The End

So, it's all over. Spain are champions. I shouldn't really care as I haven't allegiance to either country and they both played spectacularly boring football. Still.

I do hate teams that develop a bandwagon following, teams like Brazil. Spain is a bandwagon team too. I suppose the teams can't help it, but I can choose not to jump on the bandwagon as it rolls across South Africa making stops on all seven continents. Shit. If Spain really dazzled me, really wowed me, won me over with brilliant, entertaining football, with spectacular goals, I might feel differently. I just can't love the cagey, chess-match football they play. Not that the Dutch played any better. While they have a great footballing tradition, this was a rather week, light-beer version of what they are capable of as a nation.

It is such a fffffftt ending to a great tournament, 30 days of wonderful surprises, upstarts making chumps of the traditional soccer powers, sending them all on early vacations. Then this, a sad little fart escaping from a deflated balloon. Do I expect too much? Why is the final always a disappointment, or 9 times out of 10? Is it me? Why are the upsets, or the battles from behind, the matches that turn your insides out and make a mess of the odds makers' books the most interesting? Japan v. Nigeria, now that would be an interesting final. The US v. Slovakia. Teams that are completely unpredictable. A one-nil victory for Spain. Wow! Big surprise.

And tomorrow the newspapers will be gooey with praise for Spain, articles written by sports writers who watch precious little soccer and still use American sports analogies to illustrate their points. They too have leapt aboard "la fiora roja" express.

(Sigh) I feel let down somehow.

But just as sure as there will be another World Cup in 4 years, I will be there, watching, cheering, cursing, singing, crying, analyzing and discussing it all. I can't wait. Oh, the beautiful game.

The World Cup Final that never was

You read it here first. This, the 3rd place match between Germany and Uruguay, should have been the final. I guarantee this match was more interesting, more entertaining than anything we will see tomorrow at Soccer City in Johannesburg. The Germans and Uruguayans played end-to-end attacking football as if this were the final. Shame nobody remembers the 3rd and 4th place finishers in a World Cup.

Dutch football

This is "Total Football" circa 1974. Let's hope the Dutch class of 2010 can live up to this legendary team and succeed where they failed.

Spanish football

If the Dutch don't perform we'll need a Simpsons-style riot to keep the Spanish from boring us to death on Sunday in the World Cup final.

A lesson in football, blood and soil

There are teams you like and teams you don't. I like Germany. My grandfather was German; he taught me the game; I have relatives and friends living in Germany. I like Holland, not because I am Dutch, but because they play attractive football. I don't like Argentina. Mostly because of Diego Maradona. I don't like Brazil, not because they don't play great football, because they do; I don't like them because EVERYONE likes Brazil, and because they are expected to win every World Cup.

I am oft ridiculed for having multiple allegiances. The truth is, when it comes to the World Cup I have just one team, and that is the US. One has only to read my post following the US - England match to know this is true. While I have English blood, and love English football I would never root against the US in a football match between the two. As I said, I have German blood. In 2002 the US met the Germans in the quarter final. Did I support Germany because that is the birthplace of my grandfather, or because they play better football? Of course not. I am American. This is not grand patriotic posturing, because anyone that knows me, knows that I am no patriot. It is simply that in international competition, I feel one should support either the country in which they were born, or the country in which they live, whichever is the greater number of years. Let me explain. If I moved to France now, at the age of 41, and spent the rest of my life there, I'm still going to support the US in the World Cup. If I live beyond 83, well then, maybe it would be open to discussion which country I follow. If I was born in Mexico, but have lived all but my first year in the US, I'm going to support the US, not Mexico.

