Trail of the Lion King

For the final game of the trip I saw IBV again, although it was their men’s team this time. They were playing Throttur, one of the second division Reykjavik teams in the last thirty two of the FA Cup.

We’d arrived back in the capital earlier that day after a drive through Pingvellir National Park. It’s the site of the old Icelandic Parliament, which is pretty much just a pile of rocks. They wouldn‘t have spent much time debating the small print of the budget once it started raining I imagine.

There was also the old execution site, which seemed to consist of a deep pond. I suspect there was a lot of talk about treading water techniques in Icelandic jails in the olden days. There was also the inevitable waterfall.

They’ve got loads of them.

Throttur’s ground is right next door to the national stadium in Reykjavik and it’s easy enough to find. In fact I’d been staring out at the floodlights for days from the apartment that we’d stayed in earlier in the week. Had I not had to return to our hotel to pick up the wallet I’d forgotten or selected a car park that required me to walk almost the entire circumference of both stadiums then I‘m sure I’d have been there in time for kick-off.  As it was, the game was twenty five minutes old by the time I reached the gate and handed over my 1500 kroner.

That’s where you go in.

IBV is the team that David James has been turning out for, although I’d noticed that despite having played in the first four games of the season he’d missed IBV’s game at the weekend. Once inside I checked the keepers and neither of them were him. I checked again as I know he’s prone to changing his hairstyle, but if either of those two were him then he’d changed his head as well.

There was a small covered stand that extended maybe twenty yards either side of the half-way line and then a short further section of uncovered seats. After that the crumbling terracing extended around to the corner flags and curved around behind the goal for a bit. I’ve no idea how old the stadium is, but if it had been built in the 1920’s then I’d be confident that the stand and terracing were original.

Old school terracing.

Second tier Thottur were in a Stoke strip, whilst top division IBV were in a funny sort of blue. Maybe the shade that car manufacturers might call cobalt. Or maybe not. I’m not too clued up on that sort of thing. I once had a car that I’d describe as dark blue but when the light caught it in a certain way it looked green. Weird, and a nightmare if you wanted to touch up scratches.

My late arrival meant that I’d missed a goal, with IBV already one up. The home side almost equalised on the half-hour when Sveinbjorn Jonasson had his free-kick and two follow-up shots saved by whoever was standing in for David James.

That’s the main stand.

We reached half-time with still just the one (unseen) goal in it.  There were maybe three hundred fans, with most of them migrating from under the covered stand to congregate by the tea hut at the break. It looked as if the majority of them knew each other well. There were a few people wearing IBV colours and everyone seemed to know them too.

At few minutes after the re-start Thottur were level. A half volley from the left corner of the penalty box beat the IBV goalie at his near post. He seemed surprised by the shot. Maybe it was David James with a new head after all.

Random action shot.

Conceding a goal seemed to spark a bit of life into the visitors and they went close with a header on the hour that needed a good one-handed save from the home keeper.

Throttur managed to hang on until ten minutes from time when IBV eventually regained the advantage through Gunnar Guomundsson, who I understand used to be a character in It Ain’t Half Hot Mum.

The view from miles away.

The home fans were encouraging their team on with chants on “Throttur, Throttur“. I believe it originates from the traditional Icelandic epic poetry. The resistance was broken though and the bloke from the jungle concert party added his second soon after.

Englishman Ian Jeffs added a fourth for IBV before Vioir Porvaroarson concluded the scoring in injury time for what was a flattering five-one victory.

Final Score.

The home players and fans quickly cleared off whilst the IBV players celebrated with their supporters. That was it for me. I’d seen five games in a week, involving teams from the top four divisions plus the women’s league.

Iceland is definitely my sort of place, especially for watching football. The ramshackle grounds, low attendances, mixed weather and breathtaking backdrops make it pretty much perfect.  I’ve no idea if I’ll be back again someday to see some more, but I’d like to think so.

After a few days in Reykjavik we thought we’d see some of Iceland’s sights and headed off towards the area known as the Golden Circle.

First stop was the Kerio volcanic crater. It was ok, I suppose, in a big hole in the ground sort of way. Probably the most noteworthy aspect to it was that the lake at the bottom wasn‘t full of old fridges and discarded supermarket trolleys. I suspect that it might not have been the same story had it been in the UK.

That’s me.

Five minutes later we were off to Haukadalur to see the geysers. The best one, somewhat imaginatively named Geysir, goes off twice a day. There were a few people stood around it waiting, but they obviously had far more patience or much less stuff to do than we did. We left them to it and settled for seeing the less spectacular but much more frequent Strokkur.

Strokkur erupts regularly every six minutes or so  and was pretty impressive. Although not quite so impressive as to warrant staying a further six minutes to see it again. I was actually more taken with the boiling water that just bubbled out from various points along the pathway. That seemed weirder.

Woo hoo.

