Sneaking Into Stadiums: Family Football Days in Brazil and Uruguay
Story and photos by Dave Seminara



A writer enjoys a rowdy Rio Maracanã Stadium football experience with his sons in Brazil, then has to get extra creative for them to attend a match in Uruguay.


Brazil travel story

"I don't advise taking children to the game. There could be violence. The police have already seized a machete and pistols from fans."

That was the advice that a fan gave me just a couple of hours before Flamengo, Rio's most famous soccer club, kicked off against rival Atlético Mineiro in a key Copa do Brasil match on a cloudy Wednesday night in July 2022. But how could I bring my sons, Leo, 15, and James, 13, to Brazil without taking them to see an elite-level soccer match? Fútbol, and the artful way that it's played in Brazil when done right, is arguably the most important aspect of Brazilian culture and it is what the country is best known for around the world. Also, I reckoned it would be wicked fun.

The game was long sold out. Aside from the aforementioned warning I got from a guy who runs a Flamengo football fan account on Instagram, I was also told that tickets would be hard to come by. But curiosity is a powerful thing. I shrugged off all the warnings and piled into an Uber with the boys a few hours before kickoff, headed toward Maracanã Stadium with the equivalent of $250 in my wallet.

We rode the half hour or so from Copacabana to the stadium in silence. I was as nervous as a D-student about to take the SAT while hung over. This feeling of insecurity intensified as we stepped out of the car and slalomed around waves of fans clustered outside the stadium. Some were singing and chanting and waving flags, while others were enjoying a final beer before going into the stadium. I had no idea how or where to find ticket scalpers, so I approached a kind-looking man with a lampshade mustache who had a teenage son with him.

A Helper to the Rescue for a Rio Scalped Tickets Deal

Brazil soccer

The boy spoke English, his father did not but he told me he'd help us find tickets. He quickly zeroed in on a shifty-eyed man with a paunch and excessively baggy jeans who had tickets to sell. The face value of his seats was the equivalent of $6 but he wanted about $100 each. I later found out that Flamengo fan club members pay a monthly fee to get access to crazy cheap tickets, which is what this man must have had. Our new friend helped us get the man to shave his price down to $75 each. "It is a very high price," our helper said. "But this is a big game. His tickets are real. I would take it."

The kind man told us that the scalper would walk us to the gate we were supposed to enter and we'd give him the money there. They were headed to the opposite side of the stadium, where they were required to enter, and I was sorry to see them go. We shuffled off behind the scalper as he navigated his way through the rowdy crowds. Moments later, the teenage boy ran up behind us and called out, "Wait! Wait! My father's coming! He wants to stay with you until you enter the stadium."

It was like reuniting with old friends. Our small posse followed Mr. Baggy Pants into a surrounding neighborhood, due to a series of roadblocks set up for crowd control. We walked for what seemed like miles, nearly completing what felt like a full circumnavigation of the neighborhood. The longer we walked, the more nervous I became and the more thankful I was to have these new friends with us. We finally reached a set of security barriers leading up to our designated entrance. It was impossible for them to escort us all the way, so our friend told us it was time to pay the scalper.

As I attempted to discretely pull out and count a massive wad of Brazilian currency amidst the throngs of revelers, I felt like we were about to complete a drug deal. It looked like I was about to score or to get robbed. We got the tickets, hugged our new friends goodbye, and breathed a huge sigh of relief when our tickets scanned properly at the gate. We entered the donut-shaped stadium, built in 1950 to host the FIFA World Cup. It was a half hour before kickoff and it was already nearing its capacity of close to 80,000.

The Biggest Party in Rio de Janeiro

A record 173,850 spectators packed the place to see Brazil lose the World Cup final to Uruguay that year and the stadium has accommodated more than 150,000 fans dozens of times. But most of the capacity used to be standing room only and now there are just under 80,000 seats in the Rio stadium, though we quickly discovered that no one uses them. Our seats were near midfield, and the place was already rocking, with fans singing and waving flags as though the team had just scored even though the match hadn't even started.

football Rio

We quickly made friends with groups of fans in front of us and behind us and felt immediately welcomed. All the tension of the preceding hour evaporated by the time a flurry of smoke bombs went off before kickoff. The smoke quickly enveloped the stadium, bathing us in a surreal, smoky fog. We could no longer see the field. The game had to be delayed about fifteen minutes, but no one cared. Our neighbors explained that the smoke signified the opposition entering into inferno. Signs reading bem-vindo ao inferno (welcome to hell) were strewn around the stadium.

