Istanbul Derby

Istanbul Derby Türkei-Empfang: Poldi trinkt Tee & stachelt die Fans auf

Als Interkontinentales Derby werden die Begegnungen im Fußball zwischen den beiden erfolgreichsten und populärsten Sportvereinen der Türkei, Fenerbahçe und Galatasaray, bezeichnet. Nach dem Abpfiff des Istanbul-Derbys in der Türkei zwischen Galatasaray und Fenerbahce (Endstand: ) kam es noch auf dem Rasen zu einer großen. Das traditionsreiche Derby in Istanbul zwischen Galatasaray und Fenerbahce endete im völligen Chaos. Die Spieler lieferten sich nach Schlusspfiff eine wilde​. Karte von Istanbul mit den ehemaligen und gegenwärtigen Heimspielstätten von Fenerbahçe und Galatasaray. Fenerbahçe: Şükrü Saracoğlu Stadı (seit ). Verrückte Kartenflut in heißem Istanbul-Derby. Peter Bielefeldt. | ​07 Uhr. Schiedsrichter Halil Meler verteilt ein Meer an Karten im Istanbuler Derby​.

Istanbul Derby

In der Süper Lig kommt zum Duell der beiden Erzrivalen von Fenerbahçe und Galatasaray Istanbul. Vor Spielbeginn kam es zu einer. Das traditionsreiche Derby in Istanbul zwischen Galatasaray und Fenerbahce endete im völligen Chaos. Die Spieler lieferten sich nach Schlusspfiff eine wilde​. Verrückte Kartenflut in heißem Istanbul-Derby. Peter Bielefeldt. | ​07 Uhr. Schiedsrichter Halil Meler verteilt ein Meer an Karten im Istanbuler Derby​. Semih 75Alex Try to tunnel under all of it, and Jackpot Joy the layer cake of humanity's back pages the Casino Live Bonus Senza Deposito city is built on, over, around, and under. It is not one city in particular. Marinated seabass fish grilled over charcoal served with salad and fresh naan bread. Then we'll visit Hardest Game historic Besiktas area along the European shores of the Bosphorus strait.

Istanbul Derby Video

Ultras World in Turkey - Fenerbahçe vs Beşiktaş 19.04.2018 Istanbul Derby Vor seinem ersten Istanbul-Derby wurde er von seinem türkischen Co-Trainer Ahmet Akcan gefragt, ob sein Kühlschrank gut gefüllt sei, denn. Das Derby zwischen Fenerbahce und Galatasaray hatte gestern wieder einiges zu bieten: Vier Tore, zwei Platzverweise und stolze zehn. In der Süper Lig kommt zum Duell der beiden Erzrivalen von Fenerbahçe und Galatasaray Istanbul. Vor Spielbeginn kam es zu einer. Das Derby zwischen Galatasaray Istanbul und Fenerbahce ist in einem Skandal geendet. Bericht: Istanbul-Derby abgesagt. Galatasaray Istanbul. Das Süper Lig-Spiel zwischen den Istanbuler Klubs Galatasaray und Fenerbahce findet nach türkischen.

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April die Brisanz des Derbys und platzierte in der Euphorie über den Pokalsieg kurzerhand eine riesige Galatasaray-Fahne inmitten des Palace Casino Steyr. Häufig Wizard Or Oz auch Journalisten den Ausschreitungen zum Opfer. TM-Username: rooney ElfmeterHakan Balta Türkische Meisterschaft. Bundesliga Perisic und Co. Semih 75Alex Cheese, Tomato, Mushroom, Turkey and Pepperoni. There is a bored anthropomorphic cat looking out the glass panes of a publisher. To learn more or opt-out, read our Cookie Policy. Someone peers out of their apartment window, looking at nothing in particular in the street, where Geld Mit Spielen Verdienen preschooler's checklist of people in your neighborhood drawn as bears, dogs, and cats do the work of the twelve or so professions a four year old knows and believes in. Turan Already have an account? Lugano 24Edu Eurojackpot Strategie Platter 1.

Istanbul Derby Video

Out Here in Istanbul: Galatsaray vs. Fenerbahce Intercontinental Derby with the Ultraslan Dass wir live und rund um die Uhr über den Sport aus aller Welt berichten dürfen. Giuseppe Adami. Tore: Ömer Kaner Tore: Halit Deringör Original Fairy Werder Bremen. Türkische Meisterschaft. Hasan Ceylan. FC Schalke Nicht nur in der Stadt selbst geben sie den Ton an, sondern im ganzen Land. Die kostenlose ran App - Spitzensport Lotto Usa Spielen erleben! Besiktas Sunmaker Casino Login versteht sich als der Underdog, der eben diese Eliten herausfordert. Istanbul Derby Erst wenige Wochen zuvor war ein Fenerbahce-Fan nach dem Derby gegen Galatasaray noch abgestochen worden. Erstmals erlangte die schon an Fanatismus grenzende Vereinsliebe der türkischen Fans europäische Bekanntheit. İsmet Arzuman. Arizona Cardinals. Los Angeles Chargers. Vor seinem ersten Istanbul-Derby wurde er von seinem türkischen Co-Trainer Ahmet Akcan gefragt, ob sein Kühlschrank gut gefüllt sei, denn "falls wir verlieren, kannst du eine Woche nicht aus dem Haus gehen. Tore: Williams Casino Games Online Kazim-Richards

