t feel like anyone in Vancouver is rushing ahead. The semi-final isn’t fading. The memories of that night are everywhere: in phones, in photos, in group chats, in the soreness of vocal cords. The Whitecaps have been here before, in 2015 and 2017, and didn’t advance. This time, they did. Despite finishing the match with nine players and running on fumes, they did it.
As Jesse finishes his coffee, the rain picks up again. He grins, almost to himself, like someone who knows he got to witness something that this city will never forget.
All images by the wonderful Jesse Ilan Kornbluth
To follow Jesse on social media, please click here
All words and images by Jonas Zöller
“I take one last look into the cylindrical bowl and blend into the blue-and-white crowd.“
A Farewell Filled with Emotion
My last match in Buenos Aires. My last match in Argentina. As I head toward Avellaneda this afternoon, the thought alone makes me emotional. I think about the coming weeks in the rainforest and in Florianópolis, where I won’t have the chance to see a game, and about the past two weeks full of football in Buenos Aires — weeks that shaped me culturally and socially far more than I ever expected. From the first previa at San Lorenzo to La Bombonera, I feel like I understand the football culture here a little better now: how people build their social lives around their club, and what a complete, all-encompassing role it plays in Argentina. Above all, I think about the hospitality, humility, and helpfulness I encountered in every stadium.
Crossing the Bridge to Racing
After I cross the bridge, the evening at Racing begins almost symbolically for all these experiences. The floodlit streets around the stadium are lined with open fires where people are grilling, and the now-familiar smell of choripán follows me as I walk toward a small bar at the foot of the Estadio Presidente Perón.
Inside, the familiar routine kicks in. I’m identified as a gringo within a second and immediately approached by the bartender. He asks if I still need a ticket, we talk about football, exchange stickers, and he seems oddly proud when I order a Fernet.
By the time I head toward the entrance, it’s already dark. One last match under floodlights — somehow fitting. The way to the gate is lined with hundreds of police in riot gear, a level of security I haven’t seen in Buenos Aires until now. I can’t quite make sense of it, especially since there are no away fans allowed today.
Inside El Cilindro
Even as I step inside the stadium, El Cilindro already feels special. The wide, shallow steps of the completely circular ground are washed in blue and white light reflecting off the wet concrete. Between the stands and the pitch, small football fields are painted onto the ground, where kids are already playing two hours before kick-off.
I sit down on one of the upper steps and watch everything unfold as the stadium slowly wakes up. By now, I know the rhythms of the Argentine hinchas, yet I still disappear into the atmosphere the moment the teams walk out.
An Uneventful Match, A Meaningful Moment
A few minutes in, I realise that the match itself is incredibly uneventful, and it feels like everyone here already has their minds on the upcoming Copa Libertadores semifinal against Flamengo. The kids keep playing football, people around me are talking and laughing, interrupted only by the occasional insults thrown at the referees.
The match ends in a scoreless draw — unsurprisingly. Still, a strangely content feeling stays with me. After the final whistle, I take one last look into the cylindrical bowl and blend into the blue-and-white crowd.
Gracias, Buenos Aires.
Gracias, Argentina.
You can follow Jonas on social media by clicking here
Photographer Jorge Barna reflects on the history, emotion, and unshakeable devotion that define his love for Manchester United.
For Manchester-based photographer Jorge Barna, Manchester United is a story, a legacy, and a lifelong source of identity. Born into an era of dominance, raised on the mythology of Old Trafford, and shaped by the values and emotion that surround the badge, Jorge carries United with him wherever he goes. In his own words, he explores the culture, history, heartbreak, resilience, and unforgettable moments that make Manchester United, in his opinion, the biggest club in the world.
Words and Images by Jorge Barna
What makes Manchester United such a special, iconic club are its values and traditions — the belief in youth, the ability to produce a comeback, and the constant creation of superstars. Time and time again, this club has produced magical moments. That’s why they call Old Trafford the Theatre of Dreams. From the Busby Babes to the Munich Air Disaster and the rebuild that followed, United’s story is one of resilience, tragedy, and triumph. You can go anywhere in the world, and people will know Manchester United. It’s the biggest football club in the world — simple as that.
