A thing of eye drops filled with explosives.

Much in the same way that many, many countries claim to be the best "drinkers" in the world, lots of nations also to have the most passionate football fans in the world. (Istanbul faction #2-They call it football, and I've always secretly wanted t'call soccer "football". So from here on in, that's how it's gonna roll.)

So Turkey claims football as part past-time and part passion, all parts awesomeness. Istanbul alone has two teams in the Champions League of Europe right now, so I'd be inclined to agree. There's three huge teams in Istanbul. Needless t'say, checking out one of them was on my list of things t'do, very early on.

Third weekend in, we crossed the river in Europe and went out seeking live Istanbul football, Besiktas style. (Besiktas being a neighbourhood in Istanbul. You get the drift.) I asked around as much as I could, and though the Besiktas stadium only held around 30,000 (Righteous by any hockey arena standards) I was told that these fans made up for their relatively small size with passion that one might mildly label as "fervent".

Me and lady luck braved the hellacious Istanbul traffic (Re: Two hours t'get from one end of the city to the other) by getting into an un-marked mini-bus. He took us for a spin, but it was well worth the 1.50 lira.

Arrived at the stadium around 1 with hopes of scoring tickets for a 4 o'clock kick-off. The ticket window wasn't so much a window as an oppurtunity t'get robbed. Dodgy looking dudes lurked about, eyeing us up in a completely menacing manner. The actual ticket window was at waist-level. I had to kneel on the ground, and speak through a window that may have been 3 square centimetres.

The next thing I knew, a group of five dirty and equally dodging looking kids came tugging at our coattails, for whatever reason. Naturally, I made the mistake of saying "No", which brought a sick looking smile to their faces. "Yabanci! Yabanci!" they cried. Yabanci means foreigner, which means heeps of cash, which means defenseless against yer ancient thieving skills.

I brought entirely too much cash out of my pocket, shoved it through the wicket with one hand, used my other arm t'keep lady luck close t'me, while wiggling my knees back and forth t'keep these kids at bay. I grabbed the five tickets just as the dodgy looking dudes approached t'give these dodgy looking kids re-inforcement.

Now, with three hours t'kill before game-time and wait for our own yabanci re-inforcements t'arrive, there seemed like only one thing t'do. We greased around in te hopes of finding a watering hole to get this thing underway. But naturally, this was like searching for a black marker stain in a black burka.

After a few minutes on the seaside (And the much-needed purchase of a Besiktas scarf to blend in) I clued into how the locals got all jazzed for Besiktas. There was an open park with lots of benchs facing each other. And there, at the feet of each and evy local was a few cans of brew. It seemed appropriate, so I popped into a gas station and emerged with the drink. I didn't have a paper bag. Drag.

I've heard that when yer travelling, all you have t'do is "Look the part" in order t'avoid trouble. This we did. Soon enough the rest of our crew had arrived. It was 15 minutes to kick off and the entire neighbourhood was swelling. Black and white everywhere, man.

But first, security. The security at this stadium makes many modern airports look like a joke. First, a row of armed guards with smokes dangling from their mouths. Imagine my surprise. Next, the first pat down. Or, the first groping.

You couldn't bring in anything that could be turned into a projectile. Water bottles, lighters, coins. Yeah, f'ing coins. Between the four of us, I think we were robbed of 30 lira, which is more than enough for a healthy night of alcohol.

Next, the old-school rotating doors which only a paper-thin model might have found comfortable. Next, the metal detector worked by another armed guard. And finally the last grope. By this point I think I was offering t'buy someone dinner or at the very least, promising t'call them the next day.

They found a small thing of eye drops in my pocket (Found-they went into my pocket themselves) and questioned me. What the shit could I tell them? What could really be in there? I dragged down the rest of the group when this security had t'confer with all his colleagues. I suppose I shouldn't have minded, but the river was low and the air in the stadium was dry as hell. (Istanbul faction #3-This stadium is the only stadium in the world that can be viewed from two continents. Pele once called it "One of the most beautiful stadiums in Europe" Clearly he only brings bills around in his wallet)

Kick-off came soon enough and already these rabid fans were in full swing. Sections of the stadium would call on other sections for a chant-off. I suppose we hindered our section's chances of dominating.

These fans would have made a great jam band. There was no set-list, but they worked their way front chant to chant with all kinds of ease. They bounced and clawed their way through the first half, likely paying little attention to the game. I can't really blame 'em though. After a surprise upset of Liverpool in the Champions League only a few days earlier, Besiktas appeared drained unable to mount any sort of momentum.

We certainly did our part though; no one sat once for all 95 minutes. We did run though, when cops in full riot gear began to line the sidelines minutes before the final whistle.

I still can't figure out if these dudes came for the football or just for the oppurtunity t'get mental in public. Whatever. It was fun. A brief glimpse into the psyche of a young, unbalanced Turkish dude. Rock.

I'd like t'make it to all three stadiums this season. I'll just have t'bring a midget, who's loaded with thick Turkish bills, can hide cans of beer in his jacket and who isn't nearly as terrified of Turkish children as I am.
This is what I look like when I try to blend in. Most people who already lıve in Istanbul take don't take photos of themselves in front of water, but whatever.

This is what I look like when I try t'blend in again. I was tugging hard on that scarf as I was genuinely terrified.
I heard foreign females have lots of reasons t'be terrified in Turkey. Clearly this was not the case for lady luck over there.