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In-depth conversations with the voices shaping culture, calcio, and society. Explore unique perspectives, personal stories, and inspiring journeys from around the world.
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All words and images by Gregorio Gastaldi
Match day at the Maracanã is special. It’s very difficult to fill one of the biggest stadiums in the world. But Flamengo wasn’t the exception this time, and Cariocas attended in massive numbers. In fact, the attendance was 71.411 torcedores, the record at Maracanã stadium (and the whole country) since its renewal . People arrived extremely early. For security? Not really. Access to the stadium works very well and is very fast. But the street pre-show is a must. Cariocas love eating, drinking and dancing in the street — any day, any time, and for any reason. An important night like this one was more than enough to do so. Estudiantes’ away fans also came from La Plata (Argentina) and spent the whole day cheering at the beach. Why not? Futebol e praia is a religion in Rio de Janeiro.
Flamengo won and played very well for most of the game. Pedro scored the fastest goal in Libertadores history at 15 seconds. Their start was electric and ferocious. Two–nil in the first half, a difference that could have been much bigger. Instead, in the second half, they got a red card, conceded a goal, and it could almost have been a draw if Estudiantes’ striker hadn’t missed a last-minute chance. An absolutely intense night.
A Trophy Every Club Dreams Of
The Libertadores never disappoints. A quarter-final match is enough motivation for anybody to turn out in numbers. Every team in South America dreams of winning this trophy. Estudiantes have won four titles (only three clubs have more) and remain one of the continent’s most historic representatives, known for their tenacity. Their last win came in 2009, and they had spent a few years without even qualifying.
With one fewer trophy (three), Flamengo’s last triumph was in 2022. They have been a constant presence over the last decade, reaching almost every stage of the competition year after year. The club has invested heavily in recent transfer markets, which has created big expectations and responsibility. Estudiantes, meanwhile, are widely known for their strong identity and reputation as a copero club — a label for those who show resilience in crucial moments. Across South America, this competition is the absolute priority, no matter the team.
Brazil vs Argentina: Rivalry Renewed
In one of the tightest tournaments in the world, what could make a game more compelling than a quarter-final at the Maracanã? An old rivalry between two of the biggest football nations. Every time Argentinian and Brazilian teams face each other, tension is inevitable.
This time, both sides showed mutual respect during the week in press conferences and even in the protocol handshake on the pitch. But that ended quickly once the referee blew the first whistle. From there, it was a beautiful event to witness, whether from the field or in the stands: two different shows at the same time, ninety minutes of pure hostility.
It’s funny, because after all, people from both countries love each other — whenever there’s no football in between, of course.
A City That Never Sleeps
Rio de Janeiro is a city that never sleeps. For many people, it didn’t matter that Flamengo were playing late at night. Across the whole area, families were still selling street food from their own homes, alongside the famous sight of cold beers pulled from bags of ice. Nothing unusual for football fans worldwide.
For others, attending the match meant facing mandatory work early the next morning. Overcrowded public transport, trying to catch the last ride home, is part of the ritual. The crowd was divided — split into two types. The same happened with the mood after the game. Flamengo fulfilled their responsibility at home, but the scoreline could have been much bigger, and they missed many chances.
In the Libertadores, sometimes a single-goal advantage is not enough when you have to play away next time, and half of the torcida felt that. Estudiantes, instead, left with a kind of miraculous relief. It’s the mental side of the Cup — a competition that can take you from celebration to frustration in one second. Only achievable for those who can endure the suffering.
All words and images by Gregorio Gastaldi
To follow Gregorio on social media, please click here
For Kate Carter-Larg, the Cheesy Toast Shack is a story of love, risk, hustling, triumph, tribulations, early mornings and late nights. It represents a dream that was worth putting everything on the line for. “We’d put all our savings into it, so failing was not an option,” Kate explains. “We hustled, we worked every day, we went to every event that was viable for us. We didn’t take on any staff until we were a few years in, we posted on social media every day, multiple times a day, and we shouted about our business and made people listen.”
Born in Dorset, in the South of England, the adventure of a lifetime would begin for Kate when she found herself travelling to Bali, in South East Asia. It was there she would meet Sam, her future husband and business partner.
“After a fleeting holiday romance, where we never thought we’d see each other again, he followed me down to Brighton (where I was living at the time). He decided he couldn’t live down there (distinct lack of surf) so got me to visit him in Scotland. I fell in love with it straight away, and pretty much decided to just not leave.