What is interesting about Americans is that we are all from somewhere else. There are Native Americans, of course, but everyone else is a descendent of an immigrant from another land. This is a more recent phenomena in Europe, one with which they are struggling. There has been much talk about the players on the German squad with Polish last names. People still expect Germans to have names like Beckenbauer and Muller. I have friends from England and Mexico that find it difficult to believe I can claim English, German, Hungarian, French, Mexican and Native American heritage. When the World Cup rolled around they enjoyed taunting me, questioning my loyalties, and even today as Germany battled Spain in the semi-final they thought it peculiar or hypocritical that I would root for Germany. People and cultures with very pure bloodlines cannot understand the American mutt. In 50 or 100 years when their own indigenous cultures have been watered down, and the white Anglo-Saxons are the minority in England, or the brown-skinned Aztec is no longer the majority in Mexico, perhaps then they will understand.

Adidas Originals Star Wars Cantina 2010

Adidas Originals Star Wars Cantina 2010

The Come Down

It is strange. I feel a little empty. I'm glad to be back in New York, but I am missing that focus I had in South Africa. It is still all about the World Cup, even here. I wake up to it, have lunch with it, go to bed with it. My days are lubricated with World Cup football and beer. And yet, I feel, I don't know, somehow lost, as if my purpose has gone. There are still several matches to play, but it feels like the end of the party. That's it, that is the feeling. It is like when you've gone to a good party, you're having fun, talking, eating, drinking, dancing and then you notice that the guests are beginning to leave. And you think, wait, it's still early, come on, another round, another song. The come down.

Some that got away

A Bloggers Note

So, as most of you know I am back from South Africa. What a journey! I am going to continue to post notes, opinions and photos through the rest of the World Cup. I'm afraid they won't be as interesting as those coming from the source, but...well, it's not over until somebody lifts that 13.6 pound solid gold trophy on July 11.

On the Road...South Africa

The Jo'burg taxi

Riding in a taxi in Jo'burg is an experience unlike any other major city. Not because they are crazy or dangerous. No, it is because the taxi industry is a proper racket in Jo'burg.

Unlike New York, London or Paris taxi drivers, those in Jo'burg do not know their city. It seems the only requirement to operate as a taxi is a car. So if you don't know exactly where you are going you are better off not even embarking on your journey. They rarely run the meter, if they even have one. They will charge you whatever they think they can get. I learned it is best to tell them what you want to pay rather than asking them what the fare is. This whole experience is extremely frustrating and annoying. One should avoid any taxi driver with a Merc; they're the worst of the lot. They think because they have a big, expensive car you should help them with their loan payments.

I discovered from a local that the Jo'burg taxi drivers are essentially a mafia organization. That is, they wield a lot of power because there is no public transportation system - no buses, no subways, no streetcars or trams. When initiatives for new/alternative transportation are proposed by the government they are killed by the taxi mob. The public is totally at the mercy of these scheisters.

Top 3 Worst of 2010 World Cup South Africa

Here are my Top 3 Worst of the 2010 World Cup South Africa (in order):

1) The vuvusela

I've read pro/con articles in the newspapers that actually refer to it as an instrument. As if South Africa didn't have enough problems, it will be a nation of deaf people in a years time.

2) The Jabulani ball

If this were a grid-iron football tournament there would be a new record for "field goals". Adidas, FIFA, enough with the ball tinkering. Bring back the 32 panel leather Telstar.

3) Injury Theatre (aka World Cup Diving)

You know the players that are guilty; you know the nations that are the greatest perpetrators. Stay on your feet and shoot the f#*%ing ball!

The Lemurian

Some of you may have been wondering where I've been holed up for the last few weeks. Well, here it is, the Lemurian Guest Lodge in Atholl-Sandton, Johannesburg. Trust me, it photographs well. While not exactly a dump, it left a lot to be desired in terms of comfort and style. Following my 3 day sojourn in Cape Town I was dreading coming back. A $1 million investment might bring it up to standard. I suppose then the rates would go up. You get what you pay for, right.

Impressions and Notes

A massive fatigue is weighing on me, as if I was playing in the World Cup. My brain is like melted butter today. My focus now is to get back to New York and normalcy.

The football seems so far away, so long ago, even as I sit here watching a replay of that dreadful match.

I don't think I'd have the energy to go to the quarter final match had the US advanced. I'm exhausted.

