American Soccer Journal

Good-bye South Africa

2010-07-15T18:37:00.000-07:00

(Originally published June 24 on freep.com)

It was tough to find sleep last night, just as it’s tough to find words now.

How do you summarize Wednesday? How do you summarize this trip?

In many ways, they were the same. Moments of angst and frustration. Moments of wonder and joy.

Let’s start with Wednesday's big game.

In the four years since the 2006 World Cup in Germany, we have been the craziest of soccer fans. We’ve traveled to nearly every game played on U.S. soil, logging thousands of frequent-flier miles. Between the two of us, we’ve now watched this team in seven countries.

It would be an understatement to say we love this team. We’ve celebrated every goal and suffered mightily after every loss. The World Cup is our Super Bowl.

In Germany, we suffered through two losses and a feisty draw with Italy.

At this World Cup, we had a team that had shown tremendous heart, battling back against England and Slovenia and against some horrible officiating. We hadn’t lost yet, but we needed a win.

In Pretoria for the USA’s last group game versus Algeria, it was the hottest day of our trip. The sun was beating down. We’d learned to dress in layers in Africa. It can go from warm to cold in a matter of hours as the sun sets.

We stripped off our coats and sipped beer in the courtyard next to the stadium. Three hours before kickoff, the area was packed with Americans and Algerians. Both groups mingled pleasantly, often taking pictures with each other. A loud band made up of Algerians with horns and drums marched by.

The Americans chatted nervously. We all expected a win, but there’s the nagging doubt. The memories of 2006 linger.

When they played the "Star Spangled Banner" before the game, we couldn’t help but get a little misty-eyed. The camera panned to Clint Dempsey, one of our favorites, who was tearing up and looking toward the sky.

The game itself was grueling, stressful, intense.

The U.S. squandered chance after chance. “Oh, Jozy, how did you miss that?”

Sixty minutes, 70 minutes, 80 minutes … the time was slipping away.
90 minutes. The fourth official lifted his board. Just four minutes left.

We needed someone to “be the hero,“ a mantra Amy mumbles mostly to herself whenever a sub comes on or someone takes a shot on goal. And this day, we had our hero. Landon Donovan, in the 91st minute, jumped on a rebound and hit a shot that will be remembered forever. The stadium erupted. And we got misty-eyed again. OK, we cried.

And we will be celebrating that goal for the next four years. We wish we could stay for the next game vs. Ghana in the round of 16 on Saturday, but will be back in the States, watching anxiously.

We will miss much of South Africa.

South Africa has been wonderful to us. The people have been so kind and generous, and they have an amazing pride in their country hosting the World Cup.

We will miss Cape Town, which has to be one of the most beautiful cities in the world. The mountain that hovers above is breathtaking. The scenic drives around the city rival anything we have seen in Hawaii. Our time there was a true honeymoon.

We will miss the smiles. Everywhere we went, we were greeted by friendly faces and warm wishes. Everyone asked us where we were from and whether we were enjoying our stay.

We will miss the animals. We spent Wednesday at Pilanesburg National Reserve. Just outside our van, we saw giraffes, elephants, deer, rhinos and warthogs. In Cape Town, we saw lots of penguins, baboons, ostriches and seals. Away from the cities, the country has so much natural beauty.

There also is much we won’t miss.

There is so such deep poverty here, right alongside so much wealth. The shanty towns are everywhere. And until you see them in person, you can only imagine the circumstances in which people are living. No running water. No modern toilets. And there usually is one utility pole linked up to at least 10 shacks. Power outages are a problem, as we experienced many times during our stay. We were amazed, though, to see so many satellite dishes.

It does seem that a middle class is emerging. The mall near our final hotel in Midrand was much like Eastland Mall near our home in Detroit, but it was bustling with shoppers and activity from the locals and tourists. We can only hope the time and money we spend here will help this country build its future.

We won’t miss the Joburg traffic. It’s like Los Angeles. It’s at least an hour drive anywhere. Traffic goes at a frenetic pace. And accidents, which we passed by nightly, often have deadly consequences and snarl traffic for hours.

At night, fires are lit along the freeway to burn off the tall grass. It’s a crazy spectacle to witness. It is like the city is on fire. And the strange smell of burning grass and dry soil is something we will never forget.