There’s a big waterfall nearby too, Gullfoss. We followed the signs and so ended up in the car park some distance away. Those in the know just turn off early and park up at the bottom, near the falls. For perspective, it’s miles better than High Force but crapper than Niagara. Does that help? I suppose that’s why I don’t write slogans for the Tourist Board.

That’s me as well.

Anyway, enough of the nature stuff. We were staying at a place called Laugavatn and I’d noticed that there was a women’s game taking place on one of the evenings, forty kilometres away in Selfoss. You can‘t pass up that sort of opportunity and so I drove over to have a look.

It was a thousand Kronar to get in and there was one big uncovered stand with about seven hundred seats in it. The other three sides were just grass, although it was raised up to give a decent view. I reckon that there were probably around a hundred and twenty spectators, most of them in the stand with a few dotted around the grassy areas.

First half action.

Selfoss were in maroon and white, with visitors IBV in all white. There weren‘t many decent scoring chances in the opening half hour, with both sides happy to keep the ball when deep before trying to walk the ball in once they got anywhere near the opposition goal.

My initial impression was that IBV’s Shaneka Gordon was the pick of the players. She had a good first touch and got extra points for having a Marvin Emnes haircut.

Marvin Emnes.

For Selfoss, their American centre half Tiana Brockway was doing most of the organising. At one set piece she urged “Everyone pick a man”, which is a bit odd I suppose.

Five minutes before half-time Elisa Vidarsdottir floated in a direct free-kick. I don’t think she was going for goal, it looked more like an over-hit ball into the box to me. Whatever. It eluded everyone though before clipping the underside of the bar and bouncing down somewhere near the line.

The lino (who looked about twelve years old) flagged for the goal much to the fury of the home keeper who raged at him non-stop for the remainder of the half. I hope she knew his Mam. Or, even better, was his Mam.

Over the line?

It didn’t take Selfoss long to get back on level terms though as a few minutes after the restart a cross from the right was knocked in at the back post by Eva Eliasdottir.

One each.

The game opened up a bit as the half went on with Tiana Brockway putting a shot over the bar for Selfoss and then IBV’s Vesna Smiljkovic breaking clear only to be tackled outside of the box by the home keeper.

The visitors took the lead after seventy minutes when Marvin Emnes chased a through ball and sidefooted past the Selfoss goalie from around twelve yards.

The view from the grassy knoll.

It was all Selfoss after that as they pushed for an equaliser. There was a goalmouth scramble where it seemed like everyone except the other keeper was kicking away at something. I’d no idea where the ball was and I doubt many of the players did either.

A bit of goalmouth action.

The hosts had one final chance at the end but whoever swung a leg at it blazed it over the bar. It was at this point that I learned that even the Icelandic players swear in English. The win for IBV didn’t mean a lot to the respective fortunes of the two middle of the table teams, but it was a pleasant evening out in the inevitable picturesque surroundings.

After a couple of days in Reykjavik, we decided to have a drive northish to see a bit more of the countryside. Grundarfjörður is two and a half hours away from the capital in the north of the Snæfellsnes peninsula. As you might expect, it’s a scenic route. There are plenty of mountains, waterfalls and we even saw wild horses fighting.

I know. Fighting horses would have been better.

Grundarfjörður was shut when we arrived. The one hotel wasn’t serving lunch and the best we could manage was a coffee at a small supermarket that appeared to be the meeting place for anyone who had ventured out of their wooden house.

We eventually found a cafe serving food but after paying fifteen quid for a bowl of soup realised why everyone just went to the supermarket or stayed indoors. With the wind and rain getting worse, Jen decided that the high price of lunch entitled her to linger indoors a bit longer and so I left her there and drove around the corner to the football pitch that we’d spotted on the way into town.

It was quite a view.

The game was a fourth division clash between Grundarfjörður in blue and white and Fjardabyggd in red and black. I didn‘t have to pay to get in. In fact I didn‘t even have to get out of my car. Everyone just parked up on a raised ledge and watched from the warmth of their vehicle. That was quite fortunate really as the dashboard was suggesting that it was close to freezing outside.

There were about another thirty cars lined up by the time the game kicked off, with a few hardy souls watching in the open. I suppose the locals have got used to weather like that and I doubt there are many rival attractions on a Grundarfjörður Sunday lunchtime. Or any Grundarfjörður lunchtime.

One of those cars was ours.

Two minutes in and the Grundarfjörður right winger got clear through and squared it for one of his strikers who somehow managed to get his legs tangled up and miss an open goal.

After that though it was all Fjardabyggd chances in the remainder of the first half with the wind seeming to thwart the visitors more than the home defence. Bang on half-time their left midfielder used the gale to his advantage and cutting in from his side of the pitch curled a right footed shot just inside the far post to open the scoring. The goal was greeted by the sound of car horns, presumably in celebration, so there must have been some away fans in attendance.

That’s quite a famous rock apparently.

