While 90 million Americans watched Super Bowl XL last Sunday, thousands of crazed fans in Salvador, Brazil were enjoying a "football" game of their own.

As a Steelers fan, I was disappointed I couldn't be in the U.S. for the game and the celebrations. Although some Semester at Sea students were able to catch the game at a local sports bar, I decided to attend a Brazilian futebol game, otherwise known as soccer, between Salvador's two rival teams, Vitoria and Bahia.

The rivalry between these two teams is so intense it makes the Eagles/Steelers contention at Penn State look like a minor disagreement. Vitoria and Bahia are local rivals -- Vitoria is a city in Salvador and Bahia is the name of the state in which Salvador is located. Each team has a very loyal, diehard group of fans.

On my first night in Salvador, I met a Brazilian student who told me Bahia was his team, " 'til death." I was struck by this young man's dedication to his team and as a result, I decided to wear a Bahia jersey to the game in support of the team. Little did I know this red, white and blue Diadora jersey would put my life in danger.

The scene outside the stadium was a lot like an American sporting event. Thousands of people were drinking beer and eating food before the game. But the people were a lot more belligerent and disorderly than they are in the States.

While outside, a man wearing a Vitoria jersey confronted me. He approached me, grabbed my jersey with both hands and started screaming at me in Portuguese. I did not know what his man was saying or what he intended to do to me.

Fortunately my roommate pulled me away and we kept walking. There were several other Vitoria fans who tried to pick fights with my roommate and me, both of us clad in Bahia jerseys. I later learned that, to ensure their safety, most fans take off their jerseys until they are seated in the section designated strictly for Bahia fans.

Unlike many of the sports stadiums with which Americans are familiar, this stadium was built with the specific intention of keeping the fans of the two teams separated to limit the likelihood of violence.

A roar from the crowed overpowered the almost prehistoric two-level stadium. This was no Heinz Field, but instead was a cracked, downtrodden stadium. Its conditions were deplorable, and the stadium was so dirty it appeared as though it hadn't been cleaned in years. On the far end of the stadium was a scoreboard that simply read "Bahia 0 x 0 Vitoria."

Adjacent to our section was another group of Bahia fans that called itself BAMOR, which means, "Love and Bahia." And across the stadium sat the "enemy" -- the legion of Vitoria fans. A mass of red- and black-checkered jerseys were jumping in the air, clapping their hands twice and raising both hands in the air, shouting "VITORIA!"

As I began shouting "Ba-hi-a! Ba-hi-a" with the locals, I was reminded of the Steelers chant from Pittsburgh. Some people were beating large drums and others were shaking red, blue and white balloons in the air in support of the Bahia team. The drums provided an infectious rhythm to which all the fans danced. People were shaking their arms and hips to the drums, throwing their bodies in every direction. The nature of the cheers reflected Salvador's rich Afro-Brazilian influence -- 80 percent of the Salvador population is Afro-Brazilian.

About half-way into the game, Vitoria was ahead 1-0, and my section was riled up to an extreme level. Angry Bahia fans jumped up and down and put their hands on their heads shouting incessantly, especially the fanatical teenagers sitting next to me.

Thiago Chamusca de Azevedo, an 18-year-old diehard Bahia fan, was sitting with his twin brother and eight friends from his neighborhood, all loyal Bahia fans.

De Azevedo had an experience similar to mine with the Vitoria fans Sunday night: "I was walking past the Vitoria section and someone came after me, so I took off my jersey." He pointed to the corner where the Vitoria fans sat. "If you go over there, they will kick your ass."

In between talking to me, de Azevedo and his friends would shout words in Portuguese. I asked them what they were saying.

"We curse the other team," he said. I asked the group if they followed American sports and told them my hometown team was playing in the Super Bowl. A few of them heard about the Super Bowl, but most just gave me blank stares.

I think in America it is common to think the rest of the world is aware of the Super Bowl and all its hype. But these Brazilian teenagers proved my thoughts wrong.

"This is better," de Azevedo said as he began cheering for his team. The rest of the group looked up at the field to see that Bahia had scored, tying the game. All of the fans around me went ballistic. De Azevedo and his friends began hugging me, and calling me their "American good-luck charm."

The game ended in a 1-1 tie. My throat was sore from shouting, my back was wet from a fan spilling beer on me and I was exhausted from cheering on the team for three hours.

But the event was an experience in Brazilian cultural unlike anything else. While most American football fans are excited for their teams, Brazilian futebol fans are far more passionate and border on unhealthy with their levels of fanaticism. But the cultural traditions bleed through and their cheers.

On my Super Bowl Sunday abroad, I realized we all have an identity -- a team we root for and a common cause that brings us together. And in Brazil, fans have an intense, full-body celebration that absolutely fascinated me.

Leave it to Brazil to make my Super Bowl Sunday abroad nothing short of a sport spectacular.