Games of the green-whites of Bohemians Prague can be enjoyed in different ways.
Photo: imago/Roman Vondrous
The magic raven Rumburak was with us as we righteously suckled our Prague beers at Bohemiansground last Sunday. Arrived on Saturday morning, we already had three games in our backpacks, which had taken us to three stadiums in the capital.
Games of the green-whites of Bohemians Prague can be enjoyed in different ways.
Photo: imago/Roman Vondrous
Slavia and Sparta are fighting for the title in the first division of the Czech Republic, the Prague Bohemians are sniffing out the Europa League in fourth place and Žižkov is on the verge of promotion to the second division. Accordingly, all Prague stadiums were full and beguiled us with beer, sausage and spring-like happiness. We dreamed like magic ravens on their acacia trees and peered into the football world. Slavia played solidly in Eden at home, the large fan base waved red and white stuff and calmly cheered on their team. Used to be at the top in the fight for the championship, the last passion was missing on the pitch and the stands, but the opponent was sent back to the Moravian province with four goals.
On Sunday mornings, the bewildered German youth usually gathers in Žižkov to eat beer and fat bemmen with plenty of onion rings in the first rays of sunshine. The night in Prague was short and beer without onions is no solution. Skinheads, punks, long-haired and other confused people of all ages cavorted at the taps. A few dozen high-profile fans fiddled the rain away at us and mocked the opposing team in politically incorrect chants. While her Viktoria beat up the opponent properly, we sucked onions, praised the Prague beer and pouted the approaching midday.
Now quickly to the old town hall to watch Death encouraging the twelve apostles, aka the eleven players and the coach, to run with his scythe every hour on the hour. Kurz is a football game and around every bend in life lurks the end. Championship and lean quark or fatty liver and Cinderella?
Our semi-stable bunch of Cinderella continued to dump towards Sparta Prague. Not everyone kept up and saw tough Spartans win. Their fans like to come out of the prefabricated buildings, control the evil eye and pull the joggers deep in their ass folds. If they were Apaches, they would ride bareback, drink Texan blood for breakfast, and master the art of chopping off the head of an enemy sutler at full speed. In the dreary reality they are Team Unfrieden, like to push their way past the toilet line and react submissively when they are ordered back to the end at the snail.
While the sun was sinking, we scurried shadowy and insubstantial to Ďolíček, the final opponent’s grove of our football trip. Like a patrol in the no man’s land of jagged mountains, doomed to fulfill an ancient curse. We exchanged hoarse encouragement and cut one last sausage into strips, which we shared brotherly. Lightning flickered and our shadow grew to horrid proportions as we reached the final location of the sacred screams. Green goddesses and gods of the night received us. The orgy took its course. Under the humped moon we became one with our mission. Linked invisibly, we howled at the moon and braved all monsters. Bohemians stormed ahead and wore down the insidious opponent for and with us.
After the Green-Whites won 1-0 against 1. FC Slovácko, we drank golden Urquell cheek to cheek with our Czech companions at a spring of fresh beer, meanwhile medium-sized prairie wolves from the nearby zoo barked.