Growing Up United
My love for the club came from a young age. My brother made me a United fan. I was born the year United won the treble in 1999, but I would say my era was the team that came after that — the team that dominated the Premier League. We dominated the league during a period where all the rival teams were very strong as well, but the difference was Sir Alex Ferguson. We will never see a manager achieve what he did in England again. It was complete dominance.
The Magic of Old Trafford
Old Trafford is special because it’s where so many iconic moments have happened. From George Best to Cristiano Ronaldo, it’s where some of the greatest players of all time have performed. The stadium has not changed in my lifetime. Many clubs have brand new stadiums, but Old Trafford holds the memories of generations of fans and players. It’s timeless.
Belief in the Return
Do I think Manchester United will get back? One hundred per cent. Even during this era of the past 10 years, the obsession with United is still there. We say, “Hated, adored, but never ignored.” Sir Alex Ferguson is the greatest manager of all time — it was always going to take time to replace him, especially when the core of our team also retired. No matter where the club is in the table, everyone still speaks about Manchester United. Other fans are enjoying this difficult era for United, and it’s understandable — we dominated for 20 years.
Since the new owners have come in, it seems to be a new era. They are investing in players who fight for the badge and fit the system. It’s not about the big-name signing anymore. Even during one of our worst eras, we have still won trophies. The shirt is very heavy — some of the best players in the world have arrived and could not deliver. Manchester United is not a club that celebrates a top-four finish. We celebrate titles. We have seen it all — we have won the lot. You never write off Manchester United.
A Favourite Era
My favourite United moment? It’s hard to pick one. I have watched the club win everything. I would say the 2008 team was my favourite time — watching Ronaldo become the best player in the world, and watching Rooney, who I think is the best player to ever play for United. There will never be another player like him. Every player understood the values of playing for United — attacking football, where you could see the fear in the other teams. Three Champions League finals in four years and three league titles in a row. People often compare the ’99 team with ’08, but for me, this team was the best United side we ever had.
A Pilgrimage Worth Making
People should visit Old Trafford because it’s one of the most iconic stadiums in the world. A lot of the traditional old stadiums have gone now, but Old Trafford is still standing. It’s a place built on history, passion, and unforgettable moments.
All our thanks to Jorge Barna
You can follow Jorge on social media here.
On Saturday in Curitiba, the red and black of Club Athletico Paranaense will feel just a little heavier.
Athletico go into the weekend knowing exactly what’s on the line: win their game and, if Coritiba — their biggest rivals, eternal neighbours, and co-authors of a century of football grudges — slip up, they could be champions. A whole season, a whole history, funnelled into one tense, electric afternoon.
For a club that has built its identity on being the Furacão — the hurricane swirling just outside Brazil’s traditional “Big 12” — it feels perfectly on-brand. Always close enough to shake the structure. Often good enough to blow it down.
A club born from a merger – and a city’s ambition
Athletico’s story starts long before packed stands at Arena da Baixada and continental nights. It stretches back to early 20th-century Curitiba, when football was still carving out its place between chimarrão, cold winters and European-influenced streets.
The club traces its roots to International Football Club (founded in 1912) and América Futebol Clube (1914), two traditional clubs in the city. On 26 March 1924, they merged to create something bigger, something new: Club Athletico Paranaense. Their first friendly came a few days later, on 6 April — a 4–2 win over Universal FC — and by 1925 they already had their first Campeonato Paranaense title.
You can feel that origin story in the way Athletico think about themselves now. Not just another club from the South, but the one that refused to stay in anyone’s shadow.
From striped shirts to hurricanes
Back in 1924, Athletico ran out in horizontally striped red and black shirts, white shorts, red-and-black socks — a classic Brazilian look. As the decades went by, the club’s leaders kept tweaking the identity, trying to stand out in a country where red and black is a crowded colourway (hi, Flamengo, Sport, Vitória).