We had another year of travelling around a bit, including heading back to Bali to spend a few months of more beaches and surfing, before heading back to Scotland together with the idea of starting our own business.”
With only a small amount of savings between them, they knew that any kind of fixed cafe would be out of the question. “It just seemed so obvious, everyone loves a toastie, but not some dry, thin crappy Costa-style one. Instead, we wanted to do big, filthy, oozing with cheese-level toasties, with fillings that you don’t get just anywhere.”
With that idea, the wheels were set in motion. Scared, but with an unrelenting desire and determination to succeed, Kate and Sam put their life savings into everything and set off in search of their dream.
That dream would become a reality and take them all across the UK, to events, festivals and Glastonbury. They would be crowned Street Vendor of the Year, and earn the accolade of Scottish Street
Finalist. They would establish two sites, receiving visitors from all over the globe and go viral across social media. Renowned food critic, Jay Rayner, would give his seal of approval. Celebrities would come far and wide to taste their manchego with chorizo, red pepper and jalapeno chutney, or delight in their New Yorker made with sliced Swiss, pastrami, American mustard and sauerkraut. It would become a place that is now part of the family, with Kate, Sam and their two wonderful children.
It is a story that not even in her wildest of dreams could she have imagined. But it all happened. It really did. And it was a pleasure to sit down with Kate and talk about the journey she’s been on, her biggest challenges, being her own biggest critic and her proudest achievements.
We knew we wanted to be self-employed…we understood it’d be high risk and high stress, but we wanted to have a lifestyle where we could spend time together, and not have to answer to anyone else (we’ve always been quite headstrong and neither of us like being told what to do by someone else!)
We only had a small amount of savings between us, so we knew any kind of fixed cafe etc would be out of the question, so that immediately put us in the market for a food trailer. We just jumped on Gumtree and found a practically new trailer near Glasgow. A guy had bought it and then decided to not bother pursuing his burger van career, so we grabbed it and towed it back over to Fife.
We’d been looking at what was available street food-wise in Scotland, and the scene was starting to blow up. So many great options and traders, but no cheese toasties! It just seemed so obvious, everyone loves a toastie, but not some dry, thin crappy Costa-style one. Instead, we wanted to do big, filthy, oozing with cheese-level toasties, with fillings that you don’t get just anywhere.
Sam and I worked on the trailer, whilst getting everything else set up, and within a couple of months, we were good to go. We secured a pitch at a local beach and then would tow the trailer to events all over Scotland in between working Kingsbarns beach, to get the word out there about our brand and our business.
This did us wonders, as within our first year of trading we managed to secure a pitch at The Edinburgh Fringe Festival, where we got named the Best Place To Eat at The Fringe by The Scotsman newspaper.
Off the back of the popularity we experienced from being at such a huge event, we were in a position to apply for a pitch at the next Glastonbury Festival in Somerset. After doing this, our following took a massive jump, and we found we had people reaching out to us from all over the UK, saying they’d tried us and couldn’t stop thinking about our toasties.
During this time we were also doing every other event: street food markets, food competitions, music festivals, weddings….anything we could get our hands on. This eventually led to us then being offered the lease on our now main hub, in St Andrews. So at this point, we had our Kingsbarns pitch, our St Andrews kiosk, as well as multiple street food setups, allowing us to have 5 pitches across the Edinburgh Fringe Festival for the years running up to Covid, making us the biggest independent traders across the city for the Fringe.
Covid was a huge challenge at first. There were grants for some hospitality businesses, however, because we sublet our kiosk we didn’t pay rates, and we weren’t entitled to the first few rounds of grants. So trying to keep our heads above water really was a challenge, bearing in mind we had staff to think about, and at that stage, a 1 year old as well.
As initial lockdown measures eased, we were able to open up shop again, and thankfully, the rules dictated by the Scottish Government just so happened to mean we didn’t need to change much about our operational setup. We were always a takeout unit, from a hatch. We just needed to work with fewer staff on shift at once to keep numbers down, but it was good for us that people were allowed to go for a walk and meet a friend outdoors, as that matched the description of what people did anyway when they’d come to one of our beaches.
It did, however, have a massive impact on the events industry, meaning it was the first time since we started that we weren’t doing any street food at all, or weddings. This obviously meant the income of the business took a massive hit, which was certainly a negative. However, in hindsight, it made us re-evaluate how lucky we were to still have the pitches we were able to trade from.
