“Y dale alegría alegría a mi corazón
La Copa Libertadores es mi obsession
Copamos Belo Horizonte e Assunción
Bostero vos los mirás por televisión
¿Que vás a hacer?
Si vos nos tenés los huevos de River Plate
¡Y Si Señor
De la mano del Muñeco vamo a Japón!”
Anyone who has seen it will know that the video of River Plate fans in the 2015 Copa Libertadores is one of the most infectious displays of terrace culture in the modern football era. The origins of the song (tune) are debated, some say the song originated at San Lorenzo while Boca Juniors, River’s greatest rivals, also have their own adapted version. The truth of the matter is, arguments about the origins of football songs are an extremely trivial extension of football one-upmanship and another mind-numbing example of fan bases seeking superiority. As someone who has observed strangers from all over the world argue and debate on social media about the originality of a football chant that you an your mates came up with in a bar in Belgrade, I find the idea that people are that passionate to prove/disprove that “we were the first to sing that” fairly amusing. It’s really not that important in the grand scheme of things, is it?
This is the story of how a few lads watching a video on social media in a Belgrade bar, came up with a song that became an internet sensation and had opposition fans all over the country frantically scanning Portuguese dictionaries.
Crvena Zvezda.
Red Star Belgrade away is one of those European trips that has a certain mystique around it. One that jumps out at you as soon as the draw is made. They are a “name” in European football and for a generation who have only known teams from the top five European leagues to win the European cup, the thought that a team from Serbia could lift the biggest trophy in European football is pretty remarkable. I can’t profess to have an encyclopaedic knowledge of Serbian football, in fact, other than youtube clips of mile long, graffiti covered stadium tunnels and derby-day scenes which bear closer resemblance to a warzone than a football game, my knowledge of Red Star is limited to the fact that Liverpool played them in 1973, and lost. I was confident, however, that this time the result was of little concern. I was proved to be very much mistaken.
If a trip to the Marakana stadium wasn’t enough to convince someone that an early season jaunt to Serbia on bonfire night was a good idea, then the promise of “Europe’s best nightlife” was. Floating nightclubs on the river Danube, cheap Eastern European ale and the promise of an “Indian Summer” in the Serbian capital was enough to persuade us that the £100 taxi across Serbia-Romania border the day after the game, to catch the flight home, was justifiable.
We arrived on the Sunday, before the game on the Tuesday, expecting big things and such big things, apparently, did not exist in Belgrade after September. They forgot to mention that when declaring it as “Europe’s best nightlife” on Google. The nightclubs on the Danube looked excellent, but were very closed. The bohemian area of the city looked excellent, but was very closed. Even the AirBnB we were due to stay in looked excellent, but was also, very closed. We came to the conclusion that November probably isn’t the time to visit Belgrade, if you want to see the best that it has to offer.
After finding alternative accommodation, we headed to the only bar that we had heard was open, the Casablanca bar in Skadarlij, the cultural quarter of Belgrade, where every restaurant exclusively sold sausages and potatoes and brass bands played old soviet era songs at a deafening volume while you tried to stomach your seventh sausage of the meal. It turns out the Casablanca bar is where the Belgrade supporters club gather to watch the reds. It was a small bar decked out in Liverpool banners and was full of jubilant reds from every corner of Europe. Whilst it was good to find out where the best place to go for a drink on match day would be, and catch up with lads from across Europe who we had last seen in Kiev, we couldn’t pretend that a trip which promised the bright lights of Europe’s best nightlife and ended in a bar surrounded by lads you see every week at the match, singing Liverpool songs, wasn’t slightly disappointing, but this was Belgrade in November, and there was very little alternative.
Casablanca Bar
Four renditions of Poor Scouser Tommy in an hour, FOUR. Me and the lads are partial to a bit of singing in a bar the night before European away games, and would never begrudge people having a good time and representing Liverpool fan culture in obscure European cities. However, the reality of hearing four versions of Poor Scouser Tommy within an hour is exactly as monotonous as you’d imagine. If this wasn’t enough to force us to give the Casablanca a miss for the night, a few lads tried to get a new Firmino song to “Karma Chameleon” by Culture Club, going.
“Bobby, Bobby Bobby Bobby, Bobby
Fir-min-heoo
He scores a goal, He scores a goal”.