Fjardabyggd continued to press in the second half amid a few harder tackles flying in. Early highlights included one of the coaches being sent off, presumably to sit in the warmth of his car. That’ll teach him. Then we had a home player calling for what I had presumed was a replacement shirt, but was actually an additional shirt. Fair enough I’d say.

Imagine what it’s like in the winter.

Twenty minutes from time a Grundarfjörður free kick bobbled around in the box before just sitting up nicely for the home centre back who wellied it home on the half-volley to even things up. The goal seemed to increase the niggling fouls and before long we were treated to a handbag session that ended up with one of the Grundarfjörður fellas getting a straight red.

Get into ’em!

A minute from time Fjardabyggd were awarded a penalty. As you can imagine Grundarfjörður, who were a player and a coach down, weren’t too pleased with this. They soon cheered up though when their keeper managed  to keep both the initial shot and then the rebound out.

Just look at those hills.

The joy wasn’t to last though as moments later a cross from the right was headed home from five yards out to give the visitors a two-one victory.

That’s yer lot.

As the car horns greeted the final whistle the bloke who had been sent off came back on to the pitch to remonstrate with the ref. Unfortunately for him Grundarfjörður don’t supply their players with padded jackets and so he stated his grievances whilst wearing a shawl. It’s hard to be taken seriously in those circumstances.

I think that Grundarfjörður might very well have been the most scenic location that I‘ve ever watched a game of football. It was definitely well worth the weather and the pricey soup.

Well, I’m back. I was going to just leave the blog floating around in cyberspace to be chanced upon by people googling penis fish, but I had stuff to write about it and it was easier to do it here than to set a new blog up. So, as I’m not in Korea these days this place is no longer about Korean football, it’s about any sort of football. Or sport. So that’s fairly wide ranging then. We’ll get back into the swing of things with some games from Iceland in the summer.

I’ve often fancied a trip to Iceland, but it’s one of those places that I’ve either been too busy to get to or on the occasions when I’ve had the time there’s been somewhere better to go instead.

A combination of plenty of time off between jobs and a couple of Withered Hand gigs at the Music Mess Festival in Reykjavik meant that finally the time was right and Jen and I landed at Keflavik early on a drizzly Thursday morning.

It took us a while to clear the airport, mainly because of the various insurances I had to consider at the care hire desk. Windscreen chip cover was considered vital by the Hertz staff but they reluctantly conceded that if I fancied a gamble I could probably take a chance on volcanic ash damage. I struggled a bit with the money too, getting thoroughly pissed off with the cash machine at its continued refusal to give me what I later realised had been the equivalent of three grand Sterling.

Anyway, that’s enough of that. Time for the football. There are plenty of teams in the Reykjavik area which isn‘t surprising as most Icelanders live there. I’d picked out a fourth tier game at Augnablik as being the nearest to our apartment but when I turned up half an hour before the reported kick-off time there was nothing more to see than a couple of kids kid booting a ball around on what looked like a school pitch.

Not to worry though, there was a third tier match nearby and with the wonder of that blue dot thing on my phone I was able to turn up at the Hertz Vollerinn Stadium with time to spare. It was a thousand Kroner to get in which by this time I’d learned was just over a fiver in proper money. Despite the stadium sponsor, the bloke in the ticket office didn‘t try to sell me any insurances, nor did he require a hefty deposit in case I scratched my seat.

Here come the teams

IR were in white and blue, whilst the visitors Aegir wore yellow and black. My initial impressions were that the home side passed the ball a little better, but the away side had more fat blokes. Past experience of watching football at its lower levels suggests that the fellas carrying more weight than they should do are usually decent footballers. They have to be really, unless they are related to the manager or owner. Or are indeed the manager or the owner. Or occasionally both.

On this occasion better passing trumped triple XL shorts and the hosts took the lead midway through the first half when Jon Strom beat the offside trap, outpaced the pursuing defenders and sidefooted the ball past the advancing keeper.

The players celebrate with the mascots.

The visitors came close to equalising just before the break when a stumble from IR defender Atli Johannsson let in Milan Djurovic who, with the goal at his mercy, put his shot into the side netting. It was hard to say which of the two players looked the most embarrassed.

At half time I got myself a coffee and a hot dog and wandered around. There were about a hundred and fifty fans there, most of whom seemed to know each other, which isn‘t surprising really.

Discussing the long light nights , I imagine.

At the restart I noticed how many of the shouts from the players were in English. “Time“, “Man On“, “Start Again“, the usual stuff. The players seemed very respectful towards the ref, with very little querying of decisions and none of the mouthfuls of abuse that are part of the game in England. I prefer it like that. If I were a ref I’d book anyone who did any more than raise an eyebrow at anything I did.

From the ‘stand’ behind the goal.

With ten minutes played in the second half the home side doubled their lead when Jon Strom nipped in front of the keeper to poke the loose ball home for his second goal of the evening.

The second goal.

Milan Djurovic made up for his earlier miss when he pulled one back with a penalty twenty minutes from the end but IR saw the game out for a 2-1 victory.