The gates opened at 5 p.m. and many fans enter around that time. Local beers cost about $2 inside the stadium, so by the 9:30 p.m. start time, the party was already in full swing. Flamengo lost the first leg of this Copa do Brasil knockout match, 2-1, so the home side needed a two-goal victory to advance. Once the game began, the singing intensified, and the pace of play was fast and furious—like nothing we'd seen before.

Travel with my sons used to be easier. As children, they went wherever we took them. As teens, they complain seemingly wherever we go. Museum? No! Historical site? No! Walking tour? No! "Strange" food they've never had before? No! But on this evening, my sons were on their feet, deliriously happy and swept up in the fever pitch of excitement just like everyone else. They were into the match and I felt like the only thing that could make Leo happier would be a cold beer, his first ever, so I let him have most of one. "It's surprisingly pretty good," he said.

Foreign Fans Bring Good Luck

In the 35th minute of a so-far goal-less but exciting match, the referee gave a Flamengo defender a yellow card. The fans were outraged. Though I only know a bit of Portuguese, I knew enough to understand that most of the fans within earshot believed the ref's mom was the sort of person who charged by the hour, and not for legal services or tarot readings. Flamengo's speedy players were relentless, but chance after chance was frittered away. We feared it might be a dreaded goalless tie until the 45th minute when Giorgian de Arrascaeta, a Uruguayan midfielder, broke free on the wing and chipped a ball ever so slowly past the keeper. The crowd held its collective breath as the ball dribbled ever so slowly toward the corner of the goal, inching across the white line only after what seemed like an eternity and seemingly only by the grace of God. GOAALLLLLLLLL! 1-0.

The place went nuts. The hours of buildup, the near misses, the copious amounts of alcohol and sweat had all culminated in this one glorious moment. New friends on all sides hugged us and tussled James' hair as though we'd known each other for years. By this time, we were taking turns buying rounds for Felipe and Isabella, young fans who'd become our new friends, and we needed more beer because we spilled so much in the celebration.

maracana stadium

The team still needed another goal to win but after the first score, the intensity of the crowd seemed to propel the team forward to new heights. In the 64th minute, de Arrascaeta blasted a shot with such speed and ferocity that it went in and back out of the net without us even noticing it. If it weren't for the belated eruption from the crowd, we would have assumed it had hit the post. 2-0!

Flamengo held on for dear life to win and advance, 3-2 on aggregate. We were told that we were good luck charms and a host of new friends wanted to take photos with us. So much for violence and nearly getting killed, I thought, as we posed and I cavalierly passed my expensive iPhone Pro around the stadium for others to get shots of us in what the media often regard as one of the world's most violent and dangerous cities.

Power of Persistence in Uruguay

My sons and I rarely concur on trip highlights, but we were in lockstep agreement regarding our Maracanã experience. It was the clear highlight of a 12-day trip to Brazil. And so, a couple of weeks later, in Montevideo, Uruguay we hoped to recreate some of that magic on another soccer pitch in another distant land. This time, our visit coincided with the return of Luis Suarez, one of the best Uruguayan football players of all time, to his boyhood club, Montevideo's Club Nacional de Football. Suarez played for the club as a teenager and then left Uruguay for more lucrative pastures in Europe. On a Tuesday night in August, less than 48 hours after he was re-signed by the club after a 17-year absence, the prodigal son was coming home and there wasn't a ticket to be had for the match anywhere in the country.

I was undeterred though, and the boys and I made our way to the Estadio Gran Parque Central, the club's venerable old stadium, which opened in 1900, on a cool, drizzly night with about $300 in local currency burning a hole in my pocket. The atmosphere outside the stadium, which hosted the first World Cup in 1930 and is considered the oldest still in use in the Americas, was festive but tranquil compared to the madness in Rio. We burned holes in our shoes wandering the neighborhood in search of tickets to no avail. Everyone had their tickets on their phones. There were no paper tickets and no scalpers.

Brazil soccer games

"It's okay, dad," Leo said. "We can just go back to the apartment and watch it on TV." It was a reasonable idea, but I love a challenge and I also want my sons to learn the value of persistence. It's a word I drill into their heads on an almost daily basis. I reckoned there had to be some way to get into the stadium, but how? As we walked around fruitlessly searching for fictional ticket scalpers or good Samaritans with extra tickets, I wondered if perhaps I could talk my way into a media pass or three. I saw a pair of journalists interviewing fans and introduced myself. They were from an Argentine television station and were in town to cover Suarez's return to Uruguay.

