It had been some time since I last dropped back into the Piraeus League. By now, it’s one of the few things in terms of football action still ongoing – the play-outs, to be more specific. When the regular season ends, the bottom four teams continue playing against each other, home and away, and ultimately the last one goes down. Today was the final matchday of the season for Group B of the second division, but things were already decided. Niki Renti, the home side I was going to see, were too far behind to have any chance of a last-minute miracle; they were already relegated. The teams had nothing to play for really, but that’s not what matters anyway. A new ground is a new ground.

I took the overground to Moschato and then walked around twenty minutes to the stadium. Rentis is a largely industrial area, north of the centre of Piraeus, and is home to Olympiacos’ football academies as well as their volleyball stadium. When I got to the gate, I was even a bit surprised there was an entry fee for such an unimportant game – but then I was told it was just two euros for students. Can’t really complain. I’d seen the ground’s name pop up a good number of times through a Futbology friend who’s been there plenty. It looked very much like the majority of municipal stadiums in the capital: a single, small metallic stand, a café on the side, and an artificial pitch. Not bad.

I took a seat under the hot sun, regretting having left my hat at home. The atmosphere was very relaxed, as expected, with the stand only occupied by parents of the players. Despite the level and the circumstances, the quality of play was surprisingly good and made for a particularly entertaining match. I overheard someone sitting next to me saying that he couldn’t understand how Niki Renti had managed to go down. It seemed strange to me too, judging by their performance. Perhaps it’s experience they are lacking. The oldest player on the team is just 24 years old, and there were even two players in the starting eleven who were 14. They played good, attacking football with nice build-up play. Their opponents fought back but never managed to equalise. Next to me sat a group of older men whose children were playing on opposite sides. They seemed to know each other well and spoke non-stop, with conversation topics ranging from Piraeus taverns to non-league football in the ’80s and recent fistfight incidents. Before I even realised, the final whistle blew and the season was over. The conversation ended eventually and I left, wishing the game would go on for a few more hours.