Ever seen three thousand Emirate men in traditional dress chanting We Will Rock You in Arabic from a football terrace? No, neither had I until last Saturday night.
My October travels took me to Abu Dhabi, the UAE captial, where my cousin lives and works. He’s a football obsessive and suggested we take in a local game.
The plan was to meet ten minutes before kick off at Al Wahda Mall which backs on to Al Nahyan Stadium, the home of Al Wahda FC. Sadly, hectic evening traffic scuppered this arrangement and at 8.10pm, ten minutes in to the game, I was frantically running down a narrow street behind the main stand looking for a turnstile.
I needn’t have been worried though as entry to these matches is free. The UAE Gulf League is seen as a vanity project and most clubs are owned by a UAE royal family member.
As you have already seen with the investment into Manchester City, money appears to be no object to these lads – City owner Sheikh Mansour also owns Al Wahda’s cross-town rivals Al Jazira.
Eventually I found a gate. Two policemen searched my bag and I was led up to a sparsely populated but plush looking main stand.
The Al Nahyan Stadium is a 12,000-capacity open bowl which is very reminiscent of old Eastern Bloc stadia. The stand opposite the one I’d ended up in was where the action was. 3,000 locals in their white dish dash robes filled the terrace. They banged drums and passionately chanted for their team in unison. It was a shame I didn’t speak Arabic.
Al Wahda’s rivals for the night, Al Wasl, had travelled down from Dubai. Their players were sporting a bright yellow strip which contrasted nicely with the burgundy of the hosts. In the far corner of one end behind the goal were a plucky 300 who had made the journey.
As for the standard of football...well it wasn’t the best. The teams were mainly made up of local players with a few international imports. Decision making was dubious from both teams and the ball was regularly booted out of play. The setting had all the trappings and prestige of a Champions League match but the actual football was no better to watch than our own league.
At half time I migrated to the other side of the ground to meet up with my cousin who was sat in the middle of the dish dash mafia. It was a comical sight.
In the second half the home support upped its game as a man with a megaphone led the chanting from the front of the stand. In the shadow of three enormous framed portraits – the country’s founder, president and vice-president – that towered above the stand it had the feel of a protest rally rather than a football crowd.
On the pitch things were hotting up ever so slightly. Al Wasl’s Brazilian loanee Caio, wearing number 90, came on from the bench and immediately scored to send the visitors into a 2-1 lead. The South American was head and shoulders above the rest of his mainly UAE team mates. He then pushed his luck by running the length of the home stand making a shushing gesture. The locals weren’t happy.
I was praying Wahda would equalise to ensure myself a safe exit and got my wish ten minutes later. A scuffed shot from Amer Omar made it 2-2. The final whistle blew and we made our way out of the ground.
In this non-drinking country the mall is often the focus of the locals’ leisure time and it was there where we headed to grab a burger and have a wander. It was a far cry from the Abbey clubhouse and 3,000 miles away from Gorton I secretly pined for a pint of Boddingtons. I’ll be pleased to get that pint this afternoon. Enjoy the game.
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