Again, I’m not one to begrudge fans who try to come up with new songs, at the end of the day if no-one tries then the songbook becomes tired and repetitive. Me and the lads have also come up with our fair share of shockers over the years, although a Virgil Van Dijk song to Inferno, “From Paris to Berlin”, is one of the lost Kop bangers.
However, copying a United tune and pronouncing our lads name completely wrong? Come on.
After finishing our pints we headed to the bar next door and sat outside, in the rain, just to give our eardrums a rest. With the questionable attempt at a new Firmino song ringing in my ears, I turned to the lads and showed them the video that had been doing the rounds on social media, of River Plate fans in the Copa Libertadores. I asked if they were on to it and said “what do you reckon about a Bobby song to this?”.
“There’s something that the Kop wants you to know”
In the days before we left for Belgrade I had been doing my girlfriends head in by constantly playing that video and singing along in broken Spanish. This, somehow, led to me, someone who is by no means a musical lyricist, coming up with the line “Si Senor, If you give the ball to Bobby then he will score”. Somewhat reluctantly, my girlfriend admitted that that line was actually quite good and asked whether I had come up with it myself. This unexpected encouragement lead, much to her annoyance, to the lines “Best in the world his name is Bobby Firmino”, and “ Our number nine, when he gets the ball then he will score every time” coming together and the semblance of a Latin American inspired Kop song emerging and getting sung round the house for the ensuing few days.
By the time we had got to Belgrade, I had done my research and realised that in Portuguese, Bobby’s native language, Sim Senhor would be more appropriate for the song and that, although it needed a little work, the desire on social media for a Kop song inspired by the River Plate video, might not actually be that hard to achieve. Then came the hard bit, convincing the lads that trying to start a song which would have the whole Kop shouting “Sim Senhor” would not result in us getting absolute pelters.
Not sure if you’ve ever sat in front of your mates and tried to sing a footy song they haven’t heard before, but it’s never as good as it sounds in your head. As I’m there singing a song in Portuguese I can feel myself thinking, ”lad, what have you come up with here?”. Whether it was the fact we had just endured an awful rendition of Karma Chameleon, or whether the novelty of hearing a song that wasn’t Poor Scouser Tommy had clouded their judgement, the lads went with it. I sat there trying to teach Dom, Liam and Joel the lyrics and the more they got to know it the more they backed it. We played the video over a few times to work out whether the words actually fit and Liam and Dom came up with the first line, “There’s something that the kop wants you to know”.
If you have watched the video you will know that the River Plate version has an extra verse, but we concluded that getting the Kop to sing in Portuguese and at a reasonable tempo was tough enough, and therefore making it as short as possible was probably for the best.
That was it, we had cracked it, the whole night, every time there was a silence, someone started mumbling “There’s something that the kop wants you to know” and all of us would nod and sing along in approval. It was a belter.
Gameday
As far as Euro away’s go, Belgrade was relatively low key. The day of the match involved a few beers in ‘Studentski trg’, before an early coach escort to the ground. The atmosphere in the square grew slowly as fans congregated and familiar flags and banners began to be draped around the various bars, before coaches of fans who were on the day-trip turned up looking very much dressed according to the temperate forecast of the BBC weather app, rather than the reality of a November evening in Serbia. Other than one lad, who stood on the table with a flare and started a rendition of Allez Allez Allez, most fans milled around in groups and kept themselves to themselves. The notorious reputation of Red Star fans, who had been banned from attending the reverse fixture at Anfield, was evidently featuring prominently in the minds of the travelling supporters.
The perception of visiting Belgrade as a football fan is mainly informed by videos of the “Delije Ultras” and their derby day theatrics, whilst the need for mandatory coach escorts four hours before kick-off always creates an often unfounded feeling of unease amongst supporters. However, the reality of Belgrade was that the majority of Red Star fans were very hospitable before the game, and very generous in their drink purchasing afterwards.
As the coaches to the stadium began to leave, both the local off license and the KFC were raided, and lads and girls armed with £0.30 cans of Serbian Lager and a plethora of boneless banquets boarded the buses that were heavily guarded by the local authorities.
Not sure what it is about using public transport to get to the game, but whether it is a simple journey on the local underground or an armed escort of barely fit-for-purpose buses, the excitement and sense of togetherness that is engendered during these journeys almost always result in a better atmosphere than the actual away end itself. Belgrade was no different, once on the coaches the songs that had been so scarcely aired throughout the afternoon began to be heard and the excitement of a day on the ale before heading to one of the most intimidating atmospheres in European football, became more palpable.
