World in Motion

I’ve always liked the fact that I was born in an even year – 1970. It makes it easy to remember my age, for one thing. I especially like noting it as a World Cup year. True, I remember nothing of the World Cup Final in 1970; I didn’t even know what a World Cup was until 1978, but I learned quickly.

1982 was a significant year as I was in England during the tournament, which was being held in Spain. Everywhere we travelled, people were talking about the Word Cup, particularly since England was playing so well (they lost in one of the early knock out rounds). I watched several matches that year via television at bed and breakfasts that my family was staying in. The whole experience of football in Europe left a pretty big impression, as I was able to see that this game was not simply a sport that kids nine and ten years old played, as it was in the US. I asked for a Subbuteo soccer game that Christmas just like the ones I’d seen all the kids in the UK playing with, and of course the first team I got was England. Every time I heard the name Peter Shilton, I would stop and remember, “Wow, he’s the best English goal keeper ever!”

1986 was a bit more sketchy for me, though I was certainly aware that Mexico was the host. I saw several matches, but owe my distraction during the tournament that I had just had hip surgery, and was beginning a six month stint on crutches. It was more important to be pissy and difficult and complain that I wasn’t able to do anything as opposed to following an international soccer tournament.

Italia 1990. My sister was actually in Italy that summer for a couple of weeks, though by complete coincidence. I was fortunate to get a couple of little pennants and things that she brought back as souvenirs, though. It was a big event for the US, as they qualified for the first time in years (four decades, actually). Sure, they went home after 3 games, but that certainly didn’t come as a surprise. New Order released a song that summer, “Love’s Got the World in Motion,” which has gone down as one of my favorite NO songs ever, not so much because the song was that great, but because it was about the greatest sport. Besides, they had a Subbuteo mix. England lost in penalities in one of the knock out stages, and I seem to remember Peter Shilton, who was now 40 years old, guessed the correct side for the penalty, but was too slow to make the save. Nate K and myself (and a few others) cooked out at my house for the final, drank loads of beer, and danced around the backyard to that song. I can remember the events of England’s exit that year, but I can’t remember where my parents were that summer. Huh.

1994 USA. While I’m unfortunate to have missed the matches that were played in Dallas, I was delighted that at least the tournament got some local attention. Pablo has the better stories from those few weeks, but Tim and I made some pretty good stories ourselves. We covered our apartment in just about every sign and flag available from a local sports bar where Tim’s girlfriend worked. Plenty of beer coasters and posters, too. We even made a soccer ball out of Christmas lights on our living room wall. It looked pretty cool, though it kind of looked more like a donut than a soccer ball. No matter. Quite a festive year.

France 1998 was also pretty special for me. I was living in Boston onsite at a customer’s facility, reporting to a boss several thousand miles away in Texas. This made it easier to break away from the office to watch matches, and I saw almost all of them on the screens at an Irish bar I liked.
England played well that year, as Michael Owen and David Beckham were starting to reach their stride. I was devastated, however, when England lost on penalties to Argentina. The manager of the Irish bar begged me not to destroy the establishment (he thought I was a hooligan, for some reason), and of course I didn’t even think of trashing the place. In fact, I went back to watch the final between France and Brazil, where France won in fantastic fashion.

When 2002 Korea/Japan came around, I prepared myself for 30 days of matches. I made it a personal goal to see every match, and somehow I managed the task at the great expense of my performance at work. I watched most of the matches at Little Goliad on a 13 inch tv, but caught a few matches at the Dubliner, and a couple at the Monk, including England’s loss to Brazil, who went on to win the whole tournament. Had England not lost to Brazil (i.e., had David Seaman not fucked up and instead actually saved Ronaldinho’s free kick,) I think England would have gone on to win the whole thing. Alas, I could speculate forever…