Funny. I've been here almost three weeks and this awful shopping mall, Melrose Arch, has become my default home base because it is relatively close, has several banks, a mobile phone shop, a market and the de rigueur restaurants, shops, etc. There are two sort of posh hotels, Schrager knock-offs. I stopped in one, the Fire and Ice, for a coffee. It happens to be the hotel in which the US team are staying. I saw Michael Bradley in the lobby with a few girls (girlfriends? sisters?). I couldn't tell him, "good game", and I didn't have the heart to tell him they played poorly and let us down. He looked as tired as me.

Aufgehts Deutschland! While I am sentimental always about England, because they seem to perform as badly as the US in big tournaments, I have to say Germany looks really good. I like the way these kids attack, attack, attack. They may not be a glamourous side, with big names, but they are playing better football than anyone in this tournament right now. They play as a team, not a collection of individuals.

The bright spot

This was the bright spot on an otherwise miserable trip to Rustenberg. The bus stopped at a place called Lucky's which is a butcher/restaurant/bar. It works like this: you order your meat from the butcher, take it over to the braai (aka barbecue) and grill it yourself. I had shish kabob. This was perhaps my best meal in South Africa.

US v. Ghana or The End of the Dream

This was deja vu. Not only because the US was once again facing Ghana in a World Cup match (I was there in Nürnberg in 2006), but because I had a similar bad feeling then. In addition we were also going back to Rustenberg.

I had booked a seat on a supporters bus again; I didn’t want to be alone. The meeting point was the same, Nelson Mandela Square. I arrived early. The square was completely empty of American fans. Had everyone gone home despite the fact we made it into the round of 16? I waited. Did I have the right spot? I waited. Maybe they cancelled the bus at the last minute? Finally just before noon a handful of fans arrived. That was it. We were a mere handful. For the England match we hired four buses and numbered more than 300.

You can’t imagine how difficult it was to make ourselves heard in the stadium against the roar of, well…Africa. By some miracle of immigration and naturalization everyone in the stadium was suddenly Ghanaian. We didn’t stand a chance. I thought of the scene in Dr. Seuss’ “How the Grinch Stole Christmas”. “Oh the noise, oh the noise, noise, noise, noise… They’ll dance with ching-tinglers tied onto their heels, they’ll blow their floo-flubas, they’ll bang their tar-tinkers; they’ll blow their hoohubas, they’ll bang their gardinkers….”

Sam’s Army is the supporters group that usually lead the songs. So feeble was their voice against the din I took it upon myself to lead the singing in my section. The players had to hear our voice, know we were there for them. No way.

The US did not play well, this much is true. Maybe they were spent from the match against Algeria and had nothing left to give. Maybe they were thinking of Nürnberg. Maybe, like me, they are simply tired of being here in South Africa.

So now we build again for another World Cup in four years time. Another World Cup, another World Cup, another World Cup…

The football (the good and the ugly)

Japan and the Blue Samurai are my new favorite team (after the US, of course). Great, attacking, entertaining football.

The most anticipated and talked about match of the tournament - Brazil v. Portugal turned out to be the most boring. What a stinker! I hate when teams don't play, "saving" themselves for the next match.

The most interesting/entertaining football so far has come from North America and Asia. Fuck all the precious, over-payed drama queens from Europe and South America.

Shame, shame on you, Spain and Chile! Your fans have traveled half way around the world, spent thousands of Euros and Pesos on tickets to see you play and this is how you treat them. That second half performance was appalling, a terrific bore! I hope you both go out in the next round.

Stanley Ave.

Cool afternoon crowd at Stanley Ave., good sunglasses, hair, shoes. A tiny oasis of hip in an otherwise bland city.

I miss New York.

Impressions and Notes

It occurred to me as I was sitting in Eastwoods, the Yankee bar in Pretoria, surveying the scene, I have two things in common with these people: our country of origin, and soccer. Weird.