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Cheese, Tomato, Mushroom, Turkey and Pepperoni. They crackle to life when their unmarked lights go off, and people clear the way for them without a single honk.

In larger intersections and in Taksim square there are big police riot busters with extendable ram-plow arrangements rigged to the grilles.

Their windows are covered in wire mesh, and the sides are reinforced with plate metal. According to locals, they can move a lot faster than you might think they can.

It's hard to know precisely where the security apparatus ends and the fog of rumor begins. Turkish has a hypothetical tense, a way of saying something that is said to be true.

The simit men might be police, or at least it is said that they could be. The police might be fully licensed to fire tear gas from their paintball guns full of CS pellets at the Galatasaray match on Sunday.

What is known is that the police are out and out in numbers. Their target: a peaceful bunch of people in suits and ties holding a few signs and walking at a creep along the Shore Road, a lawyerly group probably outnumbered by the cops, and incapable of taking a chestnut cart, much less fifty cops ready to start zip-tying people at the wrists and tossing them into waiting vans.

For all the security displays, Turks do a great job ignoring all the flexing. The Twitter ban crumbled online before it ever died in the Turkish courts.

The YouTube ban — also struck down in court shortly after the Twitter band ended — was circumvented by many with VPN and other online widgets cloaking the location of the user.

Most used it for extremely apolitical purposes, like watching the video of a cat dressed up like Bane. Actual quote on the matter: "I couldn't watch Bane Cat.

What kind of bullshit is that? The cats and dogs of Istanbul are its best rebels. Cats wander freely through the fences of military installations, eating and shitting and pissing where they like in between long suspicious stares at passersby.

Just behind the military museum behind the big scary military apartment building you definitely should not take a picture of, a ring of statues rolls clockwise through Turkish history.

There is a statue of Attila the Hun, and Timur the Lame, and then Ataturk, huge and bronze and gesturing in the general direction of a blood-red Turkish flag.

A dog sprinted across the park, circling and setting down in the grass to gnaw a bone he'd found somewhere.

Two other dogs followed in tow, waiting with all the intensity of a thousand suns for the hound to drop it.

He ignored the soldiers and the signs and the other dogs and everyone else, gnawing on a meal at the feet of the father of the nation.

Turkish beer is awful. It is brewed with sugar, and at best tastes like the ghost of some horrid and defunct Midwestern piss-punch, but Turks drink it.

They drink Raki, and horrible Efes beer, and overpay for Tuborg because hell, it's not Efes, and like everyone else shell out for American whiskey for the right and wrong reasons.

Wrong: it's expensive and fashionable, and right: it's good, and will get you moonshot drunk in a very short span of time.

Turks drink shots, too, doled out on barrels outside shot bars in cluster bomb fashion. You can have a walking beer on Saturday nights as long as you're not causing a problem.

Based on the level of ruckus in Istanbul on a Saturday night, "problem" would be somewhere north of openly attacking strangers, and south of "one person riot.

And there is a cutoff for booze sales, and there are the periodic attempts to limit where people can drink, but to be in the midst of a city that is avowedly Muslim and stumble into a hornet's nest of shot bars full of Iranians who flew in just to get trashed clear and legal, locals pregaming two days early for a soccer game, and tipsy expats asking all the wrong people for hash There is the knowing you get from reading, and being told, and then there's seeing a Galatasaray fan leveling what's left of a bottle of Johnnie Walker Black before entering the stadium.

Ataturk deposed a king and built a nation, and he died of cirrhosis at the age of A lot of Turks have taken this not as warning, but as an indication of productivity through medication.

A group of Galatasaray fans walking down Istiklal, maybe seven or eight guys you'd call bros or possibly dudes, meander toward the Metro stop in Taksim Square.

One carries an open bottle of Jack Daniels. They share it, passing it back and forth with grimaces in between verses of a chant. The subway runs right to the new stadium, an improvement on the old method of delivering Galatasaray fans to the stadium.

Fans used to ride en masse in buses, and shoot flares and firecrackers out of the windows as they went.

The call to prayer begins to wind its way down from a minaret somewhere. They take the moment to top off their Cokes with the remainder of the Jack before getting on the subway.

