Futebol

by Alex Bellos

  The practice of making a song and dance on the terraces fosters a more general inclusiveness. It makes the fan part of the wider event, blurring the traditional division between spectator and spectacle. Which is exactly like carnival, where just by showing up you are taking part.

  The current equivalent of Jayme de Carvalho is Claudio Ribeiro. Apart from Pelé, he is probably the world's best-known black Brazilian face. He is the hyperactive, drumming lunatic with the ever-expanding afro that TV pictures always home in on during Brazil's World Cup games. (Once the cameramen are bored with the beautiful women.) In one gurning paroxysm of delight, his face sums up uncontrolled, happy, Brazilian exuberance.

  I meet him where he has worked for thirty years – a street stall at a busy intersection in the centre of São Paulo. Coincidentally, the spot is celebrated in the opening line of 'Sampa', a well-known song by Caetano Veloso: 'Something makes my heart skip a beat, when São João and Ipiranga avenues meet.' The address may once have been romantic. Now it is more likely to provoke a cardiac arrest. The avenues are now chaotic and dirty thoroughfares bordering on the city's main red-light area.

  Claudio is better known as Cotonete, or Cotton Bud, for obvious reasons. When I meet him it is raining and his hair is sheltering in an orange woolly hat. Today he looks like someone with half a pumpkin on his head rather than a walking advert for Johnson & Johnson. He is wearing a yellow Brazil shirt and is leaning on a wooden cabinet.

  Cotton Bud tells me his life story as he runs around selling parking vouchers and helping find parking spaces. Before he appointed himself the national team's fan leader, football had already branded his life. He is from Erechim, a small town in the southern state of Rio Grande do Sul. When he was nine, his father – a long-distance lorry driver – took him on a trip to São Paulo. They went to see Corinthians vs. São Paulo. As the stadium was emptying father and son lost each other in the crowd. They did not find each other again. Cotton Bud started living on the streets. 'I sent my dad a card three years later to say I was still alive. But I never went back.'

  When Cotton Bud opens his mouth you can see that he has almost no teeth. His smile is like a baby child's. He lost his teeth in a car crash, he says, where three of the four passengers died. 'Dentists have offered to fix my mouth but I want to stay how I am. It's me.'

  As a teenager, Cotton Bud went hungry and lived on the fringes of the law. He spent time in a young offender's institution and, aged seventeen, started living in a hostel. He found himself through football – through Corinthians. He started his own supporters club – Explosão Coração Corintiano, or Corinthian Heart Explosion-which at its peak had 30,000 members.

  Cotton Bud found his true vocation in 1978. He was doing some work in a toy shop when the father of the owner fell ill. There was a spare ticket for the World Cup in Argentina. Cotton Bud was the lucky recipient. He packed his drum and travelled to Buenos Aires.

  'The World Cup's just the best. It's the most beautiful thing in the world,' he says. In Argentina he commanded the Brazilian fans' chanting and drumming, and discovered that the way he looked and behaved made him a walking photo opportunity. 'It's the hair – people love it. It's big enough already and often I put a wig on top.'

  After the experience in 1978 he decided that he had to go again in 1982. He has been to every World Cup since. Cotton Bud only affords it because he gets sponsorship. He is a Professional Fan. 'Companies know that I will be on the television a lot and in newspapers, so they give me clothes and plane tickets in exchange for a logo on my Brazil shirt.'

  Cotton Bud says that he never leaves Brazil with valid tickets for the games. Yet his celebrity status opens doors. 'Brazilians aren't mugs,' he says. 'There's always a way.' He gives an example of how he always lands on his feet: in Paris in 1998 he gave a lecture to about 700 students.

  As we chat I sense that not only does Cotton Bud's cotton bud attract attention but so do his actions. He tells me he has been arrested twice – once for punching a Moroccan ('he stole my drum') and once for throwing washing powder in a public fountain.

  I can see that Cotton Bud is one of life's agitators. He is unable to keep still. It makes him a difficult interviewee. As he darts off to park someone's car he tells me that he bases his life around four-year cycles. 'I never got married because of football,' he adds. 'There is not enough time.'