From time to time I'll happen upon an exclusive FIFA hotel in Johannesburg. It is always interesting to see, like observing the aristocracy. Honestly, the people with FIFA badges haven't a clue of what life is like in Jo'burg or South Africa. They are all staying in the best hotels, dining in the finest restaurants, chauffeured around in big Mercs or deluxe buses past or around the poverty of the shanty towns or the wealthy suburban fortresses. They are escorted into and out of the stadiums, completely catered to during the match. Then they fly home, back to their countries, congratulate themselves on a fine World Cup without ever seeing anything. FIFA is really completely out of touch.

It could be my own post-match exhaustion, but I feel a quiet descending over Jo'burg and the World Cup, as places in the Round of 16 are secured and the teams that didn't progress, and the fans that followed them here, pack their bags and go home.

Victory

Blue-eyed Satan 1 - Algeria 0

You cannot comprehend the euphoria in Loftus Versfeld Stadium following Landon Donovan’s goal in the 90^th minute. It was complete ecstatic mayhem! But let me back up.

The day started rather quiet. When I got off the shuttle from Jo’burg, there were very few Yanks to be seen on the streets. I wandered down a street that was filling up with Algerian supporters. I made a u-turn and continued looking for an American bar. I found one. The beers were flowing served by exceptionally cute waitresses, but the crowd was not especially boisterous. I think we were all a little nervous, knowing the match ahead was do-or-die.

I found my seat on the lower tier and greeted my stadium friend Steven from New Orleans. We’ve sat together at every match. Just before the teams came out an enormous Algerian flag unfurled from the terrace above. Outrageous! I jumped up and grabbed a piece to pull it down. Other Americans grabbed a hold. The Algerians above fearing they would lose their flag quickly pulled it back up. It never appeared again.

We started a new song when the goal in the 21^st minute was called back, feeling their may be some kind of FIFA conspiracy behind the growing number of calls against us across our 3 matches. It went: “Fuck you FIFA!”

You all saw the match so I won’t replay it for you in words. But wow! Holy crap! I was so moved I honestly found it hard to breathe after Donovan scored. I could have cried. Maybe I did. Everyone was jumping around and hugging and cheering and waving flags. This went on for 20 minutes after the match had finished and the teams had left the pitch.

I hate comparing soccer to other American sports. But it is worth illustrating the difference in how goals are celebrated on the pitch and in the stands. Your average American, the type that doesn’t care for soccer, often finds it difficult to understand why we, both players and fans, go bananas when a goal is scored. It is simple. It is impossibly difficult to achieve. So when it does happen there is an incomparable euphoria. Basketball: it is so easy to score it is almost boring. No need to celebrate. Baseball and grid-iron football: also fairly easy to score. But then the games stretch on for an eternity which increases the likelihood of scoring and decreases the need for excessive celebration.

There is another factor in World Cup football that adds to the goal scoring mayhem and that is country. There is something special and thrilling about national competition. There are those that will argue, and I would not dispute it, that club football is a superior brand of football. That is, Barcelona, AC Milan, Arsenal, etc. play better football than any national team in the World Cup. This fact only increases the joy of scoring a goal in the World Cup. You may have only three chances to do it (first round), and a maximum of seven if your team makes it to the final. At the club level goals happen week in and week out. If your team fails to score this Saturday there is always next Saturday, from August to May.

The US matches have been nothing if not exciting. While not the most talented team in the tournament, they certainly have pluck, as they say. These boys will keep you cheering and cursing and crying until the whistle blows, because they do not give up. It is a different group of Yanks that play for our national side now. In the old days, if we went a goal down heads were hanging low and the fighting spirit evaporated into the night. That, for me, is the greatest improvement US soccer has made. We believe.

Robben Island

I remember in the 80s, in high school, when the English band the Specials did a song called "Free Nelson Mandela". I only had a vague idea who he was at the time. Nelson Mandela is everywhere in South Africa. It is something akin to George Washington in the States where there are not only monuments, but streets, towns, schools, banks, shopping malls, etc. named for him. What is strange is that this man is still alive.