In 1989, the stripes went vertical. In 1996, the shorts and socks turned black. And then came the big break:
In December 2018, Athletico ripped things up again. The crest became four sharp diagonal red and black stripes, shrinking from top to bottom, designed to look like a hurricane — a visual nod to the club’s nickname. The name reverted to its original 1924 spelling: Club Athletico Paranaense with an “h”, a subtle but deliberate move to separate themselves from Atlético Mineiro and the clutter of Atléticos in the Brazilian game.
The kit shifted too:
- Home: predominantly red shirt, black collar, those four diagonal black “hurricane” bars slashing across the lower third, black shorts, black socks.
- Away: a clean white shirt with a black collar and fine diagonal lines echoing the crest, plus white shorts and socks.
It’s modern, aggressive, and unmistakably theirs. Like everything at this club, it’s not done quietly.
Building a home for big nights
Athletico’s home is the Estádio Joaquim Américo Guimarães — better known, simply, as Arena da Baixada, or Ligga Arena for sponsorship reasons. Built in 1914 and renovated multiple times, it’s not just another Brazilian stadium; it’s a statement.
It’s the only stadium in South America with a retractable roof, and the first on the continent to use artificial turf with FIFA approval. It’s hosted 2014 World Cup games, big concerts, UFC events, volleyball finals — the kind of eclectic calendar that tells you this is more than a ground. It’s a stage.
On a night game, roof closed, red and black everywhere, it feels less like a bowl and more like a pressure cooker. Exactly the kind of place where a title could be sealed and a rival could be quietly haunted for years to come.
Ups, downs and the making of a contender
The Athletico story isn’t a straight climb. It’s messy, dramatic, and very Brazilian.
In the 1980s, they flirted with greatness, then fell hard. A brilliant 4th-place finish in the 1983 Série A was followed by struggles in 1986 and 1988, and by 1989 they’d been relegated to Série B for the first time.
What followed was a decade of grind:
- 1990: reach the Série B final, lose to Sport Recif,e but still go up.
- Early 90s: yo-yo performances and another relegation.
- 1995: a turning point — Athletico win Série B, finally landing a major national title and promotion back to the top flight.
- 1999: the club inaugurates the modern Arena da Baixada and wins a special Pre-Libertadores tournament, beating Internacional, São Paulo and Cruzeiro to book their first ever Copa Libertadores ticket.
The ’90s shaped their personality: a club that doesn’t stay down for long, and one that sees opportunity where others see chaos.
The 2000s: league title, Libertadores and heartbreak
Then came the years that turned Athletico from a regional force into something continental.
In the 2000 Copa Libertadores, they started on fire — unbeaten in the group, a 3–0 win away to Alianza Lima, the second-best record in the tournament. Then out on penalties to Atlético Mineiro in the knockouts. A warning shot, if anything.
2001 was the explosion: Athletico won their first Campeonato Brasileiro Série A, beating São Caetano 5–2 on aggregate in the final. The hurricane had gone national.
They came close again in 2004, finishing second in Série A and punching another Libertadores ticket. The 2005 Libertadores campaign became the stuff of club folklore:
- Out of the group behind Independiente Medellín.
- Beating Cerro Porteño on away goals.
- Knocking out Santos, the reigning Brazilian champions, home and away.
- Swatting aside Chivas Guadalajara in the semis after Chivas had destroyed Boca Juniors.
Then the final: São Paulo. The first leg in Curitiba finished 1–1. The second at Morumbi was brutal: a 4–0 loss and a Libertadores title slipping away with every goal. Athletico had arrived… but also discovered how cruel the elite stage could be.
The same decade saw a deep Copa Sudamericana run in 2006 — wins over River Plate and Nacional, then collapse to Pachuca in the semi-finals. Again: promise, drama, and pain in equal measure.
Decline, partnerships and the rebuild
The near-misses caught up. From 2006 to 2009, Athletico drifted outside the top ten, collecting early exits: Vasco in the Sudamericana, Corinthians Alagoano in the Copa do Brasil, Guadalajara again.