But despite all this, we have had so much fun here. It’s a trip we won’t ever forget.

Is it too soon to start planning for Brazil?

Even grandma loves it

2010-07-15T18:36:00.000-07:00

(Originally published June 23 on freep.com. Written by Amy Huschka)

JOHANNESBURG -- Here in South Africa, we hear a lot about how excited everyone is back home about the World Cup.

That must be case, because no one seems into this tournament more than my 81-year-old grandmother, Lima.

Right before we left, she pleasantly informed me that the U.S. is in Group C and is playing England, Algeria and Slovenia, who are also in Group C. Really? So cute. Like we didn’t know. She also told us that England was going to be the big game. Again. Cute.

She told me the dates of the U.S. games and that she cut the schedule out of the Cincinnati Enquirer so she could follow along.

She also told me about a family in Cincinnati bringing soccer balls to South Africa to hand out to local children. Also clipped out and saved.

After the U.S.-England game two weekends ago, I called to check on her and tell her about our trip. MeMa, as we call her, told us she got up early and watched the games before U.S.-England.

In her thoughtful analysis of the game, she thought England outplayed the U.S. Cute.

“They fall down more than the 8-year-olds on Ethan’s team,” she said, referring to her great-grandson, my nephew, who plays select soccer in Cincinnati.

“We call it diving, MeMa,” I explained. “They are faking it.”

“Really,” she said clearly trying to make sense of why they would do that.

MeMa watched the Slovenia game and was happy when the U.S. rallied to tie. “That was a good game.”

I bet she’ll be watching the Algeria game later today.

We know she is watching because she knows her granddaughter and grandson-in-law love the game, but, at 81, she is learning to love the game as well. She even calls her older sister in Orlando to talk soccer.

If MeMa can enjoy soccer, this sport must really be on the verge of something special in our country.

A day of emotions

2010-07-15T18:35:00.001-07:00

(Originally published June 19 on freep.com)

JOHANNESBURG, South Africa -- In just one day at the World Cup, your emotions can swing like a pendulum.

On Thursday night, we arrived back in Johannesburg. We didn’t want to leave Cape Town. It was an oasis; a beautiful, friendly city that’s so compact and easy to get around. Great restaurants on every corner, unique shops, a stunning waterfront -- it felt like we were in Europe or San Francisco.

Johannesburg is huge, a bit scary and tough to get around. It seems like we are on the bus forever whenever we head anywhere. So, we were already disappointed to be heading back across the country.

On Friday, we headed off to Ellis Park, the famous rugby stadium where South Africa won the 1995 World Cup. (It’s featured in the movie “Invictus.”)

The area around the stadium was as depressed an urban environment as you will ever see. Imagine the worst areas of Detroit, but crowded with people. Skinny, hungry day laborers waiting along the side of the road looking for any sort of the work.

The closer we got the stadium, people were selling anything -- anything. Used gloves, old fruit, counterfeit soccer merchandise. Our local bus drivers couldn’t find us an official lot. So, we parked along a street and marched six blocks through the poverty toward the stadium. Still, we were greeted mostly with smiles and an occasional U-S-A chant. A few members of our group from Columbus, Ohio, stopped to get a picture with a local boy wearing a beat up Ohio State sweatshirt. But the degree of poverty was overwhelming and depressing. We were so close to the stadium, but the World Cup seemed so far away.

We turned toward Ellis Park, walking under a bridge where a few unfortunate souls were living, and ran straight into a shiny new McDonald’s. Surrounded by a high security fence, it was sparkling. We stopped there to grab a quick bite, figuring it was slightly better than stadium food.

At the McDonald’s, a South African TV crew was interviewing Americans. We were wearing our jerseys with HONEYMOON on the back, so they grabbed us for a few quick sound bites.

Once inside Ellis Park, we met up with a few friends from Virginia for beers. The sun was out. In fact, when we left our hotel, it was only 35 degrees. Now, it must have been 60. All seemed right with the world. Again, there were Americans everywhere --- and a few folks here and there from Slovenia.

If you are reading this blog, we’re going to assume you watch the game or at least know what happened.