The problem I’ve also had is the lack of coverage for WC qualifiers and the actual World Cup in the States. Yes, the Spanish stations broadcast every match, which is fine if you understand Spanish. ESPN and ABC tend to provide a little bit of coverage, but favor the US strongly. Since the US usually exits in the first or second round, the stateside coverage drops off rapidly after the second week of the tournament. Pay for view is OK, but unless you’re Lori McKee, you pay full price for matches shown on Setanta, usually $20 a pop. (Lori caught the football bug after Euro 2002, and made frequent trips to the Dub on match days, though she never quite had to pay as much as I did)

I didn’t miss any of England’s qualifiers for 2006 (come to think of it, I didn’t miss any of their qualifiers for 2002, either). It’s nice to have the Dubliner for many reasons, but WC qualifiers mark some of my most favorite times at that bar. See how fun it can be to go to the Dub at 9am to watch 6 hours of football and drink pints? By the start of the second match, you suddenly are talking with other patrons, who likely have been doing exactly as you have. The end result is that everyone has a great great time, only you can’t recall much about it the following week. Once, during a qualifier for 2002 I met a Dutch girl that left a huge impression on me (oh, is that what they call it?). I searched for months for that girl whose name I couldn’t remember, and come on, how many Dutch girls whose name began with an S were working as waitresses in Dallas, anyway?

I looked forward to Alemania 2006 with great anticipation. I’d be in the same continent during the World Cup, for one thing. Also, Spain doesn’t have much interest in other sports like baseball and basketball (which occupy the airwaves in the US during summer), so I wouldn’t have to jockey with other bar patrons about watching a game on television. Now, I am forever grateful to Gabe for telling the staff at the Monk that “unless Bryan comes in and asks for a soccer game to be put on, do NOT switch from baseball or basketball,” but would he have done the same for me during the NBA finals this year? I don’t know, but was kind of glad not to have to find out. It was a simply a non issue for me here. It seems that EVERY bar in Europe is tuned to the match during the World Cup, period.

Alas, I failed to realize a couple of things until right before the tournament started this year. First, Spain pulled a broadcast trick, and showed MOST matches on commercial television, but not all. Several matches were on Canal plus, a satellite channel, and one that we don’t have at Lynne and Fran’s. Fortunately, Finnegan’s (as well as many other places around Valencia) was showing all matches.

Solving the problem of where to watch matches was relatively easy in comparison to my second problem. In Spain, I work in the evenings, now. That’s precisely when the majority of the matches were being held. Thus, I’ve really had to plan my time carefully, and that hasn’t prevented me from missing several matches. Take the opener between Germany and Costa Rica for example. 4-2 was the result, and quite the match. I was sitting in a stuffy classroom with two scientists discussing their upcoming trip to London. Just another Friday afternoon English conversation class.

I did get home in time for Ecuador-Poland, and noticed right off the bat that the Ecuadorian team apparently has been hitting the weight room. A lot. Those guys were buff, buff, buff. And they play well, too.

On the first Saturday of the event, June 10, I planned to watch England play Paraguay from Finnegan’s. I had a class until 2pm, but then hustled over to the bar and arrived about 20 minutes before 3pm, when the game was to begin. Finnegan’s was packed with rowdy English fans. It was a hot day, and the viewing screens aren’t tops. The projector screen (the biggest in the bar) is pretty washed out (worse than Trinity Hall), so unless you stand directly in front of it, you can’t see much. Since I arrived late, I was closer to the outside of the bar than to the inside.

I’d been in this situation countless times before, so like always, I fought for space, wished I hadn’t brought my backpack, and ordered two (gasp!) Coronitas. I needed a lighter beer to help me through the heat, and I also wanted a bottle in my hand just in case someone got frisky. (ergo the statement I’d rather have a bottle in front of me than a frontal lobotomy. McKee, do I get a prize for using the word “lobotomy” in a story?)

The game commenced, but from my vantage point, I couldn’t see all that well. Since I was standing near the entrance, I was constantly jostled as people kept ordering beers (Do you take pounds here?) In the end, I was a bit overwhelmed by the amount of fans. At halftime, I decided to head home for a quieter, hopefully cooler place. England were up 1-0, and the game wasn’t all that great, anyway. I vowed to arrive earlier for the next match.