  On 14 October 1997, Corinthians played Santos away. The match was tense, offensive and violent. Two Corinthians players were sent off and three received yellow cards. Seventeen minutes from the end Santos' defender, Jean, headed in the game's only goal.

  As the final whistle blew, many Corinthians fans were conspicuous by their absence. Usually in defeats they stayed behind to jeer their team. Even the club's management thought it was odd, since the club had been receiving threats if performances did not improve.

  At forty minutes past midnight the Corinthians team bus started the forty-mile drive home. Military police escorted the team to the edge of Santos. The coach, unaccompanied, then took the motorway. The road climbs dramatically from sea level to an altitude of 1,000m, through tunnels and up a ridge thick with forest.

  During the drive the Corinthians security supervisor noticed a black car following the delegation. The car, containing four people, cut provocatively into the side of the bus and its four passengers taunted those on board. Then it disappeared.

  Suddenly a lorry in front of the bus breaked sharply. The Corinthians driver managed to switch lanes, narrowly avoiding a head-on collision. He was forced to stop immediately afterwards. There was a roadblock. An old white bus was parked perpendicularly across the lanes.

  Several Corinthians fans were on the tarmac. At first it looked like an accident. Then the real motive became clear. The fans were ambushing the team they support.

  They ran towards the Corinthians bus. Someone inside shouted: 'Shut the curtains, it's the supporters.' One of the security guards shut the curtains and everyone crouched down as the fans threw sticks and stones.

  The first stone shattered the front window. The fans smashed the bodywork and broke its lights. They surrounded the coach and rocked it to and fro, as a hailstorm of objects were thrown. The team feared for their lives.

  The driver was hurt. He had an injury to his left eyebrow. A fan had a crowbar and was trying to lever open the door. A security guard managed to push the attacker away. Several in the coach recognised one of the fans: Metaleiro, or Heavy Metaller. He was the president of the Gavioes da Fiel, the Hawks of the Faithful, which is the largest of Corinthians' many independent supporters clubs. They begged Metaleiro to stop the attack. It worked. The white bus filled up and drove away.

  A few hours later, when the team coach was back at the club, Metaleiro turned up. He asked if anyone was injured.

  He added: 'Did you like the fright?'

  A month later the São Paulo Attorney's Office published a report on the incident. It described the ambush as one of a 'trajectory of acts of violence, disorder and depredation of the Hawks of the Faithful in which the above fact is simply the apex of a sad curriculum vitae.

  'What is most repugnant is the fact that the victim in this case is not the enemy. Very much to the contrary. It is the players themselves, who find in the supporters clubs the determination and courage that they need to play their football.'

  The Hawks of the Faithful have 56,000 paid-up members, which makes them Brazil's largest supporters' club. They are also the only one that requires you to attend a lecture on its ideology before joining. I decide to attend to find out the nature of its politics – are they against right-wingers, or just left backs?

  The lecture is held fortnightly at the Hawks' headquarters in central São Paulo. The building is like a youth club. A mural on the front wall has the Corinthians insignia-an anchor and two crossed oars – with the phrase 'You Are My World'. At the entrance there is a shop, Hawk Mania, which sells merchandising. Tough-looking men with large hawk tattoos on their arms or backs play five-
aside football in an indoor hall. The Hawks' motto 'Loyalty, Humility, Conduct' is painted in large lettering on the wall.

  When I arrive, on a hot summer Saturday afternoon, I am directed upstairs. Together with about fifty boys in their teens and early twenties, I enter a room crammed with old photos, trophies and fancy-dress costumes. Before the talk starts the room is silent apart from the intermittent zoom of cars driving by on the dual carriageway outside. It feels like being back at school.

  Eduardo, in a light-green T-shirt, stands up and begins.

  'The year was 1969,' he says earnestly. 'Corinthians were in a bad situation. We had the most supporters, but we were the butt of jokes. We had gone fifteen years without winning anything.'

