The night Botafogo put Paris Saint-Germain in the ‘cemetery of favourites'

New York Times

5 hours ago

The first thing you heard was the drums: the rat-tat-tat of the pandeiro, the bone-shaking thunder of the surdo. Later, after the rhythm section had moved from the concourse to the stands, they unfurled their banners, black and white, declarations of love draped over railings and barriers.
They came in hope. Hope that their team, South America's champions, could bloody the nose of Europe's best. They knew it would be a tough task, knew that Paris Saint-Germain can biff you up in about 21 different ways, but knew, too, that they stood a puncher's chance.
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'Nothing is impossible,' central midfielder Allan had insisted on the eve of the game. His coach, Renato Paiva, had put it more pointedly: 'The cemetery of football is full of favourites.'
Botafogo had beaten Seattle Sounders in their Club World Cup opener but only just, stumbling over the line, 2-1. 'Funereal,' Paiva had called the atmosphere in the changing room after that match. Here, in the California sunshine, they started as if they had a point to prove, if only to themselves.
PSG dominated possession. That was to be expected. But they kept banging against the brick wall of the Botafogo defence, Alexander Barboza and 20-year-old Jair Cunha tremendous. The midfielders — Gregore, Marlon Freitas, Allan — snapped away, three little bear traps. 'They're going to cause us different problems than European teams,' PSG coach Luis Enrique had said on Wednesday. He was right. Botafogo sat deep, suffered, took the knocks that came and deserved their 1-0 win.
They were only ever going to get a couple of chances. It turned out that only needed one. Playmaker Jefferson Savarino — 'Our magician,' in the words of left-back Alex Telles — pulled a rabbit out of the hat, releasing Igor Jesus with a pass that split the Parisian defence. The striker did the rest, firing home via a deflection and careening into the embrace of the first rows, beyond delirious.
Hope slowly began to transmute into belief. Botafogo made it to half-time, then nearly scored again through Savarino just after the break. Luis Enrique sent on the cavalry, trying to shake his team into life, but the game retained the same pattern, PSG banging on the door, Botafogo telling them to do one.
Some context here. Botafogo may be Brazilian and South American champions, but we are not talking about a giant club. The history books tell tales of Garrincha and Nilton Santos, but of decades of mediocrity. Some Brazilian giants — Palmeiras, Flamengo — look a lot like the top European operations in terms of finances and infrastructure; Botafogo are not close to being on that level. They are, by number of fans, only the 10th biggest club in Brazil.
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Their success over the last 18 months has been an incredible story. Impetus has come from pugnacious American owner John Textor but also from the players themselves. This is by no means a squad of stars — the most recognisable names are Allan and Telles, both on the downslope after playing in Europe — but there is a remarkable feeling of unity pulsing through everything they do. Even managerial changes have done little to shake the foundations.
Now, perhaps, you can better understand the jubilant scenes at the final whistle — why Igor Jesus sank to his knees, why Textor was whooping and hollering, why Barboza, a big granite plinth of a man, pointed skyward. This was not just a blow struck for the South American game, an anti-imperialist gesture. It was the latest chapter in a great underdog tale.
'Madness — we can't believe it,' Uruguayan forward Santiago Rodriguez, said, laughing. 'Historic,' Barboza called it. Winger Artur, a thorn in PSG's side all night, looked a lot like he needed a lie-down. 'This is an unforgettable night,' he said. 'We'll remember this for the rest of our lives.'
Then there was Freitas, the captain, glassy-eyed, the emotion of it all cracking his voice. 'It's… supernatural,' he told Globo. 'We knew it would be hard. I believe Botafogo had a one per cent chance of winning this match today. But one per cent for us is a lot.'
He spoke to a soundtrack that had been playing since before kick-off, that booming thudpocalype from the stands. Half an hour later, with every bemused PSG fan long gone, they were still there, the Botafogo fans, gripping their flags and their instruments, drumming and dreaming.
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