'Brothers, You Live - You're the light That Guides Us!'

“Our life passes by in a flash. But we’ve time…”*

They didn’t have time. They barely got to ‘see’ the momentary nature of human existence – from the ecstasy of victory to inconceivable tragedy in a handful of seconds. But they weren’t given time. They fell. They were crushed. They were trampled. Bloodied. Their oxygen was taken away, their breath ran out. And they were gone. With their team’s scarves round their necks and their mother’s name on their lips. Their mother’s name, and Olympiacos.

That dark Sunday of 1981. The Gate 7 tragedy, 21 dead. An eternal scar, a wound so deep it hasn’t healed despite the years, smarting still from the tears Piraeus sheds. And every time the memories return, three words, a chant, take wing with damp eyes and a clenched heart: “Brothers, you live…”.

February 8. Sunny but cold. Across Piraeus, everything from the morning on is about “the match”. There’s no need to say anything, everyone knew: Olympiacos 29, Aris 28, AEK 26. And on the calendar, the 20th of the month, Olympiacos vs AEK and PAO vs Aris. “Title decider,” the headlines wrote. But it was obvious that if Olympiacos “cleaned up” against AEK, a second consecutive professional championship would be theirs for the taking.

An eternal and deep scar; an open wound no matter how many years pass

Creaking at the seams

The derby is to be officiated by Dimitris Koutoulas, from the Serres federation in northern Greece, kicks off at 3 p.m. But the old Karaiskakis stadium has been abuzz for hours already: 40,000 fans in the stands, creaking at the seams. Hellish. But optimistic: everything points to a home victory. Is nine wins out of nine in the ‘church’ enough for you? Want a guarantee from the defense—well, with just 10 goals conceded all season, it’s the best in the League! There’s just one note of caution: Gorsky’s Olympiacos were tough. They were tight, effective. But they didn’t score a lot. They called them the “1-0 team” (and it was true: they’d scored one goal or less in 11 of their 19 games).

And they’d score one that afternoon, too. Though they did it… in the first half. Galakos, 1-0 in the 30th minute. In the second, helped by Manolas’ red card, the… flood gates opened. Galakos again (53’). Then Kousoulakis (68′) And Orfanos (75′) And Vamvakoulas (80′, after an amazing slalom down the full length of the pitch), With a Galakos hat-trick (84’) to round things off. There’d never been a derby like it. AEK on the ropes and the red devils running riot, adding insult to injury without an iota of mercy!

Olympiacos 6, AEK 0! “Say it again, we want to hear it!” Olympiacos 6, AEK 0! Moving! Incredible! Unimaginable!

The crowd went wild

The stands literally exploded. The Karaiskakis stadium is shaking. Thousands of people delirious with joy. Some fans begin to leave from Gate 7 before the game is over. They’re heading for Gate 2, beside the changing rooms. So they can cheer their heroes. Shortly after that, the next ones leave. Followed by others, more this time. A red river, seething with joy. Singing, their minds elsewhere among the hubbub. They can’t see what’s happening up ahead. They don’t know. They can’t hear the cries, drowned out by a veil of cheering. “Go back! No more!… Help! Hel…” And then… silence. Black. And blood…

What exactly happened, an iron knot in the soul. The doors weren’t (completely) open. And the heavy, iron turnstiles were still in place. When the first fans arrived, they had no way out: Open up! But no one does… As the next wave arrives, the crush gets worse. Much worse. Until fate strikes – at 5.05. As they’re coming down the steep steps, someone slips on some foam. They slip. And fall. Taking the person in front of them with them. Then others. And others still…

No air to breathe

Time: 5.07. The fans coming up behind can’t see up ahead (due to a sharp turn in the route). Unsuspecting and on top of the world, they pile up on top. They trample them underfoot. And are trampled in their turn by the fans behind them. Someone’s head gets wedged between the bars – the dominos begin to topple…

Time: 5.09. They cannot breathe.

Two policemen finally manage to pull up one of the turnstiles, and many people survive because of it. It’s an act of salvation. Not everyone is saved, though.

Outside Gate 7, it’s like a scene from the worst nightmare imaginable, and it’s visible now for all to see. Cries. Curses. Pain. Survivors carrying lifeless bodies in their arms. Sirens blaring from the police cars and the ambulances called to the scene from all over Athens. In the stadium’s sick bay, beside the ticket booth, bruised faces. Swollen limbs. Chest compressions, mouth-to-mouth. An injection here and there. Lakis Nikolaou, a doctor on the AEK team, has rushed to help. He pleads: “Be quick…” In a corner on the sidewalk, a father, Zannis Theodoropoulos, gives his 18-year-old son Damianos mouth-to-mouth resuscitation, and saves him.