Our emotions went something like this:

NERVOUS OPTIMISM: At kickoff, we knew a win would put us in great position.

DÉJÀ VU: Another early goal, puts us behind.

HORROR! Two goals down!

DESPAIR: At halftime, our vacation still had six days to go, but it seemed like our World Cup was over.

HOPE: Landon Donovan’s early goal put us back into the game.

TENSION: Will we get the second goal? We keep carving out chances, but time is ticketing away.

GOOOOOOAAAAL! Michael Bradley ties the game!

NO GOAL!!! After a moment of pure joy, we learn that Maurice Edu’s would-be winning goal is disallowed.

RELIEF: The game is over, but our World Cup is not. Our team is still alive.

After the game, it was dark, but we had to trek back through the streets around Ellis. The faces greeting us seemed less friendly. But our group stuck together and safely made our way back to our buses.

Later that night, we watched England-Algeria at an Irish pub near our hotel. A group of eight of us ate (and drank) for under $100. The game finished 0-0, putting the USA into second place in our group.

All we need to do now is beat Algeria. It’s going to be a long wait until Wednesday.

Ups and downs in South Africa

2010-07-15T18:34:00.001-07:00

CAPE TOWN, South Africa -- It would be tough to describe how fantastic a time we’ve had in Cape Town. Our bed and breakfast is beyond incredible. It might be the best service we’ve ever had at any hotel. And we have traveled a lot.

The last two days, we’ve had a private guide drive us on tours area around Cape Town. First, we journeyed through the wine lands, sampling different local vintages. Today, we drove down to Cape Point, stopping to see penguins, ostriches and baboons.

Thursday, we return to Johannesburg. We'd much rather stay here. We’ve fallen in love with Cape Town, a city that reminds us of San Francisco.

But our team plays Friday in Ellis Park, the historic rugby stadium featured in the movie “Invictus.” We are playing little Slovenia, the team that currently leads our group. A win puts us in a fantastic position to advance. A loss … well, let’s not think about that.

In both Cape Town and Johannesburg, it’s sometimes tough to remember you are in Africa. Both cities differ so little from metro areas in the U.S. Everyone speaks English. McDonald’s is everywhere. The roads are better than in Michigan. No joke.

At the edge of your vision, you sometimes catch glimpses of the another Africa: the intense poverty in the shanty villages, the strikes by security workers at stadiums, the veiled racism that still lingers.

Again, we know we've been a bit lax in writing. Time has been a big factor. The thing about the World Cup is you're constantly moving. Whether it's going to games or finding somewhere to watch games, soccer is always on the brain. And being American soccer fans traveling through South Africa, we are a bit of a novelty, and people stop to talk to us. Plus, with U.S.-England one day in Rustenberg (two hours outside of Joburg) and Serbia-Ghana the next day in Pretoria (two hours from where we were staying), it leaves precious time to sleep.

We also had an unexpected change of lodging plans. We have been reticent to mention because we didn’t want to worry everyone back home, but our tour didn’t turn out as planned. And we knew this immediately after landing.

We are still sorting out what happened, but it seems our little tour group of 20 people was caught in one of the many scams by people and companies promising goods and services and not delivering.

While we were in the air, our tour provider had to scramble to find us lodging after what we were promised never materialized.

The bottom line is we are safe and being taken care of. But it was not entirely what we signed up for. We were moved an hour outside of Joburg to lodges on a quaint game farm. We are told there are giraffes nearby, but we only saw a few springboks and rabbits.

We were in a two-bedroom chalet on the property, sharing it with a friend who came with us. We use the term "chalet" loosely. It’s a quaint, freestanding house but it doesn’t have a TV or heat, just a space heater. And it gets cool at night.

Granted, our breakfasts were amazing; fresh milk, homemade jelly, ostrich eggs and some yummy type of pork make for a filling breakfast. But lunch had been whatever we can buy at Shell stations along the routes to soccer matches. Dinner usually was a hot dog or lamb dog at the stadium. (We've since eaten so much better in Cape Town.)

To a certain extent, we’ve lucky, we guess. The proprietor said the day we arrived, she got a call from a group of 50 Americans who also were scammed and needed quick lodging.