When the grants that we did qualify for eventually came out, we used that money to invest in the business, by upgrading our equipment. We bought a decent coffee machine, a soft-serve ice cream machine, and high-quality grills. We felt if we could get our products out at a much faster speed and even better quality, then we were utilising what we could, given the restrictions put upon us by the pandemic. And just to make things that little bit extra stressful, we decided it was a good time to have our second baby.
Our biggest achievement would have to be the Glastonbury Festival. We loaded up our campervan and towed our trailer all the way from Scotland. We were located at Worthy View which is the “posh” campsite at the top of the farm, with the pre-erected tents (not that we were allowed to stay in those).
We were only allowed the bare minimum of staff passes (the cost of a ticket per staff member is factored into your pitch fee so we couldn’t afford many). We got a few friends to come down with us to work, thinking we’d get to spend a decent chunk of the festival watching music and enjoying the festival…how wrong we were! We were mobbed from the minute we opened the hatch in the morning, doing breakfast toasties to the hungover masses, all the way through the day, with a small window where it quietened off when the headlining acts were on, and then went crazy busy again through to the early hours. We came back to Scotland exhausted but with an amazing feeling of pride and achievement.
Another of those pinch-me moments was when Jay Rayner, the famous food critic who writes for The Guardian / The Observer, came to visit us. He left a glowing review and then featured us in the Guardian’s best-value places to eat around the coast of the
Abi, who’s our manager at the St Andrews shop actually asked me the other day if I ever think how wild it is that people drive so far to come to our shack and hold it in such high regard. And that this is all for something that we have created. It really made me stop and think how cool that is. We’re so well received, and people really do make huge trips just to come and try our food. It’s very humbling, although I do still find myself being my biggest critic. If I know a famous person is coming down, I panic, and worry that they’ll just think “What’s all the fuss about?” However, that has not actually happened yet!
We love how, generally, everything is received really well on social media. We know we post a lot, but it’s paid off. Every single day we get at least one customer coming down to the hatch, to say they’ve come because they’ve seen our silly/cheesy videos online and it’s made them want to visit. We get the occasional troll which always blows my mind, but I just need to remind myself that our socials are free marketing, and it’s obviously working, because we get customers and followers from all over the world. Just this week alone, I’ve posted t-shirts and hoodies to New York, and Philadelphia
Our followers and likes have taken a huge surge in the last year since we’ve really picked up our efforts online. We find now that simply posting a photo of a toastie doesn’t get the same levels of interaction as when we post videos, so it’s just about continuing to follow trends and posting videos, and just trying to make our page something a bit silly and fun.
I would advise anyone looking to set up their own business, to just go for it. We always get people asking us “Weren’t we scared it wouldn’t work?” Of course we were, we’d put all our savings into it, so failing was not an option.
We hustled, we worked every day, we went to every event that was viable for us. We didn’t take on any staff until we were a few years in, we posted every day, multiple times a day, and we shouted about our business and made people listen.
I honestly don’t know if I’d have it in me now to hustle as hard as we did back at the beginning, but I’ve also got 2 small children now who I love spending time with, so I couldn’t be towing trailers back from Edinburgh at 1 am, as I love that I can be present for them and be the one that does every bedtime and that I get to see them every morning.
If I’m not working, I try to start the day off by getting to the gym. A couple of years ago, after having my youngest daughter, I got into CrossFit, which I just fell in love with. I’m still not very good at it but it helps my headspace as well as my physical fitness.
Sam and I try and get out for a walk together; our favourite place being Tensmuir Forest, where we love to stop for a crepe from Salt and Pine. We may have to answer a few emails/go and film some videos for the pages, and before we know it 3 o’clock rolls around and it’s time to grab our girls from school/playgroup
If they’ve not got after-school clubs then they may ask us to take them to the skatepark to practice their skateboarding. If it’s not a school day then we try and get them for a surf at West Sands (if there is any) followed by live music at Dook and a few Aperol Spritz’ for us. Whatever we do, it’s hugely family-oriented. With 7 cousins living close by, and 3 sets of aunties and uncles, as well as Sam’s parents, we’re invariably hanging out with other Largs.
Every Christmas we have raclette on the menu, which is raclette cheese, served over garlic potatoes with charcuterie meats and dressed salad. You basically scrape the melted cheese over the potatoes, and it’s just amazing. It’s such a treat, and can’t help but make you feel festive.