A few hours later, I was feeling more comfortable as I watched Sweden play Trinidad and Tobago, and then a buddy called me asking to meet for beers and a night out later that evening. Sounded good to me.

I found Victor at the metro stop in town, right next to a Calatrava bridge, and we walked a few blocks to meet a few other guys at a pub. Victor is a military officer, as were his four friends. I was to be the gancho, which amused me, as I never have, and never will be that type of guy. Though military, these guys are great, and really funny. I followed along in Spanish as much as I could, with Victor and Juan helping to translate when I got lost. After a pint in a pub, we changed locations and had a couple of drinks at a cocktail lounge, then arrived at a disco close to 1am, which was a bit early, actually. Soon, I realized why we got there so early, as the place quickly filled to capacity within 30 minutes.

Drinks at the discos are expensive (so is cover charge, for that matter), but I switched to Jack and Coke hoping I wouldn’t repeat my last bad experience with Jack Daniels, which was about 10 years ago. The scene at the disco was incredible, partly because I’m not known for hitting the club scene. I was enjoying the scenery, if you will, and through the course of the evening discovered that my five new friends are even more shy than I am. I explained that I thought I’d be a bit worthless as the gancho because of this, not least of all because approaching pretty girls on a dance floor isn’t a concept that I’m familiar with, even after a few drinks.

The music got better (it was a bit more Spanish rock than electronica), the girls got prettier, and the place got more full. After an unsuccessful attempt to chat up some girls, Victor and Juan decided to change locations, and we headed to another disco. After all, it was only 4am.

The evening caught up with us, and we left after two drinks. I caught a taxi home, and got to bed as the sun was coming up.

Football? Oh yeah. I did see some of Argentina-Ivory Cost at St Patrick’s, the pub where we’d begun our evening.

That Sunday was pretty lazy, and I did keep any eye on the scores, though I didn’t watch any match all the way through. I was feeling a little let down, since very few of the games had been all that exciting anyway. Thus far, however, Germany, Ecuador, Argentina, Holland, and Ivory Coast had impressed me.

Monday, June 12th. I caught most of Japan-Australia, but left for school before the end, and missed the exciting Aussie victory. I got to school, but my student never showed up (unexcused absence, which means I get paid anyway). Thus, I missed the drumming that the US took from the Czechs.

Obviously a football crazy country follows World Cup very closely. It’s nice to open the daily paper in Spain to loads of coverage about all of the teams. At 3pm that Tuesday afternoon, the country stopped to watch Spain’s first match of the tournament. We were not let down as Spain won 3-0 in quite a convincing style. Sure, there were two more games to play, but the nation was encouraged after the victory.

Of course I had to work on Thursday during England-T&T, but I dropped by Finnegan’s and caught the replay of the last 15 minutes, during which England won. I was glad to see England had two wins, but was far from impressed.

Friday evening, we had our end of school year dinner for the Casa Americana staff and students. I congratulated the Argentinean girl (who’s bar was catering the dinner) on the day’s match: Argentina 6, Serbia diddly squat. Argentina was definitely meeting expectations of being a strong team. Most of the discussion during dinner was about how well Spain was playing and what their chances were against some monster team like Argentina or Brazil.

On Saturday, I was a bit surprised to see Ghana show strongly against the Czech Republic, and concluded that the US would most likely take the early bus home from the tournament. After watching another poor display by the US against Italy, I was convinced that the US wouldn’t get out of round one. In both matches, they never appeared to perform at all. The group, however, was going to be crazy since Ghana, Italy, and the Czechs all still showed capability of advancing.

Spain celebrates Father’s day in March, so I almost forgot to call my dad on June 18th. Football wise, Australia played hard against Brazil, but couldn’t get a result. France was showing the same complacency of England, which was not encouraging. Argentina, Germany, and Ecuador looked like tough opponents during the knock out stages.

I was antsy about my class on Monday evening, not because of my student, but because of the match between Spain and Tunisia. It was my luck that this student showed up, and I had to remind him that his nation was playing football that evening. Of all five people in Spain who had no interest in the World Cup, one was my student. In the end (with a couple of hints from me), he elected to end class early, which enabled me to get home for the second half of the match.