I decided to take a break from football and visit Robbin Island Prison where Mandela was imprisoned from 1964 to 1982 for being an outspoken freedom fighter. This was a sobering afternoon. I asked myself, why do we visit places like Robben Island or Auschwitz? Is it morbid curiosity? Do we learn anything? When prisons like Guantanamo still exist all over the world I venture to say no. Perhaps the wrong people are touring these places.

Sea Point

The calm and joy the ocean brings. The smell of it, the sound. I was so happy to walk beside it today, breathe it in. The grit of Johannesburg melted away. It was as if my vacation had just begun.

Aaaahh, South Africa!

I have decamped to beautiful Cape Town for a few days. There is something comforting about the ocean and a coastline.
Johannesburg vs. Cape Town. Well, there is really no comparison. It is like comparing Compton or Bushwick to Laguna Beach or Cassis.

Impressions and Notes

Bright, warm afternoon. It is deceiving however, like the sunshine that warms you when you are skiing. Move into the shade or catch a breeze and the winter chill will grab you and give you a frightful squeeze.

Choreographed fan spirit for Univision. Shame, shame. Where are the busty, dyed-blond girls jiggling in their crop-top football kits?

It's a strange way of life. My only commitment is to football and the World Cup. All responsibility has vanished.

Halloween or Football?

How/when did football fans evolve into the painted face, wig-wearing, national flag as cape (or skirt), silly hat freak show that it is today? I'm not old enough to remember supporters before 1974. But from the archival photos I've seen, they were a fairly reserved lot. Scarves, caps and "woollies" (ski caps) in national color schemes came into fashion in the 1970s, inspired in part by club football gear. The replica team kits first appeared in the 80s. When did it all go bananas? The 1990s? The 1994 World Cup in the US? Are we, the Americans, responsible? Was this our unique response as a country to a lack of indigenous football culture? I cannot speak for Argentina, Japan, Germany or any other country, as I am American, but I do feel there are certain fans in the American camp (see above photos) that show up to the World Cup matches only to make a spectacle of themselves. I ask you, what does Elvis Presley, Abraham Lincoln or Captain America have to do with football? I have to say nothing. Great Halloween costumes, yes; appropriate football match gear, not really.
I certainly enjoy the festive atmosphere of the World Cup, and wouldn't have it any other way, but you have to wonder if the spectacle in the stands isn't overpowering the spectacle on the pitch. Boring football one could say. But I do sometimes feel I am at a Mardi Gras parade rather than a football match. I am not suggesting that a person wearing a scarf and replica kit is a more fervent supporter than one dressed head to toe in a red, spandex body suit and Fruit of the Loom underwear (yes, I saw this!). Maybe there is a distinction to be made here, that of supporter vs. fan. Is it fair to define a supporter as someone that follows a particular team and cares greatly about the result of the match, and a fan as someone that is excited by the sport in general, but their enjoyment of the overall event is more important than the outcome on the pitch? Am I splitting hairs?
There is a brilliant book by Desmond Morris called "The Soccer Tribe". It undertakes to explain the football fan from a sociological perspective. It was published in 1981, long before Elvis began showing up at football matches. Perhaps it is time for a new and revised edition.

Ellis Park

USA v. Slovenia

My nephew Benjamin in this photo pretty much sums up how I felt about the result of the US - Slovenia match.

It is always different watching a match live versus watching it on television. Perspective. You see things the viewer at home doesn't and the viewer at home sees things the fans in the stands don't. We in the stands, have a single perspective. You at home have a multitude of perspectives courtesy of some 25 cameras, plus replays, slow-motion, match commentators, etc. When you are down low, which I was this time, you can see how difficult and intense the game really is. This makes you appreciate all the more the teams and players that play it so well, that make it beautiful. I feel we were robbed when the 3rd goal was called back. I still haven't seen the replay. You tell me, all of you out there in TV-land.

Shadows

Grass

Gutted

Uruguay 3 - South Africa 0

The Truth from a Young Mind

"This is not Africa's World Cup, this is FIFA's World Cup."