For the year ahead, we want to keep concentrating on giving the best possible products to our customers. We feel that we’re on a really positive trajectory at the moment. Our team’s collective hard work is getting more and more recognised, with a greater following online and more customers coming to the shops. We want to concentrate on keeping this at a high level, and who knows, if the market is right, maybe even opening up some more locations.
With all our thanks to Kate Carter-Larg
Latest
Admiral Sports, Britain’s oldest sportswear brand, proudly announces the launch of its Autumn/Winter 2025 collection: Born in Leicester, which draws on over a century of heritage, celebrating 111 years since the brand’s beginnings in 1914.
Rooted in Admiral’s historic connection to Leicester, the city where it all began, the collection reimagines sporting classics for today — featuring t-shirts, track jackets, polos, and outerwear — blending modern style with archival influence. Vintage logos from the Admiral archives are reintroduced, while iconic staples and heavyweight pieces are designed to withstand the demands of the British autumn.
To honour its roots, Admiral returned to Leicester to shoot the campaign in the city where it all began. The collection is fronted by Leicester-born rapper Kamakaze (aka Matt Robinson), whose deep ties to the city mirror Admiral’s own connection to its birthplace. Kamakaze is not only a celebrated musician but also a footballer, having come through the Leicester City youth academy and continuing his career at professional and semi-professional level.
The shoot focused on Victoria Park, where Kamakaze spent his youth playing football, and a record store in Leicester’s city centre — two locations that capture the city’s lasting influence on his journey. These settings nod to his roots and passion for football, while also reflecting the local culture and music that continue to shape his artistry.
His dual identity reflects the unique intersection of sport and culture, capturing the same energy, creativity, and local pride that has defined Admiral for over a century.
Since 1914, Admiral has been synonymous with quality, innovation, and timeless sportswear. From kitting out the Royal Navy to designing pioneering football kits for some of the world’s greatest teams, the brand’s story is woven into the fabric of British sport. The Born in Leicester collection pays homage to this unrivalled history and to the Midlands, where it all began.
“Leicester is where it all started for Admiral 111 years ago. Shooting the campaign in Leicester with Kamakaze felt like the perfect way to celebrate both our heritage and the city that shaped us.” — Theo Hamburger, Sales and Marketing Manager, Admiral Sports
Website: admiralsports.com
Instagram: @admiral_official
All words and text by Jönas Zoller
Over the coming weeks, photographer Jonas Zöller will be travelling across South America to capture the heartbeat of the continent — its football and its culture, all on film. From terraces to town squares, he’ll be documenting the everyday moments that make the game inseparable from life here. His journey begins in Chile for the World Cup qualifier between Chile and Uruguay at the Estadio Nacional Julio Martínez Prádanos, where the backdrop of the Andes frames stories of passion, community, and identity played out on and off the pitch.
Santiago. It is just after nine in the morning when my flight touches down in Chile. By the time I get into a taxi outside the airport, the city is still wrapped in mist. The air is cool, maybe ten degrees, and I cannot tell if I am shivering from the temperature or from fifteen hours in the air.
And yet something warmer is stirring inside me when I think of the two months ahead. South America: Chile and its Andes, Argentina and its glaciers, Brazil and its beaches. And through it all, the one constant I came for: football.
The truth is, I am not prepared. I do not know if I will be able to get tickets, how groundhoppers are seen here, or how the police deal with tourists at matches. All I really know are the endless reels of South American terraces that have filled my feed ever since I booked the flight. For now, that feels like enough.
My first stadium is waiting just two days after my arrival. Even before I boarded the plane, I had managed to buy a ticket for the World Cup qualifier between Chile and Uruguay at the Estadio Nacional Julio Martínez Prádanos. I do not know what to expect, so I leave far too early.
The first rush of goosebumps comes as the road bends and the floodlight towers rise above the skyline. Even from a distance, the stadium feels monumental. The whole complex is fenced off, but you can already tell it has nothing in common with the prefabricated arenas of Europe. What really makes my heart race, though, are the Andes standing behind it all.
The closer I get, the more the view fades into what is happening on the ground: armoured trucks, water cannons, mounted police units — all “securing” the area. At the gates, the confusion continues. I do not even need to show my ticket, but I have to hand over my passport twice. Two bag checks, a metal detector, and at last I am on the forecourt, minus my lighter — the only thing I had to give up. Inside, rows of officers in black masks and riot gear stand as if they are about to be sent on a manhunt.
It clashes with the aura of the place. Sponsors run raffles, a brewery hands out samples of alcohol-free beer, and a DJ plays to a square that is barely half full. I shrug — international football — and make my way to my seat.