“We were one of the first to arrive, it took us six minutes – 5.16 p.m. And what we saw… The dead and dying side by side with injured fans. We loaded some of them in the ambulance and left for the Tzaneio (hospital) at full speed” (an eye-witness account from V. Athanasopoulos and D. Papadopoulos, an ambulance driver and paramedic).

Panic

Police cars, soldiers and dozens of private cars transport as many as they can. All heading for the nearest hospitals—the Tzaneio, KAT and Athens General—just as fast as they can. That’s where the rest of the drama will play out. Especially at the Tzaneio, with the scenes outside, in the corridors, with the bodies strewn on the marble floor and on stretchers.

The radio had already broadcast the news, with an appeal for blood and doctors. With no mobile phones or Internet, and with rumors running rampant (people were even saying Gate 7 had collapsed), everyone is glued to the news flashes on public television. They need to hear what’s really happening. Many fans who were at other gates had left without realizing anything was amiss, now head back to the stadium. And the players, too: who could ever forget Maik Galakos’ tears. Top club officials ran to the scene, including Stavros Daifas. Even the Prime Minister, Georgios Rallis, rushed to the scene.

But above all, the parents, friends and relatives tune in with their hearts racing. It’s like the ground has been pulled out from under them. “My God! Is he alive?” And they take to the streets, half-mad with terror. In their thousands. Some head for the stadium. Others for the hospital. Rushing blindly here or there, barely knowing where they’re going. “Have you seen him? His name’s… He’s fifteen…”. Mothers searching for their children. Wives for their husbands. Brother seeking brother. “Go through, please. The heartbreaking task of identifying the dead. In the morgue, with the diabolic stench of formaldehyde…

The first three victims (Kanellopoulos, Machas, Dialynas) are announced around 8 p.m., from the ID cards on their possession. By midnight, the three have become 17. And by morning, 19. The nightmarish final tally: 21 dead (20 Olympiacos fans, one AEK fan), 55 injured. Youngsters. Most of them just kids. The youngest—Panagiotis Toumanidis, aged 14. A human sacrifice…

A final tribute to the 21 dead, at the scene of the tragedy. On the day Gate 7 was demolished, in 2003, at the old Karaiskakis stadium.

An ancient tragedy

And as the collective subconscious struggles to come to terms with the greatest sporting tragedy Greece had ever known, as the newspaper columns fill with eye-witness accounts, images and coverage in the tone of ancient tragedy, the players’ visit to the Tzaneio the following day provided a touch of comfort for those who made it. But no more than that. Not one of them will ever get over it fully. “It was my birthday. I never celebrated it again, ever” (survivor’s account). Most of all, the families of the victims. Families ripped apart. Lives changed forever. Birthdays and namedays that would be celebrated no more. The mourning black worn ever after, the candles kept lit for the dead until those that remembered joined their loved ones in death.

And the final blow, after the trial of ’84-’86. Were the guards to blame, who weren’t at their posts? The turnstiles that weren’t removed? The construction defects in the ‘bowels’ of Gate 7 (steps without handrails, or the inadequate lighting, etc.)? Was it the overcrowding (more than 7,000 fans, they said, crammed into a stand built for 4,000)? The police? In the end, no one was guilty, “everyone was innocent!” Only at the initial trial were five guards handed eight years each, but their sentences were quashed on appeal.

The only “satisfaction” the families ever got was from the civil courts, who awarded them 5.5 million drachmas in compensation, to be paid by an increase in the price of first division tickets, thanks to an agreement between the general secretariat of sports (then headed by politician Kimon Koulouris) and Olympiacos FC. The greatest satisfaction, though, is the honor the ‘red and white’ family itself continued to pay the victims—and will do so forever more: A monument, outside the Karaiskakis Stadium, the black seats in the new stadium’s Gate 7, an annual memorial service with the emotional roll call for the victims. Lastly, the sacred words which have been engraved like a tattoo ever since, in indelible red ink, in the hearts of every genuine ‘red and white’ fan: “Brothers, you live—you’re the light that guides us!” Immortal…

(*) Verse by Nikos Kazantzakis.