- Thapello, Grade 12, Barnato Park High School

There was an exhibition of photography in a small gallery in 44 Stanley Ave. Beautiful, if grim, photos of life for the poor blacks in Johannesburg. Below several photos were captions, quotes from school children. This one seemed to me particularly poignant.

Goal!

So after many frustrating days and nights searching for something cool in this city of malls I finally hit the back of the net. Stanley Ave. and 7th Street had both been recommended to me. Two hip little outposts with interesting shops and lively cafes and bars - the Johannesburg Silverlake.

Unfortunately these are both on the opposite side of town and the rather pricey taxi ride to and from these spots means they won't really become my local.

Jo'burg Nights

Goal by Goal, Brick by Brick

Impressions and Notes

Stylish Africans (or the Sartorialist goes to Johannesburg). They don’t ape American or European styles, it is not an H&M culture of watered down runway fashion. They take the cast-offs and hand-me-downs from the US and Europe, things we donate to charity and make them their own. It is not so much altering the garments or tailoring them, just wearing them in ways Westerners would never think of. And looking good, stylish, proud. Cool.

Lovely warm afternoon sun.

Long walks through the lonely, wealthy and white suburban neighborhoods. Electric fence and “armed response” fortresses. An army of black security guards protecting the white folk from their poor black brothers and sisters. Odd.

Japan wins.

Shopping mall culture. Sinister motives.

Jo'burg

Adventure of the day

I woke rather late and missed the breakfast here in the guest house. I decided to go into the city, to one of the official FIFA “Fan Fests”. I don’t know if these existed before, in the 2002 or 1998 Cups, or if the Germans invented them in 2006. The concept is simple: take a large public square, set up a stage with a jumbo-tronTV for fans to watch the matches, provide food and drink and…voila a “fest” or party. In Germany these were well attended and loads of fun. The one in Newton, a district of Johannesburg, was almost empty. So empty in fact I felt a bit ill at ease. I ate some chicken, drank a beer and watched the match (Ghana v. Serbia)

I’m not going to make any socio-political comments now about Johannesburg or South Africa, having been here just over 48 hours. I want to keep this as much about my football experience as possible. But as the sun was beginning to set I became increasingly aware that I was being checked out, not by attractive women, but by some shady characters. I decided it was time to leave and asked an event staff where I could find a taxi. He graciously offered to walk me to where I could find a taxi, explaining that I would have to take a “local” taxi to a rank where I would find another taxi to take me to Sandton where I’m staying. He flagged down a mini van full of people and told the driver where I needed to go. What the f*#%?! I climbed in.

I have to point out this is not about a rich white guy sitting in a van full of poor black people. It is about the huge reputation Johannesburg has for crime. That is what made me uneasy. I wanted to take a photo because I thought a) this is totally absurd; and b) this may be the only authentic Jo’burg experience I’ll have. I decided against it.

The minivan drove deeper into the city and dropped me off literally in the middle of the road. Someone pointed in the direction I needed to go. I was quietly nervous, but laughing to myself at the same time. How do I get myself into these situations? It was Sunday and still the street was buzzing with people and cars. I made my way into what looked something like a large, open bus terminal or parking structure. There were dozens of battered mini vans much like the one I just got out of. I was looking for a taxi, the sort of taxi we know in New York or London or Paris with distinct official markings and lighted signs. No. There was another minivan with a skinny young kid driving. He’d customized his gear shift with a colorful, lucite knob. I piled into this van with a dozen other people and we headed off into the dying sun. It felt oddly like a family vacation though no one spoke or smiled. Money, our fare, was passed from the back to the front and change was returned the same way. Eventually we passed another FIFA Fan Fest not far from my guest-house. I jumped out and wandered down the street looking for another taxi.

