F Fenerbahçe is the only one of the three major Istanbul clubs located east of the Bosphorus—and it is also the name of the coastal district where I grew up. One might assume I am the most natural fan of this club haunted by misfortune. Yet I was raised from childhood to hate it.
My mother’s father played for Galatasaray in the early forties. Almost my entire family is thus Galatasaray fans. At ten, after a sensational UEFA Cup season, I was brainwashed and switched from Beşiktaş—the team of my father—to Galatasaray. I stayed there for fifteen years before returning to Beşiktaş. But no matter whom I supported, hating Fenerbahçe was a baseline attitude.
As kids, we used to throw water balloons from our apartment down at the restaurant where Fenerbahçe fans gathered. Today, more than 2,000 kilometers away, I cheer for Fenerbahçe in a Späti in Kreuzberg. Galatasaray has just lost a Süper Lig match, which is rare. If Fenerbahçe wins today, they would move level at the top on points. Under the German coach Domenico Tedesco, they host Kasımpaşa, a club in the relegation zone. It should be a straightforward affair, yet the match remains scoreless into stoppage time.
The stream in the Späti is a delayed, unlicensed signal and lags by one to three minutes. Everyone fears the “notifiers” who instantly announce via app when the ball hits the net, thus ruining the tension. Some uncles have multiple apps that are hard to mute—then their phones are simply taken away. In the final minutes, Fenerbahçe wakes up. Eight minutes of stoppage time. Everyone clings to their seats. Even the owner, who is actually a Gala fan, wants a goal.
Many friends suffer bitterly
I support them because of the reconciliatory effect a victory in a country so divided could have. Many friends suffer bitterly, are despondent and traumatized by the pain their team inflicts. They worry their children might become Galatasaray fans one day. “The best thing you can be in this country is conservative and a Gala fan,” a friend says with a laugh. “You always win.”
For fifteen years, Fenerbahçe has endured something like a chronic crisis, fed by a lack of sporting success. Because trust in the government, federation and referees is low, many fans believe there is a political will to shield them from the championship. There is some truth to this: a certain political pressure on the club cannot be denied.
Yet, paradoxically, President Erdoğan himself is a Fenerbahçe fan—if you believe him. During the winter transfer window he even paused his plans to turn Turkey into a regional superpower, to enable the transfer of N’Golo Kanté from Saudi Arabia. In 2019 he said about Fenerbahçe: “You can do many things out of self-interest. You can change your appearance, your profession, political and social beliefs. But one thing you can never do: change your team.”
The irony is obvious. I, on the other hand, have changed my club twice. And now I want Fenerbahçe to win the championship this season. But supporting them is no easy task. In the fifth minute of stoppage time, Marco Asensio volleys in a cross; a deflection sends the ball into Kasımpaşa’s net. The substitutes surge onto the pitch, Domenico Tedesco slips and falls in delight. They did it — you would think.
In the 101st minute, Fenerbahçe concedes an inexplicable goal to Kasımpaşa, who play with ten men. The match is over. In the following week they will drop two more points, widening the gap to four points. The task now falls to Beşiktaş, who host Galatasaray at home this week.
