The Black Tournament - Barefoot Football

'Barefoot and Badass in Bangalore - The Independence Cup is a Tournament with a difference' - Swaroop Dev

The whole thing caught my attention first when I overheard Amit on his phone, about sponsoring Jerseys for a football team. When I asked...he's like, 'my pub manager plays for this football team, it's a crazy event, a barefoot tournament that's been on in Bangalore since years'. Sounded interesting, and I wanted to know more.

Know more I did....Swaroop wrote an article on it for a magazine called Motherland, ( strong recommendation to watch the one minute clip, the dexterity and skill on display can bring goosebumps..it's like he is one with the ball) and it got published this month. 

Excerpts from the article:

'Legend has it that the only time India qualified for the Football World Cup, in 1950, the team withdrew because they weren't allowed to play barefoot. It had worked well for them in the maidans back home, they argued, and studs didn't suit their style. The actual reasons were far more symptomatic of Indian sports selection issues; lack of funds and internal squabbles. But why let the truth get in the way of a good story.

Every August in Bangalore comes around a tournament that brings alive an ignored football subculture in the city that's not generally predisposed towards the game. The Independence cup, or the Black Tournament as it's called on the street that does more than keep that delightful barefoot urban legend alive.

Set in a pretty but nondescript ground that's nestled in Bangalore Austin town, it's a tournament that's been on for 65 years. The teams are a rule book defying seven a side. There are no tickets, no seats, no changing rooms, no press, and no advertising. And it's played barefoot.

The tournament pits more than 60 teams from the slums and lower income areas of Bangalore. The teams as well as onlookers are predominantly from Bangalore's Tamil Christian community. One of the largest surviving 'converted' communities since the British missionary days, there are over 1.5 million Tamil Christians in Bangalore, and a majority of them sit in the lower middle class to the below the poverty line range. If one generously generalizes, it'd be fair to say they are, for the most part, avid church goers and highly patriarchal, with a penchant for cheap liquor, loud fights and drama. The new lot, with gelled hair, studded ears, tight shirts, are tough, blue collared workers and cocksure. They love their movies, superstars, tamil music, their 'areas', their language and their identity. And they love their football.

The cantonment is generally the domain of Bangalore's upper middle class, and the ground itself is flanked by posh apartments and large villas. But on every Sunday, for four weeks leading up to the finals on August 15th, the roads outside the ground are transformed into chaotic parking lots, densely packed with rickshaws, cycles, low budget bikes, and souped up scooters with film star stickers. It's like a Hell's Angels run on a sleepy little town that leaves its residents shaking their heads. The atmosphere around the ground evokes both intrigue and dread for what might follow. Vulgar team songs, drunken threats and loud opinions swirl in your ears. Unsurprisingly there's not a woman in sight, though that doesn't stop the MC from beginning every sentence with a polite, 'ladies and gentleman'.

Money stays behind the scenes and bragging rights for a year is the biggest prize on offer. There is, invariably, some delectable pre-match entertainment on show before each game. It's not exactly Jennifer Lopez at the superbowl, and almost always impromptu, but it's raucous and entertaining stuff.

There are also poignant stories of dashed dreams. From an ex-Olympian who is now a withered watchman with a fifty year old team photo crumpled into his wallet, and others of youngsters who were picked for the Bayern Munich Youth Trials but didn't have the passport or the money needed to finance the trip. On that day, it's all wonderfully romantic.

The football itself is fast and rough. with just 20 minutes a half and 7 players a side, there's a lot more running and hustling to do. It's barefoot, on an uneven mud field, with the odd rock popping out, and plenty of dust in the air. Despite all the chaos, the tournament progresses remarkable smoothly towards the final on Independence Day and attracts an over 10000 plus crowd.

After the finals, the crowds hang around, swigging, smoking and swearing, and warming up for the fights that will soon break out outside the gates, as is customary after the potent mix of a good drink and rough football. Soon after these scuffles they will pick themselves up, dust away the effects of the day, and sober up for a mundane job the next morning.

The street brawler transforms into the bank clerk. The rabble rouser opens up his cycle shop and the kid with gelled hair sheds his Messi t-shirt for a corporation school uniform. It's back to business as usual for this particular football - mad community. It will be a year before most of them see each other again, and they can't wait.'

Thanks Swaroop. Great job surfacing an unknown and fascinating event, and an interesting facet of Bangalore. And nicely written; I must have read it atleast ten times.