Relegation came in 2011, but it didn’t last: they bounced straight back in 2012.
In the meantime, the club went global in its thinking, forging partnerships with:
- FC Dallas in Major League Soccer,
- Vitesse Arnhem in the Netherlands,
- Orlando City SC,
- The All India Football Federation, with the explicit aim of helping India prepare for the 2017 U-17 World Cup,
- and clubs in Japan (Cerezo Osaka) and Indonesia (Bali United).
One emblematic moment: in 2015, Athletico signed Indian winger Romeo Fernandes on loan from Dempo, making him the first Indian footballer to play in a South American top-flight league. Zico, then coaching FC Goa, helped make it happen. It was a small deal in global terms, but a perfect snapshot of Athletico’s outward-looking, slightly adventurous mindset.
New heights: Sudamericana, Copa do Brasil, Libertadores finals
From 2013 onward, things started clicking again. Athletico rebuilt as a serious force:
- 2013: third in Série A, runners-up in the Copa do Brasil to Flamengo.
- 2018: their first major continental title, winning the Copa Sudamericana, beating Junior Barranquilla on penalties in the final.
- 2019: they beat River Plate 1–0 in the first leg of the Recopa Sudamericana, only to lose the return 3–0 in Buenos Aires. Later that year, they lifted the Copa do Brasil for the first time, beating Internacional in both legs of the final.
- 2021: a second Copa Sudamericana, this time defeating Red Bull Bragantino.
- 2022: back to the Copa Libertadores final, navigating past Libertad, Estudiantes and Palmeiras before falling 1–0 to Flamengo.
They’ve become serial competitors in South America: 150 continental games played, more wins than losses, a positive goal difference, regular deep runs in both the Libertadores and Sudamericana. For a club from Curitiba, for a long time peripheral in Brazil’s traditional media axis, that matters.
And all the while, the trophy cabinet kept filling with everything from Levain Cup–Sudamericana, to state titles, to youth cups, to women’s Campeonato Paranaense dominance in recent years. From Taça Caio Júnior to Marbella Cup, this is a club that collects silverware of every shape and size.
No wonder they’re often described as the strongest team in Brazil outside the Big 12 — and, on their day, better than plenty of those inside it.
Today’s Furacão
Fast-forward to now:
- The squad is deep and eclectic — Mycael in goal; Léo, Fernando, Carlos Terán, and Lucas Esquivel at the back; Giuliano, Felipinho, Bruno Zapelli threading passes in midfield; Kevin Viveros, Kevin Velasco, Alan Kardec, Isaac, Julimar and a carousel of Brazilian and South American forwards up front.
- Young prospects bubble up from the academy, while others are out on loan at Botafogo, Cruzeiro, Olimpia, Universidad de Chile and beyond, learning the trade.
- On the touchline and upstairs, a long line of coaches and presidents — from Lothar Matthäus to Luiz Felipe Scolari, from Paulo Autuori to Odair Hellmann, under the long-term influence of president Mario Celso Petraglia — have shaped Athletico into a modern, sometimes volatile, but always ambitious club.
Off the pitch, their shirts are backed by big betting brands, and in the stands, surveys show they have the largest fanbase in Curitiba. It feels less like a provincial club and more like a project: global, restless, always reaching for the next level.
A huge weekend in Curitiba
And now, this weekend.
Athletico walk into Ligga Arena with all of that behind them — the 1924 merger, the 2001 title, the Libertadores heartbreaks, the Sudamericana triumphs, the experiments, the rebrands, the foreign partnerships, the packed trophy list and the sense that they’re always one big result away from upsetting the established order again.
Win their match, and if Coritiba drop points, the championship is theirs. Not just another trophy, but another line in a history that refuses to sit politely behind anyone else’s.
For the fans in red and black, for the players and staff who wear the hurricane on their chest, for a club that has spent a century proving it belongs among Brazil’s heavyweights, it’s simple.
This isn’t just another weekend.
It’s one of those days when the Furacão can change the weather again.
