«Back in the day, when he was out of work, he’d sell his blood to buy trumpets… I never counted how many he had. Ten, 20. What I did know, and that was enough for me, was this: the sound he made through them was his love for Olympiacos turned into notes. It was a love we shared. In fact, it was what brought us together as a couple, ‘till death did us part’, there in the Renti field, at a training practice, 20 years ago.»
Aristea Dourida’s words reveal the pain of a wife who’s lost her husband. But they are also a hymn of love of, and faith in, Olympiacos. Because that’s who Vasilis Douridas was. That was “Attilio”, a loyal soldier of the Legend. A tireless and unstoppable follower of the red-and-white ideal. The character who, face flushed, would sound the signal with his trumpet under the giant Gate 7 clock at the old Karaiskakis Stadium.
The date was November 11, 1994. Vasilis Douridas came out of his house in the central Athens working-class district of Sepolia. He got into a taxi. His destination was GMA Hellas, the company where he worked in the upscale Filothei district heading towards Athens’ northern suburbs. But he never got there. His heart gave out in the taxi. They took him straight to a nearby hospital. But in vain. A few hours later, a policeman walked up to Aristea Dourida’s door and rang the bell. She was taken by surprise, but also assumed the worst. The officer politely asked her to follow him to the precinct. The Gate 7 bugler had fallen silent forever. Leaving behind his wife and an 18-year-old son, Yannis.
He had taken his place in the pantheon of remarkable individuals who had dedicated their lives to Olympiacos. Because Attilio had done that. He’d served his passion faithfully. And his passion was Olympiacos. His team. His life. His… everything.
Born in 1942 in then Nazi-occupied Athens, he was soon saving his weekly pocket money so he could go watch Olympiacos play. At first, with… empty hands. Along the way, the trumpet became part of his life. In fact, he and his trumpet became one. Together now, they followed Olympiacos wherever they went. His was a life dedicated to the Legend. His name was Vasilis Douridas. An excellent student, he made it into medical school. However, he dropped out in his fourth year, to devote himself… to Olympiacos. With his trumpet down the decades, he united thousands of arms and voices in the stands. When Attilio started blowing his trumpet, everything in the stadium stopped, the fans raised their arms and, when he stopped, everyone shouted as one: «Olympiacos, Olympiacos, Olympiacos»!
Douridas was more than just a fan. It was a living ‘prayer’ to Olympiacos.
A nickname taken from a … wrestler
The story of how Vasilis Douridas came to be christened Attilio (after a famous wrestler of the time) could only have begun in one place: the Georgios Karaiskakis stadium. Douridas was running late one day, and the match had already started when he got to the stadium. To reach his spot in the stands, he had to push through the mass of fans. But then he ran into one of them, sending him toppling onto some other Piraeus supporters. The guy’s reaction was… historic: “Cool it, man. Who do you think you are? Attilio?” The name would stick.
«Attilio» came to symbolize the Karaiskakis Stadium. He earned his place in history. During a military dictatorship (1967-1974), he was persecuted by the regime and convicted for things he never did. He was arrested by the authorities «for incitement to disobedience,» because he had allegedly encouraged the Olympiacos fans not to leave Gate 1 after the end of a game against Olympiacos Volos in 1972! He was sentenced to four months in prison, but the court records confirm that police had lied and falsified the evidence against him. However, neither the «deep state» nor the Colonels that usurped political power could stop him from supporting his beloved Olympiacos.
In his usual spot in the stands, encouraging the team and the fans.
«What would be the point of living?»
Not even his deteriorating health could do that. His good friend Dr. Spiliotopoulos, a pulmonary specialist from Pangrati and a Olympiacos fan, gave it to him straight: give up the games and the trumpets or face the consequences! His lungs were in terrible shape, he told him, and things could turn nasty. But nothing his friend said made any difference.
«What do I care? I live for Olympiacos. What would be the point of living if I couldn’t go watch Olympiacos?» he replied! His wife Aristea confirms it: «He disregarded his heart for his love of Olympiacos. But I know this for certain: he’d have left us even earlier, if he’d given up the stadium!»
Vasilis Douridas was born and lived with little. He rented his home, which was anything but luxurious. His daily life was a struggle. He had one compass in his life: Olympiacos. He had no car, no significant income, not even a steady job. But he had passion, fire and faith. And that passion took him everywhere: from the Peace and Friendship Stadium and the Karaiskakis Stadium to the Papastrateion and even table tennis halls, to the indoor handball, volleyball and polo courts. When he had no money for the bus, he walked. He’d gladly walk 20 or 30 kilometers to watch his team play. He’d stride along with an old, ripped backpack on his shoulder, and always wore something red and white. Like a monk. A fan on a pilgrimage.
«If I can’t, I’ll walk»
Attilio never asked anyone for anything. Olympiacos fans often offered him tickets, transport, even clothes or food. But he said no to most of their offers. «I’m not a beggar, I’m an Olympiacos fan. If I can’t go, I’ll walk. I don’t need money. I just want to be there for the team,» he told a fan who offered to pay his coach ticket to an away game.
He was so humble, he even got embarrassed when people chanted in his honor. He’d bow his head. Smile sheepishly. Then he’d say «thank you» and go back to watching the game. That’s what interested him: football—the game, the passion. But Attilio wasn’t only there to support the football team. He was… everywhere. Blowing his trumpet for every team that competed in red and white. He never missed a game—even the ones no one else went to. Not only the derbies. He was there for the women’s volleyball matches in Markopoulos, there for the handball matches in Corfu, the swimming pool on Chios, even at the chess finals!
«There’s only one Olympiacos. The football is just a part of it.” Wherever the Laurel-wreathed Youth plays, I’m there,» he said when asked why he went to all the Club’s Tae kwon do contests, too! He knew everything and everyone. The rosters, the coaches, the opponents, even the referees. He was a walking encyclopedia on all thing Olympiacos. You never had to tell him when the water polo was starting, or the U19. He knew it all off by heart.
He was so humble, he even got embarrassed when people chanted in his honor. He’d bow his head. Smile sheepishly. Then he’d say «thank you» and go back to watching the game.
A kilometer
At his funeral, the crowd of Olympiacos fans, players and management who attended to follow his bright red coffin stretched back a kilometer. They were there for Attilio, who lived and died with the Olympic flag on his chest. Like an old soldier taking his leave of the world in his uniform. Every time Olympiacos plays, whether it be at the Peace and Friendship Stadium or a second-division ground, the old-timers always say: «If Attilio were alive, he’d be there already.»
Vasilis Douridas was more than just a fan. It was a living prayer to Olympiacos. He was what we call a «legend». And legends never die. They live on through their actions. In people’s memories. In the songs and the eyes of those who knew them.
No, Attilio never left us. He’s there. Beside the railings in Gate 7. On the stairs at the Papastrateion. On the bench at the Peace and Friendship Stadium. On the steps at the Renti stadium. There, where Olympiacos is reborn every day. The trumpet has never fallen silent. The trumpeter goes by Nikos now. But it’s not who continues the tradition that’s important. It’s the tradition itself. The tradition that remains eternal. Which gives you goosebumps and the urge to sing every time you hear the trumpet, played by Attilio then, Nikos now, and some new believer tomorrow. Whatever the name, the sound of the trumpet will always be the same: O-LY-MP-IA-COS, O-LY-MP-IA-COS!