The moment I step inside, all of it is forgotten: the uneven outline of the terraces, the mismatched stands, and behind it all, the sun catching the snow on the Andes. It feels like a football romance.
The ground is nowhere near sold out, probably because Chile, at the bottom of the table, already had no chance of qualifying for the bloated World Cup in the United States, Mexico, and Canada. Still, the short end behind the goal where I sit fills just before kick-off. At first, the mood is sour. People grumble, shake their heads, and scold every mistake. But ten minutes in, the scene transforms. The terrace moves to the rhythm of drums and trumpets, cigarettes and joints are lit, and I seem to be the only one without a lighter in the whole stadium.
Every through ball stirs a murmur; every whistle against Chile draws outrage. For the first time, I feel a glimpse of South American football culture. Yet beyond the backdrop and the old concrete, it is still only a qualifier that meant nothing on the pitch — a warm-up for everything still to come.
All words and images by Jonas Zöller.
You can follow Jonas on social media by clicking here
By Luke Bajic with 3 Points Travel for The Atlantic Dispatch
When Luke Bajic travelled with 3 Points Travel to Belgrade, it wasn’t just about ticking a city off the map. It was about uncovering a part of his own heritage and experiencing one of Europe’s most passionate footballing cities. The trip was designed around 3 Points’ unique approach: combining football with culture, food, and local experiences you couldn’t simply Google. What Luke found was a city of raw history, vibrant community, and football that is lived as much as it is played.
What Made You Decide to Travel to Belgrade?
Family. I’m half-Serbian. My grandparents moved to the UK in the 1950s, first settling in Bedford before making their home in Leicester – the city where my dad, and later I, was born.
Until this trip, I had never been to Serbia. But as I grew older, I became more intrigued by that side of my heritage – the culture, the history, and the stories of a country that had been through so much in such recent memory.
At home, football was always Leicester. That was our team, our family tradition. But Serbia pulled at me in a different way. I didn’t have a “Serbian club” of my own, but I found myself following the league more closely over the years, reading, watching, learning. It felt like an itch I needed to scratch – to go there, to experience it first-hand, and to understand what football really means in Serbia.
What Did the 3 Points Curated Weekend Consist Of?
After knowing my preference for Belgrade, they did the rest. Football was the core, but the weekend was built around more than just 90 minutes.
The basic package gets you flights, accommodation and matchday tickets. They went one step further – I sampled four clubs across Belgrade, had backstage access and stadium tours with locals who live and breathe it. Off the pitch, it was about proper local spots: food, bars, and the kind of places you stumble into at 2 am.
It’s the sort of trip you couldn’t piece together off Google. That mix of mystery and insider access really impressed me.
What Was the Football Culture Like in Belgrade?
It’s Partizan. Excuse the pun. You’re either red and white, or you’re black and white.
Walk around Dorćol and its Partizan everywhere – murals, bollards, and lampposts painted in black and white. Head south into Senjak and the city shifts – red and white on bridges, restaurant walls, even front doors. The city wears its allegiances openly, and you feel the divide in its streets.
Step inside the stadiums and the scale of history becomes clear. Red Star are European champions of ’91, their museum built around that gleaming European Cup and hundreds of pennants from continental adventures, including two against my Leicester City. Partizan were European runners-up in ’66, Champions League regulars in the 2000s, while Red Star have been flying the flag more recently in Europe’s top competitions.
Together, the two clubs dominate the city. Not just as football teams, but as cultural institutions. In Belgrade, football isn’t background noise. It’s heritage, identity, and history painted all around you.
What Makes Belgrade a Unique City?
It’s a city that pulses with creativity, community, and defiance all at once. Belgrade carries the marks of empires past: Ottoman relics, Austro-Hungarian streets in Zemun, Tito-era brutalism, and the looming fortress where the Sava meets the Danube.
It’s vibrant and human – cafés in leafy Dorćol humming until dawn, strangers striking up conversations on the trams, splavovi lighting the rivers. And it’s defiant – tens of thousands taking to the streets in peaceful protest, pushing for change with the same resilience that has always defined the city.
Recommendations: Things to Do in Belgrade
- Kalemegdan Fortress: Watch the sun set where the Danube and Sava meet, ideally with a can of LAV pivo.
- Dorćol: Explore its café culture in the morning (don’t miss D59B for coffee). Later, head to Dorćol Platz or the Silosi warehouses by the river for an afternoon drink.