We left for Cape Town on Monday morning, not knowing whether we would return to the ranch, return to the company at a another location or pursue other lodging options on our own.

Since arriving to Cape Town, our luck has turned a corner. We scheduled our time here independent of our original tour group, and it has proved a wise decision. Our guest house is magnificent: an old house built in 1905 that sits at the base of Table Mountain. Our room is spacious and romantic. And when we called and explained that our friend Jon would be joining us (we couldn’t bear to leave him behind in uncertain circumstances), they quickly readied a cottage on the property for him. It was a far better than the rustic “chalet” offered back at the farm.

We’re sorry that we haven’t posted as often as we hoped. Connectivity has been a real challenge in South Africa. Even in our Cape Town hotel, the Wi-Fi signal comes and goes like the rain. “Typical South Africa,” we are often told.

This guest home was a wise choice. They are making life stress-free. They had champagne chilled in our room upon arrival to celebrate our honeymoon. People can surprise you.

Monday was spent walking around the city and getting acquainted with the area. Dinner was at lovely local restaurant, our first meal at an actual restaurant. Then Robert went with our friend Jon to the 1-1 tie between Italy and Paraguay at Green Point Stadium while Amy returned to the guest house for some much-needed R&R.

Now our tour provider has secured us an actual hotel for our return Thursday to Johannesburg. We are told by others on our tour that it’s nice. And an important game awaits for the Americans. Still, we have fallen in love with Cape Town. It will be so difficult to leave.

A win everywhere but on the scoreboard

2010-07-15T18:28:00.001-07:00

(Originally published June 12 on freep.com)

Somewhere near RUSTENBERG, South Africa -- A tie is always a win for someone.

This may the hardest thing for Americans to get about soccer -- that a draw (as ties are often called) can matter so much.

As we rode in a bus crawling through traffic back to Johannesburg, we found ourselves wondering if Americans back home are as excited as the thousands of USA fans like us who watched the game live in Rustenberg.

There aren't many wins in my history as a sports fan that have excited us as much as today's draw in the USA vs. England match.

It's been a long day. Rustenberg is in the middle of nowhere. The ride is along a pleasant road through rolling hills that was never meant to handle the traffic load of a World Cup match.

So, our bus left at 11 a.m. for a city that should be about 2.5 hours away. Kickoff is at 8:30 p.m.

It's slow going, but Amy was strangely excited when we stopped for gas to find that Tab, the soft drink, was on sale here.

We arrived around 4:30. The stadium itself is surrounded by a village. The parking shuttles dropped us off just at the edge of the town and we had to wander through its neighborhoods to get to the stadium entrance. Many of the locals sat in their yards, observing the parade of American and English fans marching by. Many smiled or wished us luck.

The stadium didn't open its doors for another hour, but hundreds of fans gathered in the nearby streets, flooding two local bars. One of the establishments had an outdoor urinal trough, where men could relieve themselves with their backs clearly visible from the street.

We looked at souvenir stands and picked up some ear plugs. One of our guides had warned us that the omnipresent South African horns, the vuvuzela, could overpower our ears.

There was some polite jawing between U.S. and English fans, but nothing serious.

Fans had already formed a huge line as the doors opened. We squeezed into the stadium. It was already noisy with the barking horns. Fans of England sang "God Save the Queen." Chants of "U-S-A, U-S-A" sprang up here and there, but we weren't too outnumbered by the English. U.S. flags were everywhere. The sun was setting quickly and the temperature dropped.

For refreshments we endured another crushing line -- this one clogged up by English fans who had somehow built themselves a giant beer bong -- Amy came away with lamb dogs for us to chow on as we waited for the game.

As the game started, the Americans were almost as loud as the English (although I think they had more of those horns on their side). Nearly everyone in the stadium stood for the entire match.

U.S. fans deflated when, for the second straight World Cup, they gave up an early goal right away.

The only consolation: The two big scoreboards in the stadium weren't working, so the score wasn't looming over us. I used the stopwatch on my phone to keep track of how game time elapsed.

The crowd exploded when American Clint Dempsey scored on a lucky goal that bounced off England's keeper, Robert Green. Beer flew in the air, spraying down on us.

