Gremio Codexery

Gremio de Porto Alegre

Blue, black, and white: the eternal pulse of Porto Alegre beating as one.

Gremio Foot-Ball Porto Alegrense, universally known as Gremio or the Tricolor, is one of Brazil's most storied football clubs, founded in 1903 by German and Italian immigrants in Porto Alegre, the capital of Rio Grande do Sul. More than a football team, Gremio is a civic institution for the city and the southern state, its identity woven into the industrial and cultural fabric of the region. The fan culture surrounding Gremio is characterized by a deep, almost familial devotion. The Gre-Nal derby against Sport Club Internacional is not merely a match but a weekly ritual of collective identity, played out in a sea of blue, black, and white. From the thunderous drum lines in the stands to the spontaneous singing that swells on every attack, the atmosphere at a Gremio home fixture is a sensory experience that visitors from across South America describe as unlike anything else in the footballing world.

Founded
15 September 1903
Home city
Porto Alegre, Rio Grande do Sul, Brazil
Current stadium
Arena do Grêmio (opened 2012)
Nicknames
Tricolor, Imortal Tricolor
Kit colours
Blue, Black, White
Defining rivalry
Gre-Nal (vs. Sport Club Internacional)

Lore & Background

The story of Gremio begins in the late nineteenth century, when German and Italian immigrants in Porto Alegre gathered to play a game that was then called football. Founded on 15 September 1903, the club quickly outgrew its immigrant roots to become the sporting heart of the city. Its early decades were marked by a working-class identity that set it apart from the more bourgeois clubs of southern Brazil, and this underdog spirit became embedded in the club's DNA. The blue, black, and white tricolour was adopted early and has never changed, a constant through every era of triumph and heartbreak. The 1980s remain the golden age that every Gremista carries in their chest. The 1981 Copa Libertadores victory, followed by the 1983 Copa Libertadores and the 1983 Intercontinental Cup final in Tokyo where Gremio dismantled Hamburg 3-0, established the club as a genuine world champion. Captain Renato Portaluppi, the midfield engine Adilson, the defensive rock Aldair, and the clinical finisher Paulo Isidoro became immortal figures. The 1996 Copa Libertadores and the 1996 Intercontinental Cup win over Juventus in Yokohama confirmed that Gremio's global stature was not a one-generation fluke. The 2017 Copa Libertadores, won in a dramatic final in Lyon, brought a new generation into that lineage. The stadium itself is a character in this story. The old Estádio Olímpico Monumental, with its sweeping concrete stands and the famous 'Gremio, Gremio, Gremio' chants echoing off the roof, was the backdrop for every great memory. When Arena do Grêmio opened in 2012, it was designed not just as a venue but as a temple: closer seating, a roof that channels sound, and a visual identity that wraps the entire bowl in the tricolour. The transition from the old Olímpico to the new Arena was bittersweet—many fans wept at the demolition—but the promise was that the soul of the club, the noise, the passion, would be amplified, not diminished. And for the Gremista who has stood in both grounds, the feeling is the same: you are not watching a match. You are part of it.

In Their Own Story

The rain over Porto Alegre has a particular weight in November, the kind that soaks into the concrete and makes the air taste of iron and wet grass. A thousand Gremistas file through the turnstiles of Arena do Grêmio, their breath visible in the cold, their scarves—blue, black, white—swinging like banners. The drum section in the lower north stand strikes the first beat, a low, rolling thunder that builds. Then a voice, raw and unpolished, starts the chant, and it is taken up by ten thousand, then fifty thousand, until the roof vibrates and the sound becomes physical, a pressure behind the sternum. The players emerge through the tunnel, and for a moment the noise drops to a held breath. Then the ball is kicked into the grey sky, and the cathedral roars back to life. Somewhere in the upper tier, an old man in a faded 1983 shirt closes his eyes and smiles, because he remembers Tokyo, and the sound is the same, and he is still twenty-two.

Reader's Guide

Arrive early. The ritual begins in the streets around the Arena, where Gremistas gather in the blue-and-white haze of flares and cigarette smoke, drums already pounding a rhythm that you feel in your feet before you hear it. The turnstiles are a slow river of scarves and jerseys, and the air smells of rain on hot concrete, of cheap beer, of the particular ozone tang of a crowd that has been waiting for hours. Step into the bowl and the architecture closes around you. The stands are steep, the seats close to the touchline, and the roof overhead is a vast canopy that traps every sound and folds it back down onto the pitch. The lighting is cool, almost surgical, cutting through the mist that always seems to hang over Porto Alegre in the evening. The pitch itself is a deep, saturated green, the goal nets taut and white, the kit of the home side a sharp blue and black that stands out against the grass like a bruise. When the chant starts—and it always starts, whether in the first minute or the ninetieth—it is not a song so much as a collective exhalation. Ten thousand voices, one phrase, repeating, building, crashing against the roof and returning as a wave. The drums answer. The flares bloom in the upper tier, painting the stands in orange and blue. And in that moment, the distinction between player and supporter dissolves. You are not in the stadium. You are the stadium. You are the Tricolor, and the Tricolor does not stop.

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