- Tram Ride: Belgrade’s public transport is free – one of the best ways to feel the city.
- The Church of Saint Sava: A must-see landmark in Vračar.
- Stadium Tours: Visit both Partizan and Red Star, but also explore neighbourhood clubs like Zemun and OFK Belgrade.
- Eat Local: Try ćevapi – grilled minced meat with somun bread, onions, and kajmak – at Republika Grill or Walter. Don’t miss the city’s markets for colour, smell, and chatter.
Experiencing the Stadiums
Favourite? I can’t choose. Each stadium’s history isn’t hidden in plaques and statues — it’s etched into every creaking stair, ageing chair, every scarred concrete wall. Safe to say, none of the stadia were built this century.
Walking into Stadion Partizana just felt like… football. No “spaceship” stadia, barely a roof. Just concrete and steel, that classic running track around a grass pitch, and years of colour layered upon colour.
Across the river in Zemun, FK’s City Stadium has another running track — this time made of red, earthy dust. A classic Eastern European athletic arena. Official capacity around 10k, but much of it is now closed off. Entry through the intimidating northern gate is reserved only for the ultra group — definitely ne parkiraj. The rest of us use the south gate, plastered with murals and now neighbouring the office of a car rental company. Money at this level is tight.
Obilić, now extinct but once Yugoslav champions, is a real “forgotten stadium,” with grass growing longer than on your local Sunday league pitch.
OFK’s Omladinski Stadion, another crumbling concrete beauty, is mostly standing. The adjoining clubhouse is worth an espresso. This one is getting a revamp while top-division OFK play elsewhere. As with many in Belgrade, the doors are wide open for a sneak peek.
Then there’s the Marakana, Red Star’s fortress. Its nickname nods to the legendary Brazilian stadium, and inside, it lives up to it. The museum that crowns the entry pours history into you, and the staircase bannisters feel like they belong in my gran’s 1970s hallway — warm, familiar, worn down by years of devotion. And that tunnel… more than a passageway, it’s legend. It sweeps beneath the North Stand, accompanied by Delije (Red Star’s main ultra group) graffiti, dim lighting, the roar of tens of thousands above, and the rattling of gates from a few who sneak down underneath. Without a doubt, the most intense tunnel in Europe.
The Zemun Experience
Zemun was different. Warm, welcoming, almost village-like in its community feel. The stewards greeted me like an old friend, explaining that the ticket seller wouldn’t arrive for another ten minutes (classically pointing at the correct hand on my watch). So I took a wander before paying just 400 dinars (about £3) in cash for entry.
It’s a classic community athletics ground, with a few quirks that give it character. Behind the outer walls sits a wide concourse doubling as a car park and, improbably, a tyre storage area for the neighbouring rental company. Step through, though, and the Northern Gate comes into view, next to the sole remaining seating of the old stand, spelling out Zemun, of course. Behind this, the ultras enter.
Families filled the south stand, kids darting around and neighbours chatting like it was a street festival. As I moved pitchside to watch the teams emerge, even the substitutes spotted me and offered a nod and a friendly “Ćao.” The ultras drifted in gradually, migrating toward their spot behind the west goal. Each arrival raised the noise until their presence finally hit full force, just as Milićević (#70) opened the scoring in the 8th minute. A bright flare cracked, smoke rising to blur the distant church spire on the skyline.
At halftime, the same steward who had mimed pointing to my watch earlier wheeled out a table stacked with pumpkin and sunflower seeds for the crowd. By sunset, Zemun were surging — turning a 2–1 deficit into a 3–2 comeback win. When the whistle blew, kids poured over the fences with ease, high-fiving goal scorers and sprinting across the grass as if it were theirs.
And in many ways, it is. That was Zemun: a community stitched together by football.
Why Choose a 3 Points Weekend?
Because the mystery is the magic. Anyone can book flights and a hotel, but with 3 Points, you don’t know your destination until you’re at departures, opening your reveal card. That cranks the buzz up another level.
It takes football travel back to what it should be: new cities, fresh stadiums, and local fan culture. No hassle, no endless planning – just a weekend that throws you head-first into football and culture, often in places you’d never think to book yourself.
How Does Belgrade Compare to Other Football Cities?
Belgrade’s football scene is passion and colour everywhere you turn, shaped by a fierce divide. Facilities may be basic, sometimes crumbling, but the raw emotion more than makes up for it.
