Adventures In Turkish Football: Fethiyespor 0 Sariyer 1

The walk from Fethiye old town to the football ground is not your typical match day approach. This is not a walk through lines of terraced houses on streets leading away from a Victorian train station, nor is it an amble through a soulless industrial or retail park to a latter day all-seater affair constructed from concrete and steel which is all fancy scoreboards and cantilever. Instead, I keep the sea and the tour boats on my left and the laughter filled bars on my right until I reach the quaint sea canal, at which point I turn inland and follow the gently lapping waterway in the direction of the towering mountains beyond. A trio of ducks bicker on the water, unaware that kick off is imminent.

This is third tier Turkish football, a match in the TFF.2 Lig, yet the entrance fee paid to the unassuming guy behind the ticket window is a mere 100 lira, roughly £2.50, around a tenth of the fee which would be demanded for an English equivalent. Settling in to my sun drenched seat with the Mediterranean behind me and the pine clad mountains ahead, it’s impossible to miss the gorgeous setting of this modest stadium and I feel immediately at home and ready for some entertainment. I am struck by two other things too – one, the size of the crowd (I’m guessing north of 2,000, bigger than I expected) and two, how many of them are British.

It is by no means uncommon to encounter other Brits at football matches in obscure locations across the world, in fact it seems to happen everywhere, but with a healthy holiday influx added to a sizeable expat community, Fethiye’s fanbase is clearly swelled by typically eccentric British curiosity. Accents abound: Glaswegian, Scouse, Geordie, Yorkie and Estuary are all in evidence, adding to the excited buzz of the genuine local fans who head for their favourite perches.

Fethiyespor – the majority of Turkish team names seem to end in “spor” – are mid table in TFF.2, whereas today’s opponents Sariyer are pushing towards the top of the League, unbeaten after 9 games (W5 D4) and consequently probably favourites to take the spoils today. We’re underway three or four minutes late on a flat green playing surface of decent quality.

Early exchanges suggest the football is decent quality too, players on both teams displaying a sound first touch and passing which is crisp and neat from the off. Sariyer appear to be slightly better equipped, but the first real chance falls to the home team’s pony tailed number 9 who is played through one on one, never looks confident, and blazes horribly high and wide.

Sariyer find the net 25 minutes in but are denied by an offside flag much to the delight and relief of the Fethiye faithful. In the far corner  there’s a band of Fethiye ultras, around 100 strong and calling themselves “the Apaches”, who display a large repertoire of chants and choreographed movements which are both impressive and entertaining. I muse whether these guys watch Dortmund’s yellow wall on TV. There’s also a surprisingly large contingent of Sariyer fans, again probably 80-100 in number, which is mighty impressive given the 980-mile round trip necessitated by this fixture.

It’s a cagey 45 minutes with only a handful of genuine chances mostly falling to the visitors and all dealt with by the confident Fethiyespor goalkeeper. The football is as high on the risk averse scale as it is on tactical ability, and half time arrives with the scorecard untouched.

Chances are few and far between early in the second half too, particularly for Fethiyespor for whom Mr Pony Tail and his frustrated strike partner are left to feed off the smallest of scraps. A rousing reception greets the arrival of a home substitute who takes the field with a heavily strapped knee – this is, presumably, a local superstar returning from an injury lay off. He looks lively from his first touch and the visitors’ swagger wavers just a little. Tensions begin to creep in and tackles become more aggressive: a Sariyer interloper into a defensive wall causes friction and tempers briefly boil over. There’s pushing and shoving and wagging of fingers – “handbags” if you will – but the ref keeps his cards in his pocket and restores calm with minimal fuss.

As time ebbs away, there’s a creeping air of inevitability as the threat garnered by the superior visitors gets ever more telling. The winner comes some fifteen minutes from time, a neat passing move playing in the Sariyer midfielder – he is perversely wearing a number 1 shirt – who pokes the ball past Fethiyespor’s impressive keeper and into the net right in front of the travelling band. Cue a huddle with players and fans united as one. Cue also shoulder-dropping silence in the Apache section. This outpouring of diverse emotions takes place right in the middle of the call to afternoon prayer from the surrounding mosques: surely as incongruous as it gets.

A goal to the good, Sariyer move into what is these days known as “game management”, which in their case means interminable time wasting and blatant and repetitive feigning of injury. The Apaches are restless. A late Fethiyespor flurry brings a couple of half chances but there’s a sense of acceptance of defeat around the ground, a sense which is finally confirmed as the final whistle blows and we all head towards the gates. With Sariyer already occupying their superior League position, it’s pretty clear that the Fethiye faithful paid their 100 lira more in hope than expectation.

For the neutral – that’ll be me – it’s been thoroughly entertaining with both atmosphere and football better than expected. The afternoon sun is still hot as I make my way back along the sea canal and around the waterfront promenade where boats bob on the sparkling sea, to where Michaela waits at a friendly bar, two glasses of draught Tuborg on the table in front of her.

Her shopping trip has apparently been a damp squib: she’s bought nothing. I, on the other hand, feel thoroughly edified. Fethiyespor lost the game, but this particular neutral has had a most enjoyable afternoon.