As the game wore on and England pressed for a winning goal, both sides quieted, almost holding their breath.

In the end, it was the Americans who exhaled, cheering wildly -- knowing that despite the score, they were the day's winners.

The U.S. players marched over to us and cheered their fans. Both the team and their supporters came a long way today.

Why love (and hate) England

2010-07-15T18:28:00.000-07:00

(Originally published June 10 on freep.com)

Like all American soccer fans, we have mixed feelings about that little isle across the water. We know all of their players from following the Premier League, and we’ve traveled across the pond three times to watch matches. Still, they are like our big, annoying brother, always acting superior. “Awww, look at those cute American football fans. It’s funny that they think they know something about OUR sport.”

Sure, we beat them during that crazy World Cup game in 1950, but usually, they just stomp us.

So when the two teams meet Saturday, nothing would make U.S. soccer fans happier than showing big brother that we do know something about their football.

Why we love England!

• ENGLISH BREAKFAST: Who doesn’t love some bangers and mash?!?

• DAVID BECKHAM: Amy loves him so much that she buys Robert cologne so he’ll smell like the English superstar.

• CRAVEN COTTAGE: This quaint soccer stadium that sits on the Thames in southwest London has always welcomed us. Plus, it’s home to our favorite club team: Fulham. (There’s even a cute cottage in one corner!)

• THE PREMIER LEAGUE: Almost every game in the world’s most interesting league is broadcast live to our TV every Saturday morning. (Just in time for our English breakfast.)

• BIG BEN, PARLIAMENT: Ask Chevy Chase.

Why we hate England!

• THE SENSE OF ENTITLEMENT: Just because they invented the sport doesn’t mean they own it. They’ve only won a single World Cup yet are always SHOCKED when they don’t lift the trophy.

• THAT ENGLISH DUDE: On a train to Nuremberg during the 2006 World Cup, this Brit made fun of us because we -- gasp -- called a soccer goalkeeper a GOALIE!

• RAIN: England’s a great place to visit -- if you bring an umbrella and galoshes.

• HOOLIGANISM: In Germany, the only fight we saw was English fans beating on EACH OTHER!

• WAYNE ROONEY: Sure, the English striker’s good, but he’s got the mouth of a sailor and the looks of a small, yapping dog.

Next stop: South Africa

2010-07-15T18:24:00.000-07:00

(Originally published June 10 on freep.com)

Newly married Free Press staffers Robert and Amy Huschka are blogging their adventures at the 2010 FIFA World Cup in South Africa. Find all of their posts at freep.com/worldcup.

The wait is over.

Four years ago, we sat in a stadium in Nuremberg, Germany, as the United States' World Cup dreams lurched to a halt. The axiom, “there’s always next year,” doesn’t apply in world football. It’s a long wait from one World Cup to the next -- especially when your team performs so poorly in the competition.

But the disappointment from Germany did nothing to stunt our love for the U.S. National Team. It’s a team we’ve watched live together more than 30 times in five different countries. It’s been a key part of our life and our romance.

Our first kiss was the day the U.S. beat Portugal during the 2002 World Cup. We became engaged in Costa Rica the day before we attended a World Cup qualifier there. When we walked down the aisle, our friends threw inflated soccer balls at us. And now, the World Cup is our honeymoon.

Yeah, we know we’re a little crazy.

Today, we find ourselves leaving for another World Cup, this one seemingly a world away in South Africa. It’s hard to believe that by Saturday, we’ll be sitting in a stadium on another continent watching the United States take on England. (2:30 p.m. on ABC)

We heard so many things about South Africa, so much bad and so much good, that we don’t really know what to expect. Are we scared? A little bit. But we’re not rookies. Going to a soccer game in another country is a little like sky diving. It’s an adrenaline rush, but you figure you’ll be OK in the end.

Next stop: Johannesburg.

Pictures of South Africa

2010-06-24T03:10:00.000-07:00

The view from the cheap seats at Soccer City in Johannesburg:

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A giant statue of Nelson Mandela at the Mandela Square in Joburg:

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Amy outside Soccer City in Joburg:

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American fans before the USA-Slovenia game:

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Funniest moment of the trip: We run into a few New Zealanders carrying this stuff animal. Robert asks: "What's with the koala." Insulted New Zealander responds: "It's not a koala! It's a wombat." Apparently, koalas are an Australian thing. Who knew?

