First no eggs at breakfast. I eat an egg for breakfast every day.
Then our first train to Cologne broke down. We had to take another. We got on that train. Late. Then we had to get off that one at Leverkersen; ironically the city where Landon Donovan didn’t want to play. Then we went from this platform to that one and then to another. Hundreds of Americans on way to Cologne to Gelsenkirchen and we were confused. And when we weren’t confused, we were sandwiched in the train like sardines. And outside Germany was experiencing record heat. It was hot. Blackout hot.
We made it to the match city. Finally. The one-hour trip took two. Gelsenkirchen itself was lovely. Town square was really small so both U.S. and Czech fans took over. Four hours before kick off.
One Czech fan wanted to trade scarves with Robert. The guy seemed really happy. We mentioned we were from Detroit. He says he is from same city as Jiri Fisher and that he loves Hasek. We liked him. We took a photo with him and parted ways. Forever.
We made one pub home base and outside all U.S. fans eventually congregated and sang. We sang our little hearts out. And we sang on the train to the stadium. And when we got to the stadium, we sang some more.
The stadium was poorly marked for those in the yellow sector including Robert and I. We walked all the way around the building before finally finding an entrance. Located the section where we were sitting. And we walked up the stairs. And we kept walking. All the way to the second to last row. We knew the day wasn’t going well.
We are spoiled in America watching soccer at home because we usually get seats in the Sam’s Army supporters section, and they are fantastic. Plus, the day before we were in the second row for the Portugal/Angola game.
Game time. One goal. Two goals. Three goals. Every goal felt like a dagger.
As fans we were outnumbered. I would say 3 to 1. As players we were outplayed. As it turns out 3 to 0.
We are exhausted. We are crushed.
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