This is a city that has produced outstanding football talent for generations, and you can feel why. Football isn’t just played here – it’s lived. It’s in the culture, on the streets, in the conversations – always intense, always on the edge.
Like Serie A, it’s tribal, emotional, and lived at life-or-death levels. In Belgrade, football carries history – flaking paint, concrete stands, graffiti, and tunnels echoing with past triumphs.
The Eternal Derby between Red Star and Partizan distils all of this into ninety minutes, making Belgrade not just another footballing city, but one of Europe’s greatest stages.
All images and text by Luke Bajic
To follow Luke on social media, please click here.
To learn more about 3 Points Travel, you can visit their website: https://www.3pointstravel.co.uk/
Or follow them on social media by clicking here
All words and images by Vitor Melo.
Vitor Melo is a documentary photographer and visual artist based in Rio de Janeiro. He recently covered Flamengo’s latest Copa Libertadores match, producing a visual series titled “How Rio de Janeiro Dresses on a Flamengo Match Day.”
The project captures the city’s distinctive urban atmosphere, showing how Rio transforms and dresses itself to welcome — and amplify — the energy of game day for Brazil’s most beloved club.
Football Culture in Rio
Football culture in Rio has its own charm. It’s built around four main pillars — the big Carioca clubs: Flamengo, their historic rival Fluminense, plus Vasco and Botafogo. Beyond them, there are other traditional teams that play a huge role in shaping the popular imagination when it comes to football in Rio: Bangu, América, and São Cristóvão, which, by the way, gave the world Ronaldo Fenômeno.
These smaller teams have deep roots within neighbourhoods and suburbs — it’s a long story, one that mixes with the city’s own history, landscape, samba, and other forms of Carioca culture.
When it comes to culture, hospitality, and diversity, Rio always takes the lead — and football is no exception. The atmosphere on match days, especially during the big clásicos, is unmatched. Even the Carioca Championship, which is a smaller tournament, carries this passionate vibe — with fans of clubs that might not be in the national spotlight, but who still show up with their hearts on their sleeves.
Rio, in fact, is one of the only states in Brazil where a 50/50 crowd is allowed in clásicos. Supporters hold this very dearly, because it’s such a special part of football. Having your opponent at the other end of the stadium teaches you about life’s ups and downs, and people in Rio value that a lot.
I like to joke that Rio is built on three foundations: samba — especially the rodas de samba and the samba schools — the natural beauty that sweeps you off your feet and makes you fall in love with the Carioca way of life, and of course, football. Together, they’re like the gears that make everyday life in Rio spin in a more beautiful and inspiring way.
Match Day with Flamengo
Rio just feels different when Flamengo are playing. For us rubro-negros, the symbols of the club go far beyond football or love for the game — they’re how we connect with each other and with the world.
Being the biggest fan base in the world, and Brazil’s most beloved club, we sort of multiply ourselves everywhere. It’s like an invisible support network that fuels our daily lives, until the moment the match kicks off and all that energy bursts out — whether you’re at the Maracanã, in a bar with friends, or watching at home. There’s a special feeling in stepping onto the street and seeing someone wearing the Flamengo jersey just like you — and that happens a lot.
People often joke that Flamengo’s supporters are called A Magnética — the Magnetic Ones — because there’s something irresistible about the red and black colours. And it’s true: you’ll see them everywhere in Rio. On delivery riders’ motorbike boxes with the Flamengo crest, on public workers wearing the club’s socks over their uniforms, or simply in the thousands of jerseys walking along the beach on a sunny day.
It’s impossible to imagine Rio de Janeiro without Flamengo, and equally impossible to picture Flamengo without the Carioca ecosystem. The club has grown into a national institution with millions of supporters across Brazil, but it has always kept its Carioca spirit — even among people who have never set foot in Rio. It’s unique, peculiar, and full of the kind of magic only Rio knows how to create.
What You See on Match Day
Being a Flamengo fan means seeing yourself everywhere in Rio on match day. The city is literally taken over by a red-and-black wave — and it only grows stronger when it’s a big game or a final.
Even on an ordinary day without football, it’s almost impossible to walk through Rio and not spot Flamengo somewhere. A jersey on the street, a flag flying from a balcony, a car with a sticker, or a delivery rider with the crest on the back of his box. We like to joke that we’re everywhere.
We even keep an eye out for vultures flying overhead — they’re our mascot and always a good omen on match day. That story goes back years: Flamengo were always seen as the people’s club, popular among the masses and the poor. Supporters of other clubs started calling us “urubus” (vultures), saying, “it’s black and lives in rubbish.” Instead of taking offence, we embraced it. It became part of our identity — we’re proud of who we are, and we always fly higher than anyone else.