I asked them where the media entrance to the stadium was, and they said we could follow them there. As we approached the media gate, I told them I wanted to apply for a press pass and asked them to tell that to the security guard, since my Spanish is basic. The guard scrutinized my business card for an agonizing moment or two, casting a suspicious glance at my sons, and waived us in. One of the Argentine journalists pointed to a woman seated at a long table with a laptop in what seemed to be an annex to the stadium. "That's the woman who handles the press passes," he said. "You can ask her about it."

There were several people waiting in line to talk to her and she looked harried. I sized her up and reckoned that she was unlikely to issue a press pass to a visiting American writer with no legitimate connection to soccer and his children with no prior arrangement. "Wait, are we already inside the stadium or is there another ticket check?" I asked. The Argentines weren't sure. It was their first time at the stadium too but there were a swirl of people and plenty of confusion, so I sensed an opportunity. "Guys, follow me real close and DON'T stop walking till we get inside," I said to the boys before we bolted.

We followed the crowd, moving as swiftly as possible hoping against hope there would be no further ticket checks. In moments, we went up a flight of stairs and were home free. Then I wondered what part of the stadium we should go into. At first, I thought, better try the cheap seats but then reconsidered and headed right for the best seats in the house. There was an usher, but we barged past him and weren't questioned. We were early and there were lots of empty seats in the section we chose randomly. I was thrilled. We were in! But then James noticed that there were names on all the seats in our section. I asked someone and he said they were the names of season ticket holders. "They might not come but tonight they probably will because of Suarez," he said.

We moved down closer to the pitch and found rows of seats with no names. As it turned out, much of the seating in the stadium is assigned only by section and is first come, first seated. The place filled up by kickoff, but miraculously, there seemed to be plenty of room in our section, so there must have been some no-shows. Still, after we sat down, I was reluctant to go to the bathroom or get snacks and drinks because I had no ticket stub. It took me perhaps an hour, and a full bladder, to overcome that fear and thankfully no one bothered us.

Free Entry to a 1-0 Borefest

This match was as dull as the Flamengo match was thrilling. The home side lost 1-0 to a Brazilian club, Atletico Goianiense. The crowd was raucous but the vibe was muy tranquilo compared to Brazil. They don't sell alcohol inside Uruguayan football stadiums, so that plays a big role in the mellower atmosphere. Suarez, famous not just for his goal scoring prowess but also for biting at least three opponents in his career, was still suffering from jet lag and entered late in the game. The man my sons call "chompling" did little but at least didn't bite anyone.

Still, the thrill of finding our way into the stadium in a seemingly impossible situation was a reward in and of itself. True, I might not have set the best lesson for my children by trespassing, but it was a victimless crime, especially since we filled empty VIP seats, one that gave me the chance to harp on the persistence theme. Plus here I am using those press credentials...

When we returned home, I had Instagram friend requests from Felipe, Isabella, and a host of other Flamengo fans we met at Maracanã. The experience reminded me of the importance of taking chances while traveling. Travel is about stepping outside one's routine to hopefully see and learn something new. Bad things can happen along the way, but amazing things rarely happen to people who stay in their hotel rooms.

"You brought us luck at the game," said Felipe. "Go with God!"

Dave Seminara

Dave Seminara is a writer and former diplomat in Florida. He is the author of the books Footsteps of Federer: A Fan's Pilgrimage Across 7 Swiss Cantons in 10 Acts and Mad Travelers: A Tale of Wanderlust, Greed & the Quest to Reach the Ends of the Earth







Related Features:
An Unexpected World Record Holder in Rio - Bruce Northam
Hanging With the Hustlers of the Dominican Republic - Dave Seminara
Bullfighting Buddhists or Backwards Bumpkins in Peru - Kirsten Koza
Trying Isolated Farm Life on a Uruguay Estancia - Tim Leffel


See other South American travel stories from the archives


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Books from the Author:

Footsteps of Federer: A Fan's Pilgrimage Across 7 Swiss Cantons in 10 Acts

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Mad Travelers: A Tale of Wanderlust, Greed & the Quest to Reach the Ends of the Earth

Buy Mad Travelers: A Tale of Wanderlust, Greed & the Quest to Reach the Ends of the Earth at your local bookstore, or get it online here:
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Amazon UK
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