I arrived home to find Lynne and Fran both watching the match. Somehow they’d both caught the spirit of the World Cup. Spain came from a goal behind to win 3-1, and I was particularly pleased to see young Cesc Fabregas from Arsenal play such an important role in both victories of Spain.

Lucky for me that my late class on Tuesday cancelled, and I decided to have a quiet beer in a bar in Alboraia for the Sweden-England match. Both teams had already advanced to the next round, so the objective was to determine who would top the group. I wanted to watch a good football match, and I pretty much did. A 2-2 draw was a fair result, as Sweden played hard to get themselves back in the match as England considered their complacency.

Wednesday was the first day of summer. It’s already hot as crap in Spain, so big whoop. I had lunch with Stephanie and Rafa at Finnegan’s, then stayed on to watch Mexico –Portugal. Mexico was needing a good result and some luck in order to advance. A few people showed up to watch the match, including one Portuguese and a group of Mexicans. We discovered the Portuguese when he stood up to cheer the early goal against Mexico. The Mexican group was friendly, and by halftime, we were all enjoying pints together. An Irish guy who didn’t speak much Spanish showed up, and suddenly I discovered that all of the Mexicans spoke English, and so did the guy from Portugal. I continued to speak in Spanish with everyone, except the Irishman.

I sort of got caught up in the moment, and kept ordering pints, believing I could sober up by 8pm for my class. It didn’t help when my student called at 6pm to cancel. Yes, it saved me from embarrassing myself in class, but pretty well ensured that I’d be done for later, particularly since the Irish guy and I were drinking at such a frantic pace.

Our little group decided to change venues for the late match (Argentina-Holland), and we trekked over to St. Patrick’s. I tried to hide the fact that I had the hiccups, but when I staggered and almost fell into the street in front of a taxi cab, I think everyone knew that I was fucked. Sure, the Irish wasn’t any better than I was, but the Portuguese and the Mexicans were several steps closer to sobriety.

I skipped a round at St. Patrick’s, and managed to have a conversation with a French guy who had shown up at some point. We talked about Daft Punk and a few other groups. The match was headed for a draw, but I marvelled at how the Dutch fans were quite a bit less overwhelming than the English fans from the other week, even in their bright orange. The Dutch girls tend to be really cute, but I didn’t score any points with them when I stood up in front of a group of them trying to watch the game. I was trying to say my goodbyes to my own little group, but I wasn’t faring all that well. Somehow, I managed to bid everyone adios, staggered outside, got a cab, and got home around 11.15pm. 9 hours of pints. Ouch.

I woke up at 4am partially clothed and with the lights on, not to mention the beginnings of a headache. I still got to the gym by early afternoon, but was regretting the amount I’d consumed during the previous evening. Fortunately, my student never showed that evening (another paid unexcused absence). This gave me time to quietly learn that Ghana beat US, officially ending their World Cup. I also discovered with great sadness that the Arcadia theatre had burned down in Dallas. I didn’t completely learn my lesson from the night before too well, because I went for a few more beers with my intercambio Paola, but was home in bed fairly early.

Spain won their third match with their reserves that Friday afternoon of June 23. I welcomed that quiet Friday evening at home, and the quick chat with Tim was really cool. Finding out that my mom broke her ankle wasn’t as cool, especially since she wasn’t doing anything like practicing a bicycle kick or anything…

Yesterday, Germany eliminated Sweden, and Argentina eliminated Mexico. I wanted Mexico to advance, but they lost to a strong squad. Perhaps the best match of the tournament so far, in my opinion. Heavy drama, strong play, and an absolutely brilliant goal to win the match. However, Mexico deserves to be proud of their showing in Germany.

It’s now Sunday noon, June 25th, and I’m lounging on the terrace probably getting a sunburn. England plays this afternoon, and I won’t be surprised if Ecuador surprise the world. Veremos.


keep the faith
bryan at c/ Tomas Trenor
June 25, 2006