There’s even a phrase among supporters: “somos todos menos alguns” — “we are all Flamengo, except for a few.” It really captures the spirit. Just like people talk about the “American way of life,” there’s a rubro-negro way of life. Being Flamengo isn’t just about football — it’s a spirit, a state of being, an identity.
Why Flamengo Are So Huge
That’s not an easy question to answer. It’s really a combination of historical factors, sporting highlights, and a bit of transcendental magic that created the perfect conditions for Flamengo to become the powerhouse it is today.
One turning point was when the club gained national relevance thanks to its massive presence on the radio and TV. Another was when Flamengo truly became known as the people’s club — representing the masses, bringing together layers of society that don’t always mix in daily life, but who stand shoulder to shoulder in the stands, united by each goal. It’s a club that is democratic, socially unifying, and deeply rooted in Brazil’s collective identity.
Beyond that, Flamengo has always been a club that artists are passionate about. Jorge Ben — arguably Brazil’s greatest musician — is a diehard fan. He put the crest on his album covers, wrote a song about a goal, and in his most famous track, proudly sings that he’s Flamengo. João Nogueira, Elza Soares, Gal Costa, MC Marcinho, Alcione, Arlindo Cruz — the list of names who have carried Flamengo into music, literature and journalism goes on.
Then there are the triumphs and the players. Flamengo’s history is full of legendary figures, above all Zico, who became not just a club icon but a symbol of world football. In the end, it’s this mix of history, culture, and sporting glory that created the perfect atmosphere for Flamengo to grow into the giant it is today.
All words and images by Vitor Melo.
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On a late afternoon in Padua, the piazzas begin to thin out as the light shifts across the stone. Cafés are closing their shutters, students drift away from the university buildings, and the shadow of the Basilica of Sant’Antonio stretches further across the square. It’s here that photographer Giacomo Noventa talks about the city that has shaped him — and the football club that has been part of his life since childhood.
“My love for Padua comes both from my father and from that sense of belonging to the city as well as to the team,” he says, coffee in hand. “It’s a bond that, for those who support the big clubs, is hard to understand if you don’t actually live there.”
When he speaks about Padova, the local club, there’s a clear pride in its history. The story isn’t built on silverware but on the players who have passed through, names that went on to shape Italian football. “What makes the club unique is its ability, throughout history, to develop talented young players — above all, Alessandro Del Piero,” Noventa explains. “But even without going too far back in time, players like Perin, El Shaarawy, and Darmian all blossomed here. Even Giovanni Leoni came through all the youth ranks in Padua before moving to Parma and later being signed by Liverpool. Thanks to this and much more, it’s a club that has historically played in Italy’s second division, always hoping for an even brighter future.”
Not every part of the story inspires such pride. The stadium, built in 1994, has long been a source of frustration. Its design included an athletics track, leaving supporters separated from the pitch. “Over the years, this caused problems, especially for the fans who demanded a change,” he says. After years of pressure, renovation work began in 2021 to bring the curva closer, but delays and structural problems followed. The disruption pushed ultras to boycott home games altogether. “In fact, last year the supporters decided not to attend any home matches — unlike the away games, where their love has never been lacking.”
Away from football, Noventa talks about Padua itself as though it’s impossible to separate the city from the club. “The city of Padua is one of the most beautiful in Italy, with the Basilica of Sant’Antonio watching over the historic centre and Europe’s largest square, Prato della Valle. For this alone, Padua deserves a visit, but if you add Giotto’s Scrovegni Chapel and all the historic piazzas, you definitely won’t be disappointed.”
His strongest memory as a supporter takes him back to 2011, when Padova came close to promotion to Serie A. For a year, the city dared to dream, only to see those hopes end in the playoff final against Novara. “It was a tremendous disappointment,” he says, “but at the same time, I cherished for a whole year the dream of seeing my hometown club in the top flight — a dream I still hold on to every day.”
The conversation turns quieter as he finishes his coffee. For Noventa, the city and the club are inseparable. Padua is its basilica, its frescoes, its vast piazzas, but it’s also the curve of the stands, the tension of promotion playoffs, the pride in players who grew up here. To love Padua, and Padova, is to accept the frustrations alongside the beauty — because both are part of belonging.
All images by Giacomo Noventa
To see more of Giacomo’s work, please click here.
