Going Dutch at De Kuip
Words Natalie McMath
“Would you come to football if it was like this?”, whispered my 13-year-old son deep into Feyenoord’s Dutch cup semi-final against Ajax.
We are a family of football fans, season ticket holders at Hull City and England supporters - we were at Wembley only the other week to see the Three Lions beat Ukraine in their Euro 2024 qualifier. But, somehow, we’d never been to a game abroad until a fortuitous set of circumstances dangled the tantalising prospect of making our first true away day a knock-out game against two of the sport’s greatest rivals.
Our Easter cruise to Northern Europe, which I’d booked imaginingg a week of mainly lying down in the spa and mindlessly eating, had already turned into something of a football tour with a visit to the St Pauli club shop in Hamburg and a stadium tour of Ajax added to the agenda.
But when the two Dutch teams were drawn against each other on the very night our floating home was to be docked overnight in Rotterdam, it became our mission to be there.
Some hours of detailed research, copious use of Google translate and borderline flirting by my husband over Twitter with an incredibly helpful Feyenoord staff member and we had joined Het Legioen - what the club’s supporters are known as - as international members in order to secure priority booking for the game. Or at least access them a day before they went on general sale anyway.
The first seats were, of course, booked by Het Legioen’s ultras who stood facing us behind the opposite goal, marked by their the use of pyrotechnics, which reached a crescendo at the start of the game. It seemed positively dangerous, though, you had to admit, also spectacular. There were flares - that was to be expected - but the actual fireworks, some of which shot into the stadium’s roof where they fizzed around, showering spectators with sparks, were a surprise.
There was so much smoke, the game had to be paused until it cleared.
In this black, smoky cauldron, how else to describe the atmosphere other than truly intimidating? Even before kick-off the signs of the intensity to come where signalled when an obscure member of the Ajax support staff came on the pitch to lay out cones for the warm-up. The hostile reception was akin to the return of a former fan favourite turned rival.
The groundskeeper got involved too, moving the water sprinkler around when Dusan Tadic lingered to pop off a few extra shots after his team mates had returned to the dressing room, ensuring the Ajax striker got a soaking, much to Het Legioen’s delight.
From arrival, Feyenoord got the blood pumping with DJs in every corner of the ground, playing loud and heavy Euro pop. The Police presence was just as heavy in both human and animal form. What’s the collective noun for horses? A battalion? A volley? I’m not sure but trust me when I say there were loads of them. Imagine the sort of numbers involved in an Arthurian battle. Double it and you’ll be somewhere close.
As for the make-up of the crowd it was, I would estitame, something in the region of 98% male, not something I have experienced since the very early days of my football fandom. As a result, I was not subjected to a pat down on entry as all the security staff were also male. The poor geezer apologetically explained that he couldn’t touch me and instead invited me to turn out my pockets - which contained a city map and my cruise card, still yet to be used to book any of those hoped-for spa treatments.
I had some cash too, though I had planned to stay dry for the match, and I mean literally dry, to the point of dehydration if necessary, anticipating that there would be a serious lack of female facilities.
I was right about that but after some wondering around, we did find a unisex loo which some Dutch ladies had commandeered for us women. I don’t speak the language but from the tone and gestures, I think they were patiently explaining to any man who tried to jump or join the queue that a), there were more than adequate bathroom facilities for fellas, and b) so can you please respect our tiny two-toilet space and c) enjoy the anatomical advantage with which you have been blessed and kindly relieve yourself in one of the numerous outdoor urinals nearby. You know the big plastic ones? They look like Darleks. Urinate rather than exterminate if you will.
And so, having found a loo, and having arrived a fully three hours before kick off, pints were ordered. I’m not saying you have to have a drink to enjoy a game here but by the trail of the Heineken cans we followed to the ground, I’m not sure that many attend stone-cold sober.
There’s no concourse to speak of. If you’re on the upper tier, as we were, you have to climb vertiginous concrete steps on the outside of the stand to reach your plastic bucket seat, so the food stands, bars and facilities are all mainly clustered outside. In contrast to English football, here you can take your beer inside the actual stadium with you, and boy do you deserve to drink it if you manage to get it up all those steps without slopping it all over the place on your way. Heck, you can even smoke in your seat too and in Netherlands that includes more than regular tobacco. Some guy near us chewed on a fat cigar throughout, like an old school club chairman.
The very highest seats don’t even have a back to them, if you did want to lean back and relax with your homemade cigarette, you must trust in the corrugated metal walls of the stadium, built in 1937.
Our section was clearly usually reserved for away supporters, surrounded by walls of plastic with razor wire on top. We were there because away supporters have been banned from this fixture for some time after previous unpleasantness between the two sides.
Police costs are also said to be high but having seen the presence put on for a 100% home support, one wonders just how more expensive it could get - what are those horses shod in? Platinum?
Even without any away fans, modifications to the ground have been made in an attempt to control behaviour. There are nets high and rigid around three sides of the pitch to prevent objects being thrown at players. We presumed that one side was left open as that stand could be trusted - you know the one, every ground has one. It’s the one were they never sing, were they always buy and actually read the programme and leave early to be first out of the car park. If you don’t know where yours is then you probably sit in it.
In fact, as the Dutch fan who had adopted my husband explained, the net here was only removed to accommodate the TV cameras. This proved to have a major bearing on the match when there was an altercation between players on the pitch and a supporter threw a cigarette lighter into the melee, striking Ajax’s Davy Klaasen on the head and drawing blood.
The match was duly halted and the teams ordered to return to the dressing room.
The 12th man - as Het Legioen is known - became restless. Would the game restart? To our relief, it was. All that was needed was some words from a former player and now member of the coaching staff to calm matters. It was no big deal, when the 12th man is such a part of the game that ’12. Het Legioen’ is written on every single Feyenoord team sheet, sometimes a little man management is required, that’s all.
And so we resumed with Feyenoord 2 -1 down.
It’s hard to believe the anyone can come and win at a place like De Kuip but that’s how the game ended. Didn’t seem right, somehow. If the ball hits the back of the net but nobody makes a sound, is it really a goal?
No matter. We are members of Het Legioen now and yes, to answer my son’s question, yes, I would come to football if it was like this.