As for the new song, the lack of singing round the square during the day had not been conducive to four lads trying to get a new samba inspired song started and as such, other than telling a few familiar faces that we had come up with something to that “Si senor” video off twitter, there wasn’t much mention of it. That changed, however, when we gathered at the back of the coach and sat with another group of lads well known for coming up with Allez Allez Allez in Porto. As the sound of cans getting cracked open reverberated and the engines of the old soviet era buses began to start up, so did the songs.
Coming up with a song that is successful amongst Liverpool fans is quite a challenging feat. For a song to be successfully received on the Kop, its originality is as integral as it’s sheer catchines. Copying rivals is small time and rightly frowned upon, whilst the dire chants that drone out of almost every away end that visit Anfield, make a mockery of the idea that English fans are the best and most creative crowds in the world. Adopting and rewording songs after playing on the continent during the 70’s and 80’s is a tale that is often told by the older generation, and embracing European football culture is often forwarded as a defining argument for Liverpool having the best songbook in the country.
It is this idea of “Scouse exceptionalism”, of Liverpool fans being pioneering and not conforming to the “Don’t take me home” brigade, that means the desire to bring songs back from the continent persists in the fan base today. The result of this culture (which, by the way, does not deny that the tune was adapted from fan bases in other countries and often simply points out that completely translating a tune in to a new language is slightly different then changing one word in an entire song), is songs such as Allez Allez Allez which become a defining cultural symbol of the football club, before being blandly copied by every middle England club up and down the country.
“Scouse exceptionalism” is a controversial term that often provokes discussion amongst the wider Liverpool fan base, however when it comes to songs on the Kop there can’t be much more of a compelling case in recent memory than Allez Allez Allez, a song that rattled actual professional footballers in to singing about grown men getting battered, after lifting a trophy themselves. The fact that the lads who came up with this song were sat on the back of the bus with us on the way to the Maracana, as the four of us who came up with the Firmino song gave it it’s first public airing, was the perfect storm.
Heads began to turn and the chairs and windows of the old buses began to be mistaken for samba style drums. Whilst the coherence of the actual lyrics inevitably took some time for people who were hearing it for the first time to grasp, the song was out there. If the song died down at the back of the bus as we ran out of breath and took a few swigs of lager, then someone who had picked up the words particularly quickly would shout “There’s something that the kop wants you to know”, and we would be off again.
“That’s a belter that you know”
“The next Allez Allez Allez that one”
“That will sound unreal with the whole kop singing that”.
Praise indeed, especially from the lads responsible for “Allez Allez Allez” itself and as we exited the bus and queued for about an hour outside the two concrete turnstiles that had been designated for our whole away end, the song kept going. It was only a few people who knew the words, the fans from our bus in fact, however heads began to turn, as is always the case when people hear something they are unfamiliar with, and people began to react and attempt to join in. As we got in the ground, any hope that the whole away end would be bouncing to the sound of the Bobby song as he went on to score a hatrick was short lived, as the noise that came from the home fans was enough to quieten even the most ardent away supporter.
Red Star Belgrade 2-0 Liverpool
The Maracana is an old school stadium, a proper old school stadium. Dug in to the ground, the plastic chairs are cemented to the concrete steps whilst the away end is cordoned off by steel gates that do a very poor job at stopping the tirade of spit that rains on the away end, from the home fans on the divide. We often profess that the Anfield atmosphere must have a paralysing effect on away teams and their supporters, and after being on the receiving end of a legitimately deafening atmosphere, I can confirm that those who dismiss its impact as merely superficial, are being knowingly disingenuous.
A dissenting voice from somewhere deep in the away end exclaimed, “our lads don’t look up for this today” and received the prompt retort of “are you up for it like? I’m f*****g not, I can’t hear myself think”. This was probably the first occasion in my twenty years of going to the match that I had complete sympathy for the lads in red looking very flustered, as I could very much not be arsed myself that night. Every time there was even a murmur of a “Liverpool” shout coming from the away end it was met with a barrage of whistles, boos and saliva that was both utterly disparaging and completely paralysing. Not even the prospect of starting our new song could get me singing that night, and when the final whistle blew with a background of “F**k you Liverpool” getting belted from the home end, the prospect of a four hour taxi across the Serbia – Romania border, suddenly seemed very appealing.
