Photo By Luke Radziminski
A few months ago. I sit in Brunswick East, Victoria, Australia, and imagine my upcoming trip to Sweden. Wouldn’t it be cool, I think, to see a local football game during my trip?
On the www, I learn that Stockholm league Allsvenkan will end the week before I am due to arrive.
But lo, I also learn that UEFA Qualifier is scheduled for the Tuesday after my Sunday arrival.
Before you can say Pippi Longstocking, I have myself something called a Viagogo account and I’ve purchased… what? It seems that I’ve purchased the promise to receive a ticket.
And boom! I’m (hopefully) off to a UEFA international. In Stockholm.
==
Tuesday morning. A message from Viagogo says I need to install an app on my phone to receive the phantom ticket. And that the ticket will arrive sometime today. Game time is 8:45 pm in Stockholm, so I’m in no rush.
And as sure as it was pitch dark by 4:00 pm, my ticket arrives around about then, too.
Sweden v Azerbaijan at the National arena. Or as my ticket says: Sverige v Azerbajdzjan. This is magnificent.
The forecast low for tonight is –3°C and as I leave the apartment in Södermalm, the temperature is 1°C. It all sounds cold. A prominent message on my ticket correspondence says that there will be a BAN ON ALL BAGS at the venue tonight.
“No big bags, no small bags, no fanny bags,” I am told.
It is possible to ask too many questions. I decide to wear many layers.
==
Public transport has helped me navigate Stockholm very well. And tonight is almost no exception. I do get lost at T-Centralen, where I seek excellent direction from an official, who directs me to a cascading set of escalators down-down-down to meet the train to Solna station.
When I disembark at Solna, it is as part of a soccer crowd. Mostly men, a few young ones, a few women. And I’m swept up in the wave of humans. We surge past opportunistic street vendors selling SVERIGE scarves from sportsbags on the concourse outside the station. We surge bizarrely INTO a shopping mall, past boutique clothing stores, restaurants and an Irish pub. We surge out the other end of the Westfield Mall of Scandinavia like so much waste, and here we are at Gate A.
My ticket tells me to enter at Gate G, so my tour de concrete continues. Into the national stadium, I’m straight around to the merch stall, where I drop an arm and half of one leg.
Tonight I have a job to do.
Tonight, as possibly the only Australian at this game, I feel the need to help old mate Ange Postecoglou. As manager of Tottenham Hotspur, Ange oversees a team of players from all around the world. And tonight, one of Ange’s guns, Dejan Kulusevski, is the captain of Sweden.
“Don’t worry, Ange,” I say to no one. “I’ll keep an eye on him.”
==
Flags of Sverige are held by many teenagers on the pitch as players from both teams line up for the national anthems. The stadium is maybe half full.
And suddenly, the pre-match ballyhoo is over. The ref blows his whistle. We are on.
Sverige in a lemony shade of yellow, rather than their customary golden yellow. Azerbajdzjan in all white.
The game flows backwards and forward like the shallows at Ocean Grove beach. Nothing dangerous. Nothing crazy. All quite predictable, soothing and relaxing.
On 10 minutes though, captain Kulusevski (#21) slots a poacher’s goal. He makes an incisive entry into the box from down the right, the ball spills, rebounds, spills again from a tumble of legs, and it falls at his feet. The captain was in the right place at the right time. Perhaps the essential skill for football. (And for life). SWE 1 – 0 AZE, 10 mins.
On 17 minutes, Sverige attacker Viktor Gyökeres (#17) performs a skilful spin in the box but is well tackled before he can shoot. A minute later, Viktor Gyökeres (#17) is again in space in the box but he fails to control it. He looks dangerous. A stocky, brown-haired, bullocky kind of dangerous.
Here in the stadium, a couple of hundred Azerbajdzjan supporters bring the noise. One of them brings a legitimate drum, too, and a pair of those drumsticks with the big white cloth heads on them, which helps/hinders things.
Azerbajdzjan’s Krivotsyuk (#5) gets a yellow card for rough conduct on 22 mins. While they have a fair bit of the ball, Azerbajdzjan do not seem very threatening just yet.
Sverige, on the other hand, seem to dance around the box. Gudmundsson (#5) misses with a long-range attempt. But now Dejan Kulusevski (#21) whips a very early ball in from the right to leave Azerbajdzjan exposed. And look who is there all alone to score – yer man Viktor Gyökeres (#17). SWE 2 – AZE 0, 26 mins.
Azerbajdzjan hit their first shot on target on 27 mins, but it is safely dealt with. The keeper immediately releases the ball down the wing to Dejan Kulusevski (#21), whose play ends with a narrow miss to Sverige.
Sverige have the run on the play, certainly. We see a narrow miss to Gudmundsson (#5). Nanasi (#22) creates two good chances for Sverige but takes neither of them. And then Viktor Gyökeres (#17) from a tight angle on the left brings it back across the keeper for a goal. The drums fall silent. SWE 3 – AZE 0, 37 mins.
