“Moisés Lucarelli was built by its own supporters.”
PONTE PRETA
On a warm Saturday afternoon in Campinas—a sprawling city tucked just beyond the outer edges of São Paulo—there’s a heartbeat you can feel before you even reach the stadium.
It’s in the café chatter, in the black and white shirts hanging from balconies, in the half-shouted greetings exchanged between neighbours. And it gets louder as you head towards Moisés Lucarelli.
Arthur Martinez, 29, knows the feeling well. Born and raised in Campinas, a city of nearly 1.5 million, Arthur’s connection to Associação Atlética Ponte Preta—affectionately known as Macaca—runs deeper than fandom. “My dad is a die-hard Ponte Preta supporter,” he says, “and I inherited this passion from him. Beyond that, I deeply identify with the club.”
In Brazil, football is rarely just a game, but in Campinas, supporting Ponte Preta isn’t even a choice—it’s more like an inheritance. “You’re practically born into it,” Arthur explains. “Ponte Preta is the oldest active football club in Brazil and has a passionate and devoted fanbase.”
And it’s not just history—it’s identity. Ponte Preta’s roots stretch into the social and cultural ground that shaped modern Brazilian football.
The club was the first in Brazil to field a Black player and built its stadium through collective effort—supporters donating bricks, laying concrete, showing up to build something for the community, by the community.
“Whether through labor or brick donations,” Arthur says, “Moisés Lucarelli was built by its own supporters.”
In a football landscape increasingly dominated by flashy new arenas and high-end hospitality sections, Moisés Lucarelli remains defiantly old-school. “Watching a game there is a unique experience,” Arthur says.
“The stands are so close to the pitch that it creates an unreal atmosphere, and the Ponte fans never stop singing. While modern arenas are becoming the norm, Moisés Lucarelli still breathes the true essence of football.”
It’s that intimacy—the proximity of the people to the pitch—that makes everything feel raw, immediate, and alive. But it’s also the stories fans carry with them that define the place. Arthur recalls two standout memories.
One is classic derby day folklore: “I went to our rival’s stadium in 2011, and we won 3-0.” The other is something more epic: “The 2013 Copa Sudamericana semifinal at Morumbi, when we came from behind to win 3-1 and completely silenced the entire stadium.”
That match wasn’t just a win. It was a full-bodied, defiant roar against the odds. Ponte Preta have never been the richest or the flashiest, but they’ve always had grit—and a knack for developing talent for the national team. They’ve made a habit of challenging Brazil’s bigger clubs, punching well above their weight. It’s a kind of football that Arthur believes is at risk of being lost.
“What makes Brazilian football culture special is simply the people,” he says. “As the ‘country of football,’ it’s the fans who shape the game into what it is. And more than ever, we need to return to our roots and give football back to the people.”
There’s a certain nostalgia in that call, but it’s not sentimental. It’s a reminder that the strength of football isn’t found in corporate boxes or branded pre-match shows. It’s in the crowd that never stops singing. It’s in a stadium built by its own people.
It’s in a father handing down his team to his son, not for the trophies but for everything else that matters.
So if you ever find yourself in Campinas on a matchday, head to Moisés Lucarelli. Don’t look for luxury—look for something real. You’ll hear it in the chants, see it in the old brickwork, and feel it in the rhythm of a city that still believes football is about belonging.
All images by Arthur Martinez
You can follow Arthur here on Instagram: culturadamacaca