The El Clásico Capitalino stands as a monumental clash in Colombian football, epitomising the fierce rivalry between two of the nation’s biggest clubs – Millonarios and Santa Fe. Embedded in the heart of Bogotá, this fixture represents a cultural and historical spectacle that ignites passion and emotion among fans.
The rivalry between the supporters is testament to the passionate football culture deeply ingrained in Colombian society. Stemming from decades of intense competition, this derby permeates into the social fabric of Bogotá. The fervour and intensity of the supporters are palpable, with both sets of fans displaying unwavering loyalty and dedication to their respective clubs. Each match becomes a battleground where pride, identity, and bragging rights are fiercely contested, as supporters unleash a symphony of chants, banners, and displays to rally their teams and intimidate their rivals.
The deep-seated animosity adds an extra layer of intrigue and excitement to the El Clásico Capitalino, ensuring that every encounter between Millonarios and Santa Fe is not just a football match but a cultural phenomenon that unites and divides the city in equal measure.
Football travel writer and photographer Hugo Saye, renowned for his insightful commentary, captivating photography and a healthy addiction for a derby, ventured into the heart of the rivalry at the Estadio El Campín. From the pulsating energy of the crowd to the raw emotion etched on the faces of fans, Saye’s observations provide a vivid portrayal of the passion and intensity that define the Millonarios-Santa Fe rivalry…
Millonarios 3-1 Santa Fe, Estadio El Campín – Bogotá, Colombia. 27.03.24
Words and photographs | Hugo Saye
This isn’t normal. The ground itself is shaking. Not the stand – I’m not in the stand – I’m on solid earth and it’s shaking. If you’ve ever felt a small earthquake where the floor feels kind of like jelly for a moment, wobbling of its own accord, then picture that, but repeatedly. The Bogota derby is its own minor earthquake. Oh, and everything, including most of me, is blue.
Millonarios was once considered the best team on earth. When a players’ strike caused an exodus from Argentina in 1949, Colombia, and especially Millonarios, reaped the benefit and swept them up, most notably including Alfredo Di Stefano. Millonarios won the lot over the next few years, including three straight league titles before beating the great Real Madrid in the Santiago Bernabéu.
These days they remain one of the leading clubs in Colombia, but not the wider world. But they go into the Bogotá derby – El Clasico Capitalino – in the lower depths of mid-table, 11 points behind local rivals Santa Fe.
I arrive at El Campín, the ground both clubs share, around three and half hours before kick off. It’s a rugged old concrete bowl, right next to a highway, surrounded by chain link fencing. There’s already a fair amount of activity. People are selling shirts, scarves and beer up and down the street. Armoured policemen stroll about. At each end of the ground, the ultras of both teams are rolling out their banners, fenced off from the rest of the public.
I walk slowly around the ground towards the eastern side, where I’d been told most of the home fans would be in the bars. The atmosphere is light, almost party like. The streets are full of people drinking and laughing. Music blares from speakers. Colombia is on the northern coast of South America, a place where the continent of samba, tango and salsa meets the Caribbean, and its music bubbles with the energy of all.
I head back to the ground and make my way pitchside. Fans are setting up, tying banners, waving flags, and the stands fill out. Songs are beginning, a giant chicken smoking a cigar appears. There are two warring ultra factions vying for supremacy of the southern end of the ground: Blue Rain and the Comandos Azules Capital District. Their banners denote which part of the stand belongs to which group, while the east and west stands are the quieter, calmer options.
The teams come out and once the national anthem is done, huge cannisters of blue and white smoke billow high into the air, reaching way above the stands. As I get back to my spot in the southern corner, the ground is covered by ticker tape and blue smoke dust. My bag, my tripod, my water bottle; everything I hadn’t brought with me to the players’ tunnel is now blue, as, within moments, are my hands and shoes.
With the game going, the noise reaches new levels. When the fans start jumping, the entire place starts to shake. The ground beneath my feet wobbles. Flags wave endlessly, there’s at least one band in each of the ultras stands. It’s a chaotic swirl of passion and energy, with a relentless noise that simply does not ease off for the entire game.
To many in Europe, Boca v River is the South American fixture – and it’s rightly on everyone’s bucket list – but the evidence piles up that it’s not alone. The Bogota derby has been a loud, raucous, wild night, and it matches up to any football experience South America has to offer. You can read Hugo’s article in full here.
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