  The boys look serious. For them it must sound like ancient history.

  Eduardo carries on: 'Brazil was also in a difficult situation. It was the military dictatorship. If you wanted to speak out you had to think twice. Wadih Helu had been Corinthians' president for many years. This really bothered us. But there was nothing we could do about it. So about half a dozen fans decided to form a pressure group to try to remove him.

  'We had to have a cool name. To capture the moment. Many options arose. When the name "Hawk" came up everyone liked it. The hawk is the bird that flies the highest and sees the furthest.'

  Eduardo, who is twenty-five, lectures with heartfelt conviction. He scrunches his eyebrows and purposefully moves his arms. It strikes me that Eduardo is the sort of person who in Britain would be a left-wing activist, spending his weekends on marches or picketing McDonalds. Since Brazilian politics is largely devoid of ideological debate, he channels his energy into football.

  After his speech, Eduardo sits down. Sérgio stands up. Sérgio is almost twice Eduardo's age and has been a Hawk for twenty-two years. His delivery reminds me of a paternal headmaster.

  'We eat, breathe and sleep Corinthians here. The Hawks shirt is our second skin. But remember – your family must come first. Don't stop taking rice and beans back to your family in order to finance your monthly payments.' This does not sound like a joke. The room is overwhelmingly black and mixed-race, and poor – except for Eduardo and Sérgio, who are white and middle class.

  Sérgio says: 'There are Hawks who are hairdressers and there are Hawks who are High Court judges. We will never end! We will carry our banners to Hell!'

  Sérgio asks if any of the new recruits would like to say anything. One person stands up. He says his name is Evaldo and he is twenty-three years old. He has wanted to be a Hawk since he was five. 'I never came before because of the violence,' he says. 'I was worried. What if I left a stadium in a Hawks shirt and I was alone? But I want to be part of this supporters club. I cry when Corinthians lose, I really care. It was important to come here today. I can see how this group has a fundament. You have taught me that the Hawks shirt has a strong meaning.'

  Sérgio says he is pleased that someone has brought up the issue of violence – so he can dismiss their fears. He says the Hawks are peaceful. 'We are not stupid. We are all good people. Our love is for Corinthians.

  'The only player who was ever hit was Viola. And that was because he kicked the Corinthians shirt. The shirt is our lives, it is our skin. Remember – footballers will come and go but Corinthians will be here for ever.'

  To bring the hour-long lecture to a close Eduardo gestures to stand up for the Corinthians anthem. He starts a clap, joined in enthusiastically by his young charges. Everyone knows the words. It reminds me of young socialists singing the Red Flag.

  Hail Corinthians

  Champion of champions

  Eternally

  In our hearts

  Hail Corinthians

  Of a thousand glories

  You are the pride

  Of the sportsmen of Brazil

  Your past is a banner

  Your present is a lesson

  You figure among the first

  Of our British sport

  Great Corinthians

  Always flying high

  In Brazil

  You're the club that's most Brazilian

  After the lecture I have a chance to have a more detailed chat with Eduardo. We leave the lecture room and walk along the corridor to the presidential suite. It is air-conditioned and brightly lit. Coming from the stuffy heat it is like walking into a fridge. The suite has a desk, a couple of cabinets, a sofa and a table. Eduardo asks me not to use his surname. He says that he would suffer discrimination at work if anyone found out he was a Hawk.

  I ask him what happened to Viola. 'It was in 1988,' he replies. 'Viola was playing for Corinthians. He was substituted. He took his shirt off in anger and kicked it. So he was sent off. The fans were really agitated – so one of them went into the changing rooms and punched him.' He adds in mitigation: 'Only one person.'

  It is episodes like this that have contributed to the Hawks' reputation as Brazil's hooligan equivalents. At matches they are Corinthians' most fanatical fans. They have a banner that is so heavy it takes three hundred people to carry it and when unrolled is 100m long and 40m deep. They chant the loudest and their drumming is the most awesome. Yet they are a menacing presence. The Hawks are feared by everyone – even Corinthians itself.

