Remember that scene in “Rocky II” where Mickey is barking at Rocky in the dingy gym—“What are we waitin’ for? Take us!”—and you can almost smell the sweat and desperation? That’s the vibe I get from this upcoming low-table dogfight at Mersin Stadyumu, where İçel İdmanyurdu Spor and Somaspor are poised to rumble on Sunday. If you like your football with a side of existential crisis, pull up a chair. This isn’t about glitz and glory—this is two clubs swinging for their sporting lives, desperate to crawl out of the basement, and frankly, it’s riveting in its own weird, beautiful way.

Let’s start with İçel İdmanyurdu Spor, owners of an 0-0-7 record so gruesome it should come with a warning label. Seven games, zero wins, zero draws, seven losses. No points. Not a single “atta boy” handed out. It’s like watching a “Game of Thrones” character you love make awful decisions episode after episode, all the while yelling at the screen—except inside the walls of Mersin Stadyumu, it’s real life. The crowd is restless. The scoreboard operator’s job is the Turkish football equivalent of working at the DMV: nothing to do, nothing to celebrate, just marking time.

Yet, glimmers. Did you see them grind out a 0-0 draw at Ankara Demirspor last week? That’s not exactly storming the beaches of Normandy, but for İçel, who’d been taking 5-0 and 6-0 pastings with alarming regularity, that scoreless point must have felt like a Red Wedding that somehow didn’t end in bloodshed. I’m convinced if they so much as score a goal, the stadium might spontaneously combust. You know that friend who hasn’t been on a date in seven years, and suddenly gets a match on Tinder? That’s İçel right now: hope flickering, irrational and seductive.

Across the ring, Somaspor isn’t exactly writing home to mom about their season either. One win. One draw. Five losses. Just four points. But at least these guys remembered what scoring felt like, especially when they did a “Fast & Furious” heist job at Yeni Malatyaspor, hanging a 7-spot in a blitz that must’ve left their own fans wondering if someone had switched the scripts. Ömer Pektas looked like he’d found the cheat codes on FIFA, and even the benchwarmers wanted a piece of the action. Then, predictably, the hangover came: a 3-0 home loss to Hekimoğlu Trabzon, as if the football gods reminded them, “Pipe down, you’re not Barcelona yet.”

The stakes? Oh, just the whole season. We’re not talking Champions League places; this is survival, pure and raw. The loser of this one might as well start sketching out the relegation dogfight tattoo now. If İçel loses again at home—eight matches, no wins, no goals—they’re at DEFCON 1. Somaspor can look up the table and dream, but another thud and suddenly they’re back on the carousel of despair, clutching at the last ring before it all goes dark.

Tactically, İçel has been so conservative lately you’d think they were guarding Fort Knox, but at some point, they have to get over their goal allergy. Look for them to press higher, maybe bring some unpredictability through whomever is their “wild card”—because, honestly, who else is going to do it? Veteran midfielder Mehmet Yıldırım has to stop playing hot potato with the ball and start taking some shots. Someone has to be the guy. If not now, when?

For Somaspor, it's about recapturing whatever magic potion they chugged before the Malatyaspor demolition. Ömer Pektas is the key, plain and simple. If he’s on, İçel’s backline—which lately has resembled the last line of defense in a zombie movie, battered and barely holding—could be in for another rough afternoon. But Somaspor’s problem is consistency: will they show up as the team that scored seven or the one that forgot to get off the bus the week after?

The matchup that matters? Somaspor’s hungry forwards against İçel’s despairing, but slowly improving, defense. If the home team gets punched early—think Creed landing a combo on Rocky—it could get ugly quick. But if İçel somehow grabs the first goal, that crowd might channel their inner Ted Lasso, believing in something for the first time all year. This is where heroes are made or scapegoats are born.

Prediction time? With both teams allergic to positive momentum and an İçel attack that would struggle to score at an under-10s picnic, this smells like a grim, scrappy, gloriously ugly draw. But that’s the secret sauce: you tune in not for the artistry, but for the stakes. Because sometimes the best stories aren’t about who lifts the trophy—it’s about who manages to keep their head off the chopping block for one more week. Grab your popcorn, folks. This is desperation football, and I wouldn’t miss it for the world.