Next minute, Dejan Kulusevski (#21) fires at the goal to force a diving save. And end-to-end football from Azerbajdzjan ends with a terrific run from Akhundzade (#9) who cuts open the Sverige defence. But he loses control of the ball and his moment is lost like this morning’s frost.
In first half injury time Sverige’s Isak (#9) lopes down the left side, wrong foots his opponent, cuts in to the centre of the box and scores. But a goal review reveals that he was offside. No goal.
Half time: SWE 3 – 0 AZE
At half-time someone finds the volume for the sound system. Like ground “entertainment” staff the world over, they turn it up to 11. Small groups of teenage female gymnasts perform leaping, twirling, spinning tricks to the pounding backdrop AC/DC’s “Thunderstruck.” My seat vibrates.
Second half. And inside the first two minutes we see Sverige awarded a penalty for handball. Strictly a handball occurred, but the defender’s arm was fiercely struck by a long-range hammer shot. I can’t imagine there was anything intentional about the foul.
Sverige’s Isak (#9) steps up to take the kick. He makes good connection, waist high to the right. And the keeper saves it.
For a moment I follow the movements of Dejan Kulusevski (#21) – for Ange. Look at him there. Kulusevski has the broad shoulders of an ox, the wide open eyes of an optimist and the strategic vision of a philosopher.
And no sooner do I record these observation than he slots his second goal – after excellent work to bring it into the danger zone. SWE 4 – AZE 0, 57 mins.
From the restart Viktor Gyökeres (#17) incredibly runs down the Azerbajdzjan defensive kick-off. And with outstanding industry scores his hat-trick. SWE 5 – AZE 0, 58 mins.
It has become a rout. Sverige players line up to have a crack. Sema (#13) has a long one batted away on 61 mins.
A rare attack at the other end forces a save with an excellent strike from Azerbajdzjan substitute Sheydayev (#11) on 63 mins.
But the tide really only runs one way this night, in Stockholm, city of water. And Viktor Gyökeres (#17) has that worked out better than anyone. He finishes a wonderful cross from point blank range. Right place, right time. SWE 6 – AZE 0, 70 mins.
The drums are silent.
The Swedish fans are not. But it’s more of a murmur of approval, rather than a roar of conquest.
PING! I receive a message. It’s Elin.
==
“Hows the game Dave?”
==
“Good fun, Elin. SWE 6 – 0 AZE, 70 mins. SWE has a new recruit tonight. I’m waiting to be called.”
==
“Ha! Gyökeres has scored 4 goals!!”
==
And, I don’t say, for Ange Postecoglou, I’ve made sure to get Dejan Kulusevski (#21) through unscathed.
==
Full time. I ride the surge of humanity back through Westfield Mall of Scandinavia, back through Solna station, onto a train that arrives immediately, and eventually back to Södermalm.
Well done, Sverige. Well done, Azerbajdzjan.
And Ange? No worries, that was my pleasure.
Ed’s footnote: ER sent this photo from Södermalm this morning as he stepped out to get a block of chocolate to nibble with his cuppa at 9.30pm Sweden time. Cool!
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About David Wilson
David Wilson is a hydrologist, climate reporter and writer of fiction & observational stories. He writes under the name “E.regnans” at The Footy Almanac and has stories in several books. One of his stories was judged as a finalist in the Tasmanian Writers’ Prize 2021. He shares the care of two daughters and likes to walk around feeling generally amazed. Favourite tree: Eucalyptus regnans.
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Cool, ER, very cool! Certainly a point of difference on the Almanac site.
I greatly enjoyed this piece, e.r. Just wonderful, really.
I have always thought that Sweden have punched above their weight in international football.
Looks like you are having an excellent time.
Tack så mycket, Ian and Smokie, From lunch by the Stockholm Stadshuset (town hall). Excellent, by the way. Pea and bean soup with flaked pork on the side, for Thursday. Or a curry. Or any combination that you care to scoop onto your plate. Quite egalitarian as we might expect from the social democratic -minded locals.
Thick snow now outside. And thickening.
Cheers.
And in his next outing, D Kulusevski contributes beautifully to the Premier League result of:
Manchester City 0 – 4 Tottenham Hotspur.
Well played, D Kulusevski.
Thank you David. Your riveting tale had striking resonance for me. I spent a year in Stockholm in the seventies, and although I didn’t see the national team play, I did see several club matches, including one at the Solna Stadion. As well as the Australian team, I always lookout for the Swedes and, of course on grounds of ethnic origin, the Irish.
I had to look up the details to confirm my memory of a wonderful Swedish striker in the 1990s Kennet Anderson, who had a very distinctive celebration to mark his numerous goals, he would head for the corner flag and give the Australian Rules goal umpire two fingers signal.
Lovely story. How do you spell the visiting team’s name correctly? I’ve no idea.