  Eduardo and I discuss a more recent incident. Six months previously, a hundred Hawks turned up at Corinthians' ground to protest against the team's elimination from the Libertadores Cup. They brought eggs to throw at players they thought were responsible. The demo turned nasty. When the striker Edilson left the stadium he had no alternative but to walk through the crowd. As he did so the fans attacked him.

  Edilson said that because of the assault he would never play for Corinthians again. Shortly afterwards he transferred to Flamengo.

  'OK, so I think we went over the top,' replies Eduardo. 'But we always pressurised the club. Edilson was looking for an excuse to leave Corinthians. He knew the Hawks were waiting outside so he decided to go straight through them.'

  Eduardo is not a thug, although he does a good job in defending thuggery. He relates everything to the Hawks' origins. The group was founded to stand up for fans' rights. He says it should never lose sight of its independence or militancy. 'Sometimes I think that our pressure hinders rather than helps – but that is the fault of the club's directors and the players. We really shouldn't have so much influence. We don't want to run Corinthians, we just want to be able to express our opinion.'

  A few months later, I visit the Hawks to speak to their current president, Dentinho, or Little Tooth. We sit again in the bright and chilly presidential suite. Dentinho is a slight man with a permanently worried expression on his face, which might have something to do with the fact that he has a job as a taxi-driver. São Paulo is one of the most congested cities in the world.

  Dentinho sees the the Hawks' role at Corinthians like a consumer pressure group – if the product, i.e. the club, sucks, then they complain, often using physical force. 'The strength of the Hawks is that we are a big parallel power within Corinthians. The players know the strength we have. When a player has a problem, or when a new, young player arrives, they always get in touch with us to ask how they will be treated.'

  Less generous comparisons would describe the Hawks as a secret police, an austere nanny, a short-tempered lover or a vigilante praetorian guard. I ask if it is normal to storm into the changing rooms and hound players. 'We go there when a player is not fulfilling his obligations – then yes, we go in there and call him to account. That's our job. But we don't "invade" the changing rooms. If we're there it means that someone has let us in. If a security guard lets us in it means he respects us.'

  He adds: 'Our members are always calling us, saying that they saw such-and-such a player in such-and-such a place.' The sightings are to warn that a player is stepping out of line, such as drinking, or dating a woman who is not his wife. 'A player uses his body in his job. A player has the right to go drinking or enjoy the nightlife, but not before a game. He needs to be professional.'


  The majority of Corinthians' players have bodyguards-to protect them from being pestered by Hawks. They are most scared of the fans who love them the most.

  It is not just the players who are intimidated. The Corinthians directors are often hostage to the Hawks' demands. Sometimes they call to ask for approval on new players or coaches. Oswaldo de Oliveira, the coach who won state, national and world titles with Corinthians, was sacked on the Hawks' insistence. 'The directors can't handle the pressure,' Oswaldo told me a year later. 'The club called up later and apologised.'

  I ask Dentinho if he regrets any of the violence. 'There are certain situations where we should have thought twice. But lots of times people blame us and neglect their responsibilities.' When I mention the 1997 ambush he dismisses it.

  'It was nothing to do with us.'

  During the early 1970s Corinthians fans found that the Hawks fulfilled a social as well as a political need. The years were the most bleak of the military dictatorship. The group provided a great excuse for people with a common interest to socialise. In 1976, the Hawks founded their own samba bloco-the name given to the percussion-led musical troupes that get together at carnival time. It was a way for the Hawks to keep on meeting over the bank-holiday carnival period. And it made sense – the Hawks already had a ready-made band of percussionists; the ones that cheered Corinthians on the terraces.

  The bloco grew until it became an escola-a samba school – which is the largest type of samba conglomeration. 'School' is a misleading translation – samba schools are not educational establishments. They are large fraternities whose principal function is to parade at carnival. In São Paulo – as in Rio – the main carnival procession is a competition between the city's fourteen best samba schools. The Hawks' samba school grew until it was one of the largest in São Paulo. It won the title in 1995 and 1999.