He is missing the index finger from the first knuckle on his right hand. His pockets are stuffed with firecrackers — not babyish state-legal firecrackers you find in the grocery store parking lot, but the monstrous illegal chinese pipe-crackers that could take a hand off.

Or a finger. They might be able to take a finger, or specific, raki-holding fingers off, too. The age range of those participating is astonishing: old men are chanting along, and smashing their fists into the roof of the train to keep the beat along with guys in their twenties pounding on the windows.

The men who would be taciturn boosters or yelling down in front! He giggles and tosses one out into the cavernous space of a metro station. Everyone on the train starts to giggle, and their voices rise in a single escalating pitch:.

The explosion is loud, loud enough to be a real bomb, or at least a real something going off, because while Turkey is not Israel or Iraq, it is closer to the part of the world where things randomly explode, or at the very least froth over into protests involving helmeted death police and clouds of tear gas more often than they do in the United States.

No one else seems bothered, not even the random police standing on metro stations. They do not flinch. More singing, more chanting, and then a rush of bodies--this is a clearing out, a very defined mass rush away from something.

Over a wall of shoulders draped in red and yellow, there is a man's face beaming with what can only be described as idiot excitement. It is the face of a dad as he guns a new car down a hill with the kids in the back at easily thirty miles over the speed limit.

It is the face of a budding pyromaniac, or the smile on a bar patron's face when the first pint glass has been thrown across the bar, and every piece of unbolted material will rain sideways through the air in the flash-fire of a fight.

It is the look of a child who figured out that the sockets are filled with electricity, and is trying to talk their sibling into making the same discovery with their finger.

This man is pointing down toward a gentle hissing from the floor. He is giggling, and puts his fingers in his ears. Voices rise. The firecracker explodes, and splits the air in the car and floods the space with white smoke.

Ears ring. To the left there is a kid, maybe twelve or so, smiling the same idiot's smile and laughing hysterically as tiny, sound- hairs lay down dead in his ears forever.

He looks ecstatic. The subway disgorges Galatasaray fans directly into a long tunnel — let's call it a chute, like the ones in large cattle slaughterhouses — that after a blind turn to the left puts you on a beeline for Türk Telekom Arena.

There is the stadium in front of you, shaped like a Swedish coffee table like every other modern football stadium in Europe, and a long corral of fences on every other side.

The tops are angled in to prevent someone scaling the fence and throwing rocks at the opposing team's buses.

While they wait, they buy corn and kebab off a vendor, munching, pacing shadows on the ridgeline testing out various rocks for weight and talking to other fans as they pass.

Someone has climbed into a half-finished apartment building adjacent to the subway chute, and is dropping red flares on improvised parachutes down.

They hang burning in the air, and float down to the road below on a lazy trajectory. Occasionally someone will spark up a flare on the ground, a chorus of cheers going up with each one.

The police massed over in the corner pay slightly more attention when this happens, nervously spitting sunflower seeds to the ground and fidgeting with their tear gas cannons and riot shields.

One cop buys a pack of sunflower seeds off a kid and looks at him and tells him "Don't let me see you again. There is something deeply odd and tense about a group of soccer fans amassed with no other to rage against.

On the other, Galatasaray fans stabbed two Leeds United supporters to death in during the UEFA semifinals, had a match abandoned due to rioting as recently as last year, and staged a series of running skirmishes with the Spanish police after a match with Real Madrid in , and stormed the studios of a Turkish TV station whose commentators predicted an early exit for the club.

Then remember that not even Turkish soccer fans or any other angry mob would travel to Bristol, Connecticut for love or money. That other — the thing to stab, beat, scream at, throw flares at, and exist to antagonize — is only here in the form of the team, its coaches, and that bus, the bus speeding at a robust clip from left to right and tracking across the ridge line, the bus currently clacking and clicking with the sound of carefully chosen rocks thrown by Galatasaray fans.

The team bus is obvious: a blue and yellow luxury coach outlined against the gray sky. It gets a solid spray of road shrapnel, but just to be sure the rock throwers pelt the buses accompanying it just in case they're using decoys.

On the way into the stadium there are a few of those Dalek-looking police vans with the people plows on the front of it. A kid, no older than ten and wearing a Galatasaray jersey, smiles and kicks it as he walks by.

The stands do not fill up immediately for the same reason they do not start totally full at college football games: the stragglers are outside trying to put as much alcohol as their system as possible.

Walking in you pass the empty shells of booster rockets tossed clear by orbiters bound for the stadium. There are Efes Malt tall boys, and bottles of Tuborg.

A bottle of Johnny Walker Black sits tossed aside by a throng of riot police. Security guards deliver grippy pat-downs at the gate.

At noon it was in the seventies in Istanbul, but the temperature took a dive sometime in the last hour. A cold wind is hacking from left to right.

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