Do you want to go back to childhood? Go to the stadium. This is the experiment I tried a week ago. And not just anywhere, in Meknes please, the eternal Ismaili city. The stadium of honor is a matchbox stuck in the middle of the buildings of the city center. You enter through mouse holes dug here and there, barely visible, and which give the stands the appearance of an anthill.
It's not the Bernabeu or the Camp Nou, but it's even better: you can take a survey around you, the Meknassis (or M'kansa, as they like to call themselves) will tell you that the stadium honor is the most beautiful in the world. And they are right, especially when the local club, CODM (pronounced “Codém”), wins a decisive match.
The CODM has long vegetated in the lower divisions of Moroccan football. Suddenly he woke up. In two seasons, he made two express climbs: from the 3rd division to the 2nd, then to the elite, the famous Botola. This return to light drives the M'kansa literally crazy. They make maintaining the objective a matter of life and death. They are like that brave man who went to prison by accident: he is ready to do anything except go back. Anything but that, brother.
To avoid returning to the lower level, they must win matches. As the start of the season was disappointing, they fired their coach and replaced him, as the stadium announcer proudly announced, with “Haj Abdellatif Jrindou”, a former footballer converted into a very good coach, and above all very pious. It is said to be set like a Swiss clock: from the mosque to the stadium and from the stadium to the mosque.
Today is Haj Jrindou's first official match with CODM. Opposite is the IRT, the Tangier club, a direct competitor in the race to remain. It's a six-point match, according to the established formula. The small stadium is as full as an egg. The Codém ultras change their tifo like guests change their outfits during a wedding. They are unleashed, unstoppable. Opposite, a group of fans from Tangier, with the IRT acronym bearing the figure of Ibn Battouta, drum and sing to the glory of the city of “Boughaz”.
Ultimately, the spectacle is more in these multicolored, fiery stands than on the playing area. The match is close, closed, not to say dull. At half-time, the score was goalless and the M'kansa, who absolutely had to win this match, were now afraid of losing it.
At the break, therefore, a man with his two children circulates in the aisles of the tribune of honor: “A goal, just a small goal, ya sidi rabbi amine!“. Will the prayer be answered?
The 2nd half will be a carbon copy of the 1st: without brilliance. Haj Jrindou walks nervously along the sidelines and sometimes raises his head, as if to implore the heavens to come to his aid. When technical solutions are lacking, there remains prayer. And it works! A few minutes before the end, and after an innocuous action, the ball found a way to finish its course in the Tangier nets. No need to describe the show to you. The goal had the effect of a bomb.
Just for this absolutely exceptional moment of joy and sharing, we had to travel to Meknes. Congratulations are falling everywhere. The M'kansa are on the verge of tears, not to say heart attacks. But you have to hold on for a few more minutes, pray, tighten your buttocks at each start of the Tangier attempt…
At the end, of course, there is victory, three points. At that moment, when the final whistle blows, you understand that it's the most important thing in the world. It's worth a first-class trip to Disneyland, a childhood paradise. Absolutely, my brother. And thank you Meknes!