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At Robben Island, a former political prisoner tells visitors about his time there.

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Nelson Mandela's cell on Robben Island:

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A sign at the light house at Cape Point, near Cape Town, makes it clear how far we are from home:

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At Boulder's Beach near Cape Town, PENGUINS!

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Deer off in the distance at Pilanesburg Nature Reserve near Joburg.

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At Cape Point, BABOONS!

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Two soccer studs: Robert and Jon during a stop at a winery near Cape Town.

Excitement and sadness in Saprissa

2009-06-06T06:56:00.000-07:00

A long post... But I've broken it up into chapters:

PART 1: JAN’S ON TV IN COSTA RICA

Wednesday morning, Amy was still in shock from the proposal the night before. However, the next stage of our vacation -- our game at storied Saprissa Stadium in San Jose -- was about to begin.

We caught an early morning flight on another small regional plane from Quepos to San Jose.

You can barely call the Quepos airport an airport. It’s basically a small hanger where you check in. In one corner, there’s a snack bar. On the other side sits a fooseball table.

While we were waiting for our plane to fly in, the snack bar TV was showing footage of the U.S. National Team. For an instant, they showed a shot of U.S. fans from a recent game in D.C. JAN WAS RIGHT IN THE MIDDLE OF THE PICTURE. Mike, Amy and I screamed and ran over to Jan, who wasn't paying attention to tell her she was just on TV. The 15 or so other people in the airport must have thought we were loco. After that bit of excitement, Mike and I played a spirited game of fooseball. He won on the last ball.

Once we were in San Jose, we rested and blogged. (And, headed over to the team hotel for this bit of fun). Amy also managed to snag some beefcake pics of Landon Donovan lounging by the pool. She can show those to you if you want.

PART 2: PLANNING AN ESCAPE ROUTE

The next order of business: How were we going to get to and from the game?

Now, I can be a bit of a worrier -- especially when stepping into an away stadium as a U.S. fan. During our trip, we’d heard different things about the environment in Saprissa. Some folks told us to watch our backs. Other told us we’d have no problem. I figured things would be OK. I just wanted our escape route planned -- especially if we somehow won the game.

When we got to the hotel, the folks who run OleOle Travel -- U.S. Soccer’s official travel company -- offered to take us to and from the stadium for $50 each. Mike quickly talked me out of this. The stadium is only 2km from the hotel. $200 to transport the four seemed insane.

So, we arranged for the hotel van to take us and pick us up. Total cost: $20! Roundtrip! Awesome!

PART 3: AMERICAN FOOTBALL IN CENTRAL AMERICA?

We decided to head over about 3 1/2 hours before kickoff to take in some of the local atmosphere. Outside the stadium, the city was buzzing. Street vendors were selling flags and jerseys were everywhere. Every three steps, someone offered to sell us tickets. (Who knows if they were real?)

We spent a few minutes trying to find a bar that a friend of Mike’s had mentioned, but no one seemed to have heard of it. A few people light-heartedly taunted us, but most just let us be as we wandered the streets.

We gave up and walked toward Saprissa. From the outside, it looks like a prison. Old, rusty metal and barbed wire are everywhere. To get close, we had to cross through security -- the guards were just making sure we had tickets. In Spanish, Saprissa stadium is nicknamed, la cueva del monstrous (the cave of the monster) -- a reference to the purple dragon insignia of the team that plays there (and is also called Saprissa.)

Past the checkpoint, the crowd thinned and bit and fewer street vendors bothered us. Just across from the stadium, there was small bar. Mike pushed his way inside, ordering us a pair of cervezas and bottled water for the women. Again, most folks either gave us a brief nod or ignored us completely. There wasn’t even a bit of hostility.

Outside the bar, we drank and took in the scene. We struck a conversation with two affluent twentysomething Ticos who were drinking nearby. Apparently, they rent a luxury box during Saprissa’s club matches and got this game for free.