USA v. England

Disappointing

I'm not going to begin to analyze the US - England match as this sort of journalism is not my strength. You will find more qualified and intelligent reports of the match in the New York Times and elsewhere. I will however say I am disappointed, for several reasons. Our national team has improved greatly over the years since we first returned to the World Cup after a 40 year absence. They have improved enough and our fans are sophisticated enough now to be disappointed with a draw against England. This is not 1990 with Bob Gansler managing our side and his "that's all right boys" attitude towards success and failure. From my perspective in the second tier of the American end (first half), it was a fairly evenly played match; the Americans had as many chances on goal as the English. We made a horrible defensive blunder in the opening minutes, but never stopped chasing first the equalizer and then the winning goal, which sadly never came.

I was disappointed with the stadium. Not for the design or age or that is was located deep in the wilderness. I was disappointed with the fully integrated fan blocks. This I will blame on FIFA, not South Africa. When it comes to football I believe in full apartheid. Opposing fans should be separated. I am not the CEO of Adidas or Coca Cola sitting in the first tier on the midfield line. I buy the cheap seats behind the goal for two reasons: 1) they are cheap; 2) this is where the real fans are. There were almost as many English fans in our section as there were Americans. You all know that I love the English, especially their football. Manchester United is after all my favorite club. But on this particular day I felt a loathing for this nation I can only imagine our forefathers of the American revolution felt. It is their arrogance, that we-invented-this-game arrogance that inspired this rage in me. We all know their World Cup record before and since 1966. They are the great under-achievers of World Cup football. Along with our football the American fan has come a long way since the politely clapping days of 1990. We are a loud, colorful, feisty bunch. We stand and sing for 90 minutes. I suppose this surprised and infuriated the English, because they invented that too.

Anyway, all part of the game I suppose.

Impressions and Notes

You can spot the fans somehow, whether they are wearing some national kit or not. And suddenly I get the feeling everyone is going to the World Cup. Indeed this flight to Johannesburg is probably 95% football fans.

American football fans are decidedly clean-cut and good-looking in an apple pie, Chevrolet sort of way. They are not stylish like Italian fans, or menacing like English fans, or sexy like Brazilian fans.

There are entirely too many dudes in T-shirts, cargo shorts, and chunky white running sneakers with girl socks.

The World Cup is the one occasion when I am tolerant of loud, obnoxious Americans abroad.

Longest, most uncomfortable flight ever!

The airport is quiet except for the odd blast from a vuvuzela horn. I can tell immediately these things will be getting on my nerves.

I ask half a dozen airport employees where to pick up World Cup tickets. I feel as though we are speaking different languages.

I have no idea where I am.

The Source

Albert Kaiser 1905 -1984

In 1922 a young man from a small village in south-west Germany arrived in America. He left everything behind in the Fatherland except for his love of a game called fußball. This is not the tale of an early football hero. His playing career in the semi-pro American leagues, if he had one at all, was short-lived. He was the president of the Los Angeles Kickers Soccer Club in the 1950s, but other than that his name is not one most football fans would recognize.

In 1966 at the age of 61 he saw his first World Cup in England. He was hooked after that. He would follow the game around the globe, every four years a different country - Mexico, Germany, Argentina, Spain. Each time he came back with a World Cup pennant or badge for me. While he certainly loved the game played at every level from AYSO to the top European leagues, the World Cup was always his thing, those were the matches he was most passionate about. I was a baby when he went to Mexico in 1970, and still too young to know of his trip to Germany in 1974. Argentina in 1978 was the first time I really understood where he was going when he disappeared for four weeks beginning in June. By then I was a real soccer-head; it was my life just like it was his. I couldn’t wait to hear all about his trip. In 1982 he was going to Spain and I wanted in. I got as far as Germany with him, then he left me behind with his family. It is too crazy for a kid he said. He was 77! An old man was telling me football fans were crazy. I think the World Cup was something he just had to do alone. It was a special event every four years when he could get lost in the game he loved so much. He didn’t want any distractions, anything to make him lose focus. Sadly, I never saw a World Cup with him. He died before the 1986 tournament. And I wouldn’t see my first World Cup until it came to the US in 1994.

If I inherited nothing else from my grandfather I will always be grateful for the gift of fußball he gave to me when I was a boy. For me this was his greatest footballing accomplishment, introducing me to “the beautiful game”.