All images by Pedro Mamoré and voirlalettre
All words and images by Jonas Zöller
“When the third goal comes in the 33rd, it feels like the world flips upside down.”
A Hungover Morning in Recoleta
When I wake up on Sunday, I’m hungover after drifting through the bars of Recoleta the night before. Thinking about what’s ahead mixes a kind of tingling excitement into my headache. La Bombonera. This mythical stadium, where Maradona and Riquelme once laced their boots, is a name that’s been floating through my mind since the beginning of this trip. I’ve already seen four matches in Buenos Aires over the past few days, but this morning I’m more nervous than ever.
San Telmo, the Feria, and the Pull of La Boca
I check my camera, the batteries, and the film two or three times before heading toward San Telmo to walk through the famous feria. The air is cool and damp. It looks like it’s going to rain, but the market is buzzing. With every Boca shirt I see on the street and every blue-and-yellow souvenir the vendors and artists are selling, my thoughts drift away from the market and toward the stadium.
I can’t stand the anticipation much longer and decide to skip the usual Uber and walk in the direction of La Boca. I’m far too early, but the closer I get, the more people in Boca shirts cross my path. Fans gather outside the bars for the previa, and with every step, the excitement rises in my throat. At the first kiosk, I’m too nervous even to respond to the seller’s small talk, and at the second, I almost pay double for my Fernet.
Now I’m so close to the stadium that the first bondis full of fans rolls past with flags waving from the windows. Motorbikes and scooters carrying Boca supporters weave through the streets, and a fire brigade intervention I walk past feels almost surreal amid all this. The constant movement distracts me from my nerves, and when I see the blue façade appear between the houses, it feels like I’m entering another world.
Entering Another World
Many of the corrugated-iron houses are painted blue and yellow; flags and banners hang from windows and balconies; and the air smells of smoke and barbecue. I let myself drift around the stadium—people are already celebrating, smoking joints, drinking beer and Fernet-Cola. Everything in these streets says the same thing: today is about football.
The entrances are heavily cordoned off, and I struggle to find the right one. Once I get there, my first impression is confirmed. The stairwell—with its steep steps and tight turns—feels like a maze, and even the stewards can only partially help me find my block.
First Sight of the Pitch
When I finally arrive and catch my first glimpse of the pitch, everything feels unreal. I’ve seen thousands of photos and videos of this place, but nothing prepared me for the moment of actually standing here. The stands are steep, and the seats leave barely any room, so everyone sits shoulder to shoulder.
By now, the sky has opened its gates, and the rain is pouring down. I watch the sheets of rain shimmering in the floodlights and can’t help but grin: Fritz-Walter weather inside La Bombonera.
Chaos, Euphoria, and Community
Despite the rain, the stadium is packed to the brim before kick-off, and when the teams walk out, “Boca” is already being sung from thousands of throats. The match seems eager to match the collective frenzy, and Boca takes a 2–0 lead by the 24th minute. When the third goal comes in the 33rd, it feels like the world flips upside down.
The stands erupt. People stand on their seats, celebrating, dancing with their backs to the pitch. Everything becomes a blue-and-yellow blur, and suddenly it feels like this isn’t just about football. The way people fall into each other’s arms, the way fathers lift their sons onto their shoulders, tells me this is about community—about family.
As the rain lashes across my face, a strange gratitude hits me. I realise where I am and what I’m witnessing, and the raindrops on my face mix with tears.
Five Goals and an Unforgettable Night
By halftime, my head feels clearer again. I try to warm my freezing hands and hopelessly attempt to dry my soaked shirt. When I return to my seat for the start of the second half, Boca scores twice more and finishes with a 5–0 win.
The rain has stopped, and I follow the stream of fans pouring out of the stadium into the streets to celebrate for the rest of the night. I meet up with Chan, a Boca fan I’d met earlier in Buenos Aires. He can’t hide his pride in his team, not even for a second, and offers to drop me off near my accommodation. We walk a few steps and talk about Boca, Kaiserslautern, and football in general.
When we say goodbye, I feel strangely far from home and at the same time incredibly grateful for my time in Buenos Aires.