For whatever reason, new songs very rarely get started at league games. After returning from Belgrade the success of the new song seemed to fizzle out, and other than the odd reference on social media or inquisitive post on forums asking what that “Si Senor” song was about, there wasn’t much mention of it for the following few league games. This all changed in Paris.
Paris
In terms of Euro away experience, Paris couldn’t have been in greater contrast to Belgrade. Whereas Belgrade was low-key and predominantly regulars that follow Liverpool everywhere, the ease of getting to Paris meant that there were loads who went without tickets and loads for whom this was their first Euro away. The Boss night lads put an event on on the outskirts of the city where the venue was absolutely heaving inside, whilst the square outside bore greater resemblance to a major final than a group stage encounter. This time there was a group of about twelve of us who went, and over the previous few nights they had all been getting to grips with the new song in the various small bars and restaurants that we had frequented. However, other than our group and the lads who were on the coach in Belgrade, no-one had really heard the song as none of us had thought to take a video of it whilst in Belgrade. This meant that when we met up with the lads from Belgrade and tried to get it going in the square outside for a good twenty minutes, we were mostly met with dismissive glances as people focused on the songs that the Boss night lads were singing on stage in the venue. Eventually we gave it up as a bad job and consigned ourselves to the fact that it would be one of those songs that would remain within our group and only get an airing on the coach to an away game.
Having retired to a nearby restaurant to sample the local delicacies before the match, one of the lads suddenly proclaimed, “Get on Dom’s instagram”. Dom and Liam had stayed in the square and persisted in getting the song going and about an hour after we had left, Dom was “live” on Instagram with what appeared to be the majority of the square singing “Siiii Senor” and bouncing on chairs, whilst a samba style drum beat was played on the tables. As we finished up and headed back to the square it was still going. The words were slightly muffled and the tempo out of time, but there was no mistaking the song that was ringing around the Parisian streets. The noise grew louder and louder as more people began to attempt to join in with the words and a small pocket of singing soon became the whole square.
That was it, videos on social media began to go viral and the reaction started to pour in.
The rookie mistake we made was not getting a video ourselves. The original words that were fitted in to the slow tempo of River Plates version of the song, were quickly misconstrued on one of the viral videos and the resultant version had everyone stumbling over themselves trying to fit syllables into places that syllables could not fit. There is one piece of video evidence of the original version, from a Parisian bar the night before the game on Youtube, but other than that the version that we came up with in Belgrade is lost to the ages. Still, though, after a longer than necessary period of confusion around the actual lyrics, whilst to my amusement some maintained that the original lyrics should fit in to the faster tempo version,the song that became the soundtrack of a European cup triumph was born.
Bringing La Bombonera to Breck Road
Throughout the season the song grew in popularity and as little as a month since the trip to Paris, there was a somewhat poetic moment where, with the whole Kop singing his Latin American inspired anthem, Bobby danced his way past three sprawling Arsenal defenders, sat the goalkeeper down, tucked it in to the corner and gestured to the Kop to sing it even louder.
From that moment on, the song grew to become the most regularly heard anthem on the Kop, and as it became apparent that the season could end in glory, a local band called the Ragfamuffins created an excellent recorded version of the song, with all proceeds going to support the local foodbanks.
It’s a weird concept, hearing a song that you came up with, playing out of your car stereo, especially as someone who has no particular interest in music, however if I had known on that dreary night in Belgrade seven months prior, that the song would go on to make the charts whilst contributing to one of the most important causes in the city, I might have made sure that the number of words actually fit!
Madrid
There were many defining moments of the 2018/19 season that were soundtracked by the Bobby Firmino song, Arsenal (h), City (a) Porto (h) & (a), but there was no greater “pinch yourself” moment than being behind the goal in Madrid on 1st June, tears rolling down my face as a European cup that was draped in red ribbons was paraded in front of me, and the whole of the Liverpool end (including the players) bounced to a song we came up with in a tiny bar in Skadariji, seven months before.
For twenty years I had sat in the lower centenary, strangely transfixed with the songs and chants that came out of block 305, often focusing more on that than the game itself. So, for a song that I came up with to be getting sung back at me by the players I follow all over Europe after we won our sixth European Cup, it was absolutely surreal.
Who would have thought that a song that started out on a wet bonfire night in Belgrade would end up bringing La Bombonera to Breck road and forever be synonymous with our sixth European cup victory.
(Above link to only footage of the original version)
Ben Stevenson on Football 