"OHHH OHHH OHHH, OHHH OHHH OHHH!"
It's that time of the decade again, folks. For those of you in the US, it means the World Cup is upon us. That means that all our friends not born in the US will be showing up to work bleary eyed because they've been awake since 4 am watching...
Soccer! (Live from South Africa)
I must confess that I am one of those typical North Americans born in the 1940s who grew up not even knowing what soccer was all about.
I still don't.
When I was living in Milan, Italy in the 1980s, I actually lived right across the street from world-famous San Siro soccer stadium. home of Milan AC and Inter.
ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ.
Every Sunday was a mess. You either had to get out of the house early and come back late or just stay home. One fine Sunday, one of the Milan teams was playing the team from Torino (not Juventus, just Torino). Torino won (probably 1-0). Guess what happened. That's right, 100,000 people proceeded to riot. You see, in Italy, quite the opposite of some cities in the US, the fans riot when they lose. In the US, they riot when the home team wins, right Laker fans?
"That's right!"
But to continue the story, since our car was parked in front of our apartment complex on the street, I figured I'd better get out there and move it pronto (subito, actually). Actually, it was quite undisturbed since we had Milan plates. Parked in front of mine, however, was a car with Torino plates. It was destroyed, windows broken, tires flattened sides bashed in-you name it. It looked like a brand new Cooper or whatever those save-the-planet cars of today are called.
Of course, there were lots of arrests.
Oh, I tried to get interested in soccer. Once, some friends actually dragged me to an exhibition of two games between Milan-Inter and Juventus-Flamingo (Brazil). It was a big deal.
"That's a big f-----' deal!"
I left in the middle of it. The games didn't interest me and a hundred thousand fans were acting like jerks. I went home.
Not to say that I don't like Italians. I love them to death. An Italian lady who gave language lessons in the American Consulate told me once she went to a game with some Italian friends in Barcelona. She said she couldn't understand how such nice, friendly, civilized people could turn into such absolute animals watching a soccer match. I don't get it either-especially when the game is 0-0 and the stands are going up in smoke.
(Actually, he's a Brit, but he speaks Italian.)
I even tried to get interested in a particular team, in this case Triestina of Trieste, one of my favorite Italian cities. Problem was they never could get out of C Series. So I gave up.
Then in 1990, I was sent back to Italy for 5 weeks by my employer (those nice folks at DEA). The World Cup was going on, and Colombia was playing. I can't tell you what we were doing there....well, I guess I can because the whole thing was documented by a BBC film crew and appeared on TV world-wide. (Smart, huh?) Anyway, Our job was to monitor all the Colombia games since we heard that all the top Cali Cartel folks were attending and catch them all in one big fell swoop. Of course, they had been tipped off before the games began, but we didn't know that, so we spent 5 weeks following around a bunch of relatives and minor associates along with their bodyguards.
To make it a short story, we got to see all the Colombian games free plus an Argentina-Yugoslavia game (where the great Maradona stunk up Florence stadium-he must have been doing a few lines during the pre-game warm-ups). By the way, that's the only sporting venue Iv'e ever seen where the players come from their dressing room into the stadium from a hole in the ground at mid-field. (I'm not making this up, folks.) And also by the way, whatever happened to Maradona-or Yugoslavia, for that matter?)
But I digress.
Anyway, what I wanted to say was that while soccer is boring as hell to me, the World Cup is something to see; not because of the game, but because of the fans, the flags, the dances, and the parties. Italy knows how to do it right, and every time the Italians win a match, Italian cities go wild. I don't know why, but they do. Normally, Italian night life consists of going out to a restaurant and eating dinner for three hours, but there is nothing to spice up an evening in Italy like a world cup victory.
But I digress.
My next and probably final experience with soccer came in 1993 in Quito, Ecuador. I was part of a DEA training seminar for drug cops from a variety of South American nations and at the end of the course, we had a friendly little soccer match. I was the only gringo playing. It was my first (and last) time to play soccer and I was 48 years old. Oh, yes. Quito is way up in the mountains and the air is thin, which adds to the enjoyment. Man, I thought I was going to have the big one running up and down the field not having a clue what I was doing. Anyway, it was 1-1, and we were into overtime. Our team had the ball and one of our guys took a close-in shot at goal. The other team's goalie made a spectacular diving stop, which took him sprawling about 40 feet away from a now-open net. And guess who just happened to be standing there in front of the net all alone combing his hair.
El Gringo!
Here's an actual picture of me scoring the winning goal.
"GOLLLLLLLLLLLLL!"
Yes, with a slight turn of the ankle, I kicked the winning goal about 3 feet into the net, and it was all over but the drinking.
Leave it to a North American to teach those South Americans how to play soccer.
I have to admit playing soccer is a lot more fun that watching it-especially on TV.
But rest assured, I will not be watching the games-at least until the final, and only then if someone like Italy or Mexico is playing. What, you say the US is playing too?
ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ.
"Wake me when it's over."
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