Honestly?
This day couldn’t have gone any better.
You can follow Jonas on social media by clicking here
All words and images by Rami Muszyński
I’ve always believed that some cities introduce themselves slowly—softly, even. Prague, though, greets you in full colour from the moment you step into it. The baroque facades, the tenement houses with their ornate shoulders, the river bending like a sigh—everything seems designed to make you pause, breathe, and loosen the knots you didn’t realise you were carrying.
People always talk about Prague’s beauty, its bridges and beer, the gothic skyline that feels like a place the Brothers Grimm might have sketched on a cold night. And all of that is true. But what struck me most, wandering its streets for four days, wasn’t the postcard stuff; it was the lightness of the place. A kind of gentle freedom that slips out from behind the old buildings and follows you around.
And, of course, the beer. Prague doesn’t just drink beer; it lives beer. In the pubs—hazy, loud, low-ceilinged—you feel it immediately: pints arriving in steady streams, conversations loosening, football drifting in and out of the air like a familiar tune. They say Czech people drink more beer than anyone else in the world. After a few nights, I didn’t bother checking the statistics. It just feels true.
Arsenal in the Distance, Football Everywhere
Because Slavia Praha were playing Arsenal in the Champions League, I half-expected the city to be flooded with Londoners in retro kits and European-tour bravado. But I only crossed paths with a couple of groups the entire time. It didn’t matter. Football culture in Prague doesn’t need an English invasion to announce itself.
It’s in the pubs. It’s in the streets. It’s in the murals, the scarves, the flags draped from balconies. And it’s especially in the conversations between old friends drinking light, foamy lager at 11am on a Tuesday—football woven into daily ritual the way some cities use coffee or cigarettes or gossip.
But my reason for coming was specific: Bohemians 1905 vs. Mladá Boleslav at the legendary (and delightfully stubborn) Stadion Ďolíček.
Dolíček: A Stadium With Breath and Bones
There are football grounds you visit, and then there are football grounds you feel. Dolíček belongs to the latter.
Built in 1932, modernised twice, still lopsided in ways that make architects twitch—this place is old, but it has soul. Three stands: the main one, the visitors’ section, and the one that really matters, the beating heart of the whole thing—the ultras stand.
Even before entering, you can sense it. Bohemians fans—Klokani, the kangaroos—move with a kind of ritual familiarity. They greet each other like cousins at a holiday gathering. They hold their club close, not like a hobby but like heritage. You don’t support Bohemians; you inherit Bohemians.
Dolíček isn’t just a football stadium. It’s a sanctuary. Every corner tells you someone has loved this place deeply.
The Ultras: Where the Magic Lives
If you ever find yourself at a Bohemians match, don’t hesitate: go to the ultras stand. It’s football distilled to its purest form. Not polished, not packaged, not carefully branded for global broadcast. Just pure, uncut devotion.
The noise hits you first—a wall of singing, chanting, roaring support. Then the colour. Then the movement. It’s chaotic, beautiful, communal. The kind of stand where you find yourself singing songs you don’t know, in a language you barely understand, with people who feel like old friends by halftime.
And then there’s the beer—everywhere. Steins raised, shared, spilled, celebrated. And the klobása—a smoky sausage that somehow tastes even better when the match gets tense. Football cuisine at its finest.
Why Bohemians Feels Different
This wasn’t my first time with Czech football. Far from it—this was my sixth visit. Each one has been special, but Bohemians 1905 Praha was on another level entirely.
There was something magical about it—a reminder of what football is supposed to be. Not corporate. Not sanitised. Not smoothed out for international sponsorships. Just community. Just atmosphere. Just people gathering around something they love.
A club that knows what it is. A stadium that creaks in all the right places. A fanbase that sings like it’s defending something sacred.
Walking out of Dolíček into the Prague night, full of beer and klobása and that unmistakable post-football glow, I realised something:
As beautiful as Prague is in the daylight—its spires, its river, its romantic soft focus—it might be even better under the floodlights of a club that feels more like family.
All words and images by Rami Muszyński
