SACRED GROUNDS
Estadio Nacional encapsulates the spirit of 1967 and is STILL the mecca of Portuguese football
THE climb from Cruz Quebrada station strains the legs, tests the lungs and piques the nostrils. Estadio Nacional and the Taca de Portugal lies ahead but for now it is a tightness in the calves, a communal raising of dust in the high temperatures and the smell of roast suckling pig.
All cup finals are the same. All are different.
The Portuguese cup final adheres to the rule that it is the secondary competition, the Queen as it is known. The king of the Primeira Liga reigns supreme. It is in Benfica’s hands. Yesterday, under an unforgiving sun, Porto and Braga toiled to conquer the Queen.
The Taca, however, has its own distinctive features. The first is that it is played in Jamor, just outside of Lisbon, in the Estadio Nacional. This venue is neutral but wonderfully out of kilter with the modern stadium.
It is no stranger to a mass of Scots. There is one question and one statement when a Portuguese overhears a guttural, rough accent: ‘Scottish? Celtic.’
This is where Jock Stein’s side triumphed against Internazionale in 1967. The security staff around the stadium are well aware of the significance of that moment and its importance to the Scots, garbed in green and burned red, who make the pilgrimage on an almost daily basis.
Yesterday, though, was a day for the Portuguese of the north. They sat in a white bowl in the middle of what looks like a country park. The dust was settling on the approaches to the stadium but the verdant stretches of Jamor and beyond provided an extraordinary background to a 21st century final.
Only 31,000 fans can witness the Taca. More than twice that many seem to make the journey out of Lisbon by train and car. They gather from as early as 9am. There are fans zones but there is also the tradition of just turning up to have a picnic and watch the game on TVs next to vans cooking food. No ticket, no problem.
‘We watch from outside,’ confirms Bernardo, who has travelled the 200 miles from Braga.
There is no sense of danger. The masses loud but not threatening. ‘We have come a long way,’ says Be, a Porto supporter. ‘But it is as it should be. This is the place for a final. There is history here.’
There is tragedy, too. A Sporting Lisbon fan died in 1995 when hit by a flare during the final with Benfica. Yesterday the atmosphere was boisterous but innocuous. It was impossible not to be caught up in the party mood. The train from Lisbon to Cascais is bordered by ocean on one side, teeming traffic on the other and heads, rocking and rollicking, towards Cruz Quebrada where it decants mobs in red and in blue and white.
It is a continual flow from early morning to evening. These intrepid hillwalkers besiege the Estadio, sustained by ample supplies of beer and wine. The food is either carried on backpacks or bought at vans or huts. There are spots where cooking seems to have sprung up like oil from a well. It is the way it has been for decades.
The stadium is antiquated. But this is no criticism. It bears every aspect of a Roman amphitheatre. The seats are basic. The bowl is white. The arches — where Billy McNeill and countless captains of Portuguese clubs lifted a cup — look down imperiously on the masses.
The ground was once built to host the national team. But no longer. The Taca remains its sole day in the sun. The events of a broiling afternoon are made all the more special by that simple reality. On my way in, I pause by the plaque celebrating the triumph of the Lisbon Lions. A Porto fan behind me notices. He asks: ‘Scottish?’ ‘Yes,’ I reply. ‘Celtic,’ he says. He smiles and moves towards what he hopes will be a different day of triumph.
SATURDAY night in Pink Street, the epicentre of Lisbon bevvying, is the preamble to the
Taca day of glory. This is the moment when both sets of fans can dare to hope. There are so many stories unfolding on the streets that it is difficult to provide a coherent narrative to the cup and what it means.
I need a guide. Fortunately, Filipe d’Avillez comes to my rescue. He has written an extraordinary, moving and perceptive book which chronicles the competition. But it also serves as an insightful primer to Portuguese football and its culture.
1000 miles from Jamor: A Journey into Portuguese Football (Pitch Publishing) is simply essential for anyone who wants to gain an insight into what has happened on the pitch at Estadio Nacional and what happens off it. And why it all matters.
‘The idea for the book came to me in 2018, near the end of the 17/18 season. The sensation of that season was Desportivo das Aves, a small club that had only been promoted to the top tier that year,’ he says.
‘They made it to the final and beat Sporting, and I kept thinking that somebody should be documenting that journey and writing about it, because for a small group of fans that was the best season of their lives.’
He followed the next cup competition round by round.
‘I used a geographical criterion. I would try to go to the game of the club that was based furthest away from Jamor. That club was fifth tier Graciosa, from the island of Graciosa, in the Azores.’
D’Avillez found the soul of Portuguese football on his journey. ‘The best thing about the Taca is that every club gets to dream,’ he says.
‘Generally, only two clubs have a serious chance of winning the league in Portugal: Benfica and Porto. Every 20 years, nowadays, Sporting gets a win as well. It is similar to Scotland, in that way. The cup is where other clubs get to shine as well, or at least to entertain serious hopes.’
He expands on the theme of the underdog. ‘Desportivo das Aves beating Sporting in 2018 was a huge upset. I retell that story in my book, in a chapter dedicated to Desportivo das Aves. But I would have to say that the biggest upset was Porto v Leixões in 1961.
‘Leixões is based in Matosinhos, which is next to Porto and they had a heated rivalry in those days, which has diminished over the past decades, but is still alive among more hardcore fans.
‘Because both clubs were from the same part of the country, Porto managed to convince the football federation that it would make more sense to have the game closer to home, rather than have the teams and their fans travel to Jamor. The federation agreed.
‘The biggest stadium in the vicinity was Porto’s ground, so they actually managed to get to have the final played at home. Nonetheless, Leixões managed to beat Porto in that game 2-0.’
Porto were back in the final yesterday. Back at Jamor.
How would D’Avillez sum both sides in a sentence?
‘Porto — a club that hates to lose and does whatever it can to avoid losing,’ he says.
‘Braga — a club that has put a lot of work into cementing a new identity and, with newly announced investments, could be poised to break Benfica and Porto’s almost monopoly on league wins.’
Yesterday they could be described in more pithy terms. The exotic allure of the Portuguese cup final is real. But so is its adherence to sporting imperatives.
Porto: the winners. Braga: the losers.
As darkness drew in, the hordes trampled back to the station. The dust may take some time to settle.