Date: 12 May 2024 / League: Polish sixth tier
Final Score: 0-3 / Attendance: 550
Everyone that travels extensively for football pauses at some stage to consider the madness of the pastime; there are moments doubts can set in – have I gone insane, you ask yourself at times. Then, often right out of the blue, along comes a match that answers the question with an emphatic ‘no’. You know the sort, an absolute banger that makes the hair stand on end. That was my Sunday.
Experience
Zamek Kamieniec Zabkowicki had long been on my radar, a bucket list ground that looked too perfect for words. As it transpired, it was even better in the flesh. Accessed across a footbridge, the stadium sits over a river and in the shadow of a 19th century palace built for a Dutch princess.
Enveloped by woodland, and positioned behind a Neo Gothic church, it’s one of the most striking backdrops to be had in Polish football. For years, however, I’d held off on visiting – a stadium such as this, I reasoned, demanded a special match.
At this level of football, that’s sometimes a big ask, but on Sunday I finally had my chance. With Zamek’s fans identifying Slask Wroclaw as their primary team, the visit of Gornik Walbrzych (whose fans count Slask as their most hated rival) was too good to miss. I very nearly did.
Such is the impenetrable complexity of Poland’s lower league fixture lists, this nugget had completely slipped my notice. With just 48-hours till kick-off, I was all set to chunter elsewhere. Thank f**k, therefore, for Insta. Messaging a German mate of mine on the Friday, he expressed surprise that I wasn’t heading for this match. “Oh,” I answered, “that’s because I didn’t realise it was being flipping played.”
They say that the best decisions are those made at the last minute, and this certainly proved the case. Requiring a six-and-a-half hour slog from my home in Warsaw, I reached the town of Kamieniec Zabkowicki with just enough time to chug back some beers to settle the soul.
Arriving to the ground in cheerful mood, my spirits soared further when I saw Gornik were checking into the away end – given my luck in recent times, I had been convinced that they’d be turned back at the gate for some perceived infraction. Making for a refreshing change, it was a welcome sight to see just over a hundred visitors squeezing into a hastily assembled pen constructed from crime scene tape and Harris fences.
As for the home fans, they arrived enmasse just before kick-off, marching mob-handed over the bridge. Immediately, catcalls were exchanged with the visiting team: “come to the forest you fuckers, etc., etc.”
Played under a scorching sun, the game had attracted a bumper turnout of around 550 spectators. Gathering under a low, shadowy roof, from the outset the home firm gave the stadium that volatile atmosphere I love to bask in. It was, though, the away lot that got things going.
Wasting no time, kick-off saw the customary flag drop followed immediately by a pyro show and smoke bombs. In came the riot police to ensure the shenanigans didn’t get out of hand, and their presence on the touchline contrasted richly against this stadium’s stunning backdrop.
Come the second-half, and it was the turn of the home fans – how long their display lasted I can’t say, but it was one of those that gripped you by the goolies and didn’t let go. Remarkable in its intensity, this was my match of the season – little did it matter that the home side were on the wrong end of a 3-0 thumping.
As days go, this was up there with the best. And my luck just didn’t stop. Making my connecting train with a nano second to spare, the final leg of my journey was spent drinking thee zider as the train rolled back to Warsaw. It had all been just about perfect.
No Comments