A sequel worth watching

Someone said to me recently: “Handball fans no longer go to see their home team, they go to watch the opposition”. There is a little truth in what they say. If the big teams like Kiel and Barcelona come to visit, then the arena is stuffed. If not then there is a little more legroom than normal. It's a matter of education. The fact is that fans of certain clubs just don't realise how big the team visiting them is and the loyalty they demand.

A case in point was Paris last weekend. The visiting team was Veszprem and yet the arena wasn't full. The loyal band of travelling supporters left an indelible mark on the game, and for future reference, Paris fans might just realise how big this team and club is.

It reminded me of a time, when with two good knees and the youth to match, that I would stand in the great bastion of Gaelic sports in Dublin, Croke Park. It is a mecca of sports in Ireland, perhaps unknown to Europeans. On match days, regardless of the opposition, I would make my way to the stadium to stand amidst the 16,000 on “The Hill”.

To give a comparison, it is like the Kop at Anfield, with the exception that it is still a standing area only today. Hill 16, as it is called, takes its name from the myth that it was built from the rubble of the rising (rebellion) of Easter 1916.

We, my friends and I, would meet in some pub beforehand. A place where romances were begun and plenty more ended, depending on the result of the day. My friends wearing the blue of Dublin, I would wear purple, on the offchance that I might be picked up on TV in a sea of blue.

We were a small platoon in a very large army and we marched wherever our conquering heroes would lead us. There is nothing to compare with 82,000 people singing in unison and discord to really ignite the senses and get the pulses racing.

A pint before the game had a bitter taste as we forecast the game in our minds, the pint after, particularly after a win, was the nectar of the gods. Even the walk home seemed shorter.

For all of us, sportsfans, there is a Mecca. A place to go to live out the dreams and fantasies. Sure, Cologne and the VELUX EHF FINAL4 is a pilgrimage we all aspire to, but nothing beats that place you stand (or sit) in your home arena. The place you congregate before the game, the liquid you imbibe, the satisfaction of seeing your seat, the resonance of songs long sung.

Veszprem Arena is one such Mecca. At this stage I recognise some of the fans that attend the games. The loyal army, that follows their heroes. They are the heart beat of a club, the men and women who long after the stars have shot across their firmament are still in attendance with the memories of every victory and every slight on their tradition.

This is the place that Paris must overcome and it is a hostile place. Yet somewhere in the depths of the minds of all Veszprem fans is the seed of doubt that all supporters have. Will this be our day? They more than any will have sleepless nights wondering if all their players can live up to the reputations that have been forged.

For this is a sequel. In my youth the word sequel was never used, but a very Irish expression; “Follyer-upper”. Translated, it means follow up. It was the classic Saturday afternoon TV, that left the hero falling over a cliff (cue the voice over guy), Will he survive? Will our hero live to fight another day?

You knew he would. There was always the root of bush sticking out, onto which he could grab, to save him from a calamitous fall, but there was always a seed of doubt in your mind.

Nowadays, it's called a sequel. And as we know sequels by their very nature are pretty bland. Excepting the Godfather II and Mad Max II, the rest are poor. Jaws II, Karate Kid II and don't get me started on Taken II. The fact is, it's almost impossible to live up to the first great story.

And this is what we are faced with this week. The match in Paris was a humdinger. It had everything you would want from a game, including the last second twist.

And don't forget there was a prequel last year. A team that promised so much (PSG) was annihilated here in Veszprem.

But this Paris team is like the Karate Kid. Bullied by the bigger teams, they have found their Mister Miyagi. Somewhere they have been “Waxing on, waxing off”, until they have reappeared, magically altered into a team that is not easy to shake off. In short, they have all the strengths to win, but, alas, none of the tradition.

And this could come down to just that. The hallowed ground of the Veszprem arena is just that. It takes a hold of fans and team in one great swell of unity. The team itself, stands out as one of the best in Europe, but with the groundswell of emotion behind it, it might just carry the day.

But at some stage, PSG must shake off the yoke that they are a team that has been bought. It is up to them to man the barricades that historically built the modern republic of France.

If W. Somerset Maugham was right and that “Tradition is a guide and not a jailer”, then PSG must begin to forge that tradition on Sunday.

This game must be, must be a sequel worth watching.

First Blood, Part II, perhaps.

Hansen already has the Rambo headband.