First person: “Since childhood, we were crazed by the black and white jersey”
It was the loudest I have ever screamed, and I still couldn’t hear myself. All the cheers melted into one voice yelling in the middle of the night. Even my ever-stoic dad shot up to celebrate the goal. How could he not?
PAOK had just gone up 1-0 on Panathinaikos in a crucial game for the 2010 Greek Super League. The whole bar, including me, exploded into a frenzy. It would have been the moment that ensured I stay a fan of PAOK forever, if I was not already hooked since birth.
I was introduced to the soccer team by my dad at a very young age. Sharing the supporter experience with him was, and still is, my favourite part of being a soccer and PAOK fan.
I wanted to be a fan because he was a fan.
A lot of the happiest memories I associate with the team include my dad. The fondest was when we went to a game with my grandpa.
Despite living in the city of Thessaloniki for many years, it was my first and only time in the team’s stadium, and I relished every second of it. Before the game, I got dressed in my bedroom and walked out into the living room with one standout accessory: my toy binoculars around my neck.
My parents tried explaining that toys were not appropriate for the stadium, but I was not having it. I was so scared I wouldn’t be able to see from far away; I needed a guarantee. So, I got my way, and I celebrated three goals in the stadium with my father, who was charged with holding the unused binoculars during the game.
My PAOK fandom was originally tied to him, but it very quickly grew past that.
By the age of 10, it became an identifying trait for me. I could always point to a geographical and family connection that I had with the team, and obviously, it fit my interest in sports. The bond was beyond that, though.
I wore the team’s scarves everywhere outside the stadium. I watched every match and every highlight I could. I made a conscious effort to learn all the team’s chants by heart.
One of the lyrics says, “Since childhood, we were crazed by the black and white jersey,” and that could not be more applicable to me.
Calling myself a supporter would be a disservice to my affection for the club. It is a part of me and my personal journey, no matter how far away I am from the stadium in Greece.
PAOK, like many other sports teams, fosters a community connected by more than just a geographical boundary. The club was founded by excluded immigrants and citizens of the overshadowed second biggest city in Greece, and their purpose is to represent the underdog. As a kid who moved around a lot, I found this team invaluable. PAOK was one of the few constants in my life. I was always the new kid in the school, repeatedly having to reintroduce myself and rebuild new connections.
The club and its fans are anti-establishment in a very vocal way, often celebrating their identity as outsiders from the cultural and economic elite of Greece, mainly residing in Athens. It was hard to define myself among all this change. Maybe that’s the reason I always talked about my favourite soccer team. Being a PAOK fan was the one thing I could always be, no matter where I was in the world.
This reality puts a lot of emotional weight behind the team’s crest. It is no longer a simple logo, but rather, a symbol. A badge of identity, even if you are not entirely sure who you are.
Every Sunday, I am one of hundreds of thousands who take two hours out of their day to cheer on their team. The club represents a part of themselves, whether that is their favourite childhood memories, their connection to a loved one or a community they can always participate in.
Even if there is no game happening, I still wear the jersey and sing the chants to represent the shy elementary school kid who would always say, “Hi, my name is Vasi and I support PAOK.”
