Behind Enemy Lines – Away Games In Russia

It’s been just over two months since I moved back to Russia. In the heart of winter, there are a myriad things to suffer in its capital city, Moscow. Biting cold temperatures and bureaucracy mean that a simple Englishman’s pride can take many a knock in the taxing post-holiday months. But each nagging obstacle in the motherland is made a little easier to withstand with the knowledge that the first days of spring not only bring a mildness to Moscow’s heavy air, but also the end of the winter break and the return of the Russian Premier League.

This means a chance to watch Zenit St. Petersburg - for me the first time since leaving the country 18 months ago - who restarted their season away at FC Krasnodar. Having surrendered my passport to the notorious Russian visa process, the flight tickets I had bought were now useless, meaning the near 1,400 km journey south to the tepid resort town of Krasnodar began in a cramped minivan with nothing other than Russian anecdotes and road snacks for company. Before setting off, the driver, Vasily, ensured me it would take us around 15 and a half hours to get to our destination. Setting off from the drearily unimaginative rendezvous of the McDonald’s near Domodedovskaya station at 10.30pm on a Friday, we’d make it overnight.

Vasily’s stops for fuel, cigarettes and even sleep dictated that we would arrive for 5 o’clock in the afternoon, nineteen hours after leaving Moscow. Our route took us through the satellite towns of Russia’s extreme south-west, each more barren and remote than the last. But aside from the inane desperation these screamingly desolate settlements seem to have in abundance, there is something definitively surreal and alluring about being in Russia’s backlands: you are in that vast mass of earth miles from any recognisable city where you imagine nobody lives. And you’d be right. Russia’s population of 143 million sparsely fills the world’s largest nation, meaning rural communities offer little company other than trees and broken tractors scattered across its bleak landscape.

The van was filled with hefty, sweat-stained men making their way from Moscow to Krasnodar. Some were returning home for the weekend from work, some were travelling to see family, each was interested to find out where I was from (Bulgaria being the first guess) and all were perplexed when the answer came as: ‘Manchester, England’. Young Mancunian men simply don’t travel to watch a Russian Premier League side play away by way of an unofficial taxi in March, but when I explained I was a journalist writing about the match, their furrowed brows relaxed and conversation from thereon was centred mainly on football.

By the time Saturday midday came around, Vasily and his co-pilot Arkady were providing the boisterous conversation in which we were all invited to enter, both being acutely aware of the need to keep each other from boredom and - in Vasily’s case - the dangerously lingering urge to sleep on the mammoth journey. One method quickly became to assure me I would make it to the match’s 7.30pm kick off time.

“You’ll manage it,” Arkady lurched around the front passenger seat and wryly smiled at me. “The rain might delay the kick off,” he said pointing at the fresh flecks of water on the window. Although facetious, this was meant as reassurance, but any confidence was polarised entirely by my distrust of Vasily to drive more than 200 yards without stopping for a cigarette break.

Nevertheless, the evening sun was still just enough to pierce through the front window as we reached Krasnodar. The lack of snow and presence of tall green trees was a welcome and refreshing change from Moscow’s harsh daily grind. Then the phone rang. My friend Andrei in the town centre had “a few guys from St. Petersburg” come into his bar with a spare ticket for the away section and wanted to know if I would pay the 500 rubles for it. I hastily advised him to take it.

After Vasily dropped me off on the outskirts of the town, getting to the bar to pick the ticket up required a further ride on one from the many marshrutki outside the main shopping centre, then a lift in a severely Soviet-era car, all arranged with the help of two men from the same van who had done well to play the Russian trait of seeming almost intimidatingly apathetic only to move hell or high water to do you a favour - this time it was to make sure I got to my destination safe and on time.

I met Andrei in the Grey Bear Pub, a pristine sports bar tucked behind the main street stores on Krasnodar’s strip. He gave me my ticket and assured me if we got the tram now it would take us 15 minutes to get to Stadion Kuban. Entering its fifty fifth year of operation this year, the stadium plays host to both FC Krasnodar and neighbours Kuban. FC Krasnodar will however soon move out of their rivals stadium, as their brand new Stadion Krasnodar is expected to be ready later this year. It was intended to be a World Cup stadium, before Krasnodar was omitted from the list of host cities.

For this week 19 Russian Premier League match, the 16,650 crowd was just a handful over half the current ground’s 31,654 capacity. As I made my way through the turnstiles I turned into the ground and immediately saw the huddle of travelling Zenit fans occupying the away end behind Yuri Lodygin’s goal. The sight of their striking laser-blue and white flags rippling in the wind as the 1,000 strong well-organised rabble rhythmically bounced in unison ruffled the hair of the little football-mad boy inside me. Seeing those supporters outnumbered but thoroughly in voice was different to being surrounded by them on the Petrovskiy terraces - it was, ironically, more foreign.

The atmosphere was absorbing throughout a lukewarm first half in which neither side seriously threatened. Red flares and smoke bombs intermittently diluted the group’s immaculate colours. Petersburg banners adorned the railings in front, on which a young blonde girl no older than four and clad in Zenit scarf, climbed up and danced enthusiastically while her dad smiled and watched on before catching her. Those more daring did the same but rocked it furiously, prompting security to assemble in front of it. Their wagging fingers and stern stares did nothing to quell the ruckus. On the pitch Yuri Zhirkov, making his league debut at left back, was probably Zenit’s best player in the opening stanza.

In the second half the game picked up as the crowd quietened. Hulk went close on 53 minutes for the visitors, his shot was deflected wide of Stanislav Kritsyuk’s post after a scorching run through the middle. Axel Witsel fluffed a chance at the back post from the resulting corner. On the hour mark an animated Hulk afforded a conversation with the Zenit end after falling foul of perceived harsh refereeing that cut short another bursting run - his frustrations neatly summarised the general mood of the Petersburg faithful.

The second half also saw another debutant in Aleksandr Kokorin. The young man on whose shoulders most believe the future of Russian football rests came on for Yusupov on the 70th minute. Dzyuba’s removal seven minutes later meant Sasha was playing as Zenit’s lone striker heading an attacking cluster of three players. Andre Villas Boas’ favoured 4-2-3-1 formation has been criticised lately with opposing teams inviting pressure before catching them on the counter attack and Kokorin’s prodigious talent seemed lost when his side’s attacks broke down. His presence did nothing to change Zenit’s attacking approach and his worth in the team will only be told by time.

The final chance of the match fell again to Hulk on 90 minutes. After being brought down on the left hand side of the area, the number 10’s much-anticipated free kick this time found a way past the wall, but not past the ever-ready Kritsyuk, whose save finally punctuated the match, 0-0 the final result.

Following the final whistle the Zenit players came as close to the away end as Stadion Kuban’s running track permits, much to the delight of their adoring supporters - a tribute to the hardcore who had made a journey a lot farther than mine.

It was fifteen minutes after the game’s end until the Zenit fans were let out into the cool Krasnodar night, some pouring onto coaches with ‘St. Petersburg’ signs on the front and of infinitely more comfort than my carriage down. I hopped on the tram back to the bar to meet Andrei who had promised that he would show me ‘real Krasnodar’, a vibrant, hip town that closes its main road to traffic so street artists can provide entertainment to families wanting to sample the city’s sublime architecture.

Whatever Krasnodar had to offer, I had had my fill of fun. Being part of that core of support had not only been a football fan milestone, but had relit the spark for following Russian football in its entirety and to support the team onwards - or, as the Russians say, ‘Vperiyod!’

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