My Doha Nights
...an interlude
I entered the subway system, my headphones slightly ajar blasted The Clash’s Death or Glory just loud enough for others on the train to hear it. My hand shot into my pocket as a I quickly turned down the volume and moved to the corner of the train car. On the seat closest to me, a young man pulled began to pray loudly to cover the sounds of the now muted punk rock. I felt self-conscious, had I just introduced something that wasn’t meant for this time, this space? For the next 15 minutes the man continued praying, and everyone in the subway averted their eyes and yet also stared at him at the same time.
10 minutes later, I was rushing up the escalator for my last match night in Doha. I had watched almost all of the clubs since arriving here 6 weeks ago, but somehow had managed to miss the most popular - Al Sadd. It was not their popularity that drew me, but more of an homage, or my own football pilgrimage. One Arsenal player I had loved better never got to see in-person was Santi Cazorla. I own his shirts, I know his song, but I’ve witnessed him swing his leg and deliver a perfect pass with my own eyes.
Santi is 38 now, and the Arsenal sites had already been discussing his potential retirement last year. I figured this was my last chance to be able to see him in action before he hung up his boots. I turned down invitations to watch the ATP tennis finals, meet up with friends for dinner, go to a beach club with VIP’s from my hotel, all to sit in an almost empty stadium to watch a club legend.
It was an eventful match, yet somehow anticlimactic. Al Sadd won 2-0 on the help of the referee issuing two red cards to the opposing squad. I spent the last 15 minutes debating whether to stay till the end or to grab an Uber and get to my usual bar to watch the second half of the Arsenal match. I ended up staying, thought about yelling at Cazorla, but was beat to it as a kid ran onto the field and managed to get his shirt and a selfie before security took him back to the stands.
My last image of Cazorla as a player will be him shirtless on a warm Doha night, having a long friendly conversation with an opposing player as everyone exited the stadium.
Five minutes later I was in an Uber. 25 after that I was at the Arsenal bar telling everyone I had just gone to watch Cazorla. I lingered even after Arsenal won, thinking about this trip, all the days and nights that have passed here in Doha.
I always enjoy traveling, but it really is time for me to get back home. But first, a 10-day adventure in the UK with my students. So starting this Friday, be ready for daily installments of my short essays and photos from London and beyond.