We talked futbol with them for a bit before the conversation turned to another type of football -- the American kind. Turns out, the NFL is gaining popularity in Costa Rica. The guys said the Super Bowl is becoming a huge deal there.

And then, a real shocker: Turns out one these Ticos plays quarterback in a Costa Rican league. Crazy. I had no idea people were playing American football in Costa Rica.

PART 4: DUDE, WHERE ARE MY FRIENDS?

At that point, it was about an hour and half before kickoff and the stadium lines were already getting long so we queued up with the rest of the Ticos.

Once we got to the front of the line, I was the first one in. I showed my ticket was quickly searched by security and walked inside.

I turned around. All my friends were gone.

Apparently, the Tico security guards didn’t want to let Amy’s $400 camera into the stadium. (The don’t allow cameras because they worry that fans could take out the batteries and throw them at players -- or away fans!)

So, Mike, Jan and Amy briefly stepped out of line.

Inside, I didn’t know what was going on. I figured we had gone to the wrong entrance and that guards that let me in hadn’t spotted the mistake. I asked an usher if I was in the right place and she insisted that I was.

Outside, Mike stuffed Amy’s camera -- and his own -- down the front of his pants. They stepped back into line. This time, a different guard basically just waved them in.

Reunited, we climbed a long stairway to the top of Saprissa and our section.

PART 5: LOCO TICOS

Again, there was no venom from fans inside the stadium. I’ve gotten more grief as a Vikings fan at Ford Field. Still, as we approached kickoff. The stadium got louder and louder. Behind each goal, a mass of fans bounced -- literally bounced -- as they sang. It was probably the most energized pre-game atmosphere I’ve ever witnessed.

We were among the first Americans to arrive. After a brief chat with Stephen Goff, the Washington Post’s soccer writer, we found seats in the front row of the section reserved for USA fans. Many of the other Americans who soon joined us seemed to be college students studying in Costa Rica. But there were some hard-core fans like us, including a few faces we recognized.

Only during the U.S. National Anthem did the Ticos sit quietly. The rest of the time, the stadium buzzed like a hornets nest.

At kickoff, it was as loud as a rock concert.

There doesn’t seem much point in recounting the game. If you like the U.S. National team, you watched the game. It was not close. Ever. We were dominated from the beginning to the end.

By the end of the game, we were all exhausted. We wandered back to our van, congratulating some of the Ticos as we walked. The van was right where the driver said it would be. He gave us a sympathetic look. After eventually, squeezing out of our parking space into traffic, the driver deftly weaved us through the back roads of San Jose, somehow missing most of the stadium traffic.

Starving, we grabbed some food and drink at the hotel bar and discuss our disastrous performance with some fellow Americans.

PART 6: NEXT STOP: CHICAGO!

It’s now Saturday morning in Chicago. After finally arriving in around, 5 p.m. last night, Amy and I found an urgent care facility to take another look at her jellyfish sting. They gave her more medicine. She tells me it feels a lot better today.

After the doc, we met up with Marcel for a nice dinner. Unfortunately, the long travel day took it's toll and we crashed early.

Game day has come yet again. We need to look better tonight. We need to win.

Sorry, ladies… Robert’s off the market!

2009-06-04T07:32:00.000-07:00

I didn’t really plan on proposing to Amy in Costa Rica. Certainly, I’d thought about it. But in the final weeks before the trip, work and life were so crazy that I’d really didn’t have time to plan anything.

But the drama with Amy’s jellyfish attack really rattled me. What if she had been seriously injured and a family member needed to be around to make decisions? I wouldn’t have been legally able to make those calls.

It was more than that, though. Seeing her writhe in such agony on the beach chair, tore at me, really driving home how much I love her. At that moment, the worst of thoughts crept to the edges of my consciousness. What if the bite was from some poisonous, deadly creature. What if I was going to lose her? I can barely think about it now.

After those moments, as Amy slowly felt better on Monday, all doubt fell away from me. There was no point in waiting any longer.

So, we nestled back at our quiet outdoor restaurant to watch the Red Wings game 3. The restaurant's deck sits high on a hill overlooking the ocean. All around you can hear the chirping of the small squirrel monkeys. Our traveling buddies Mike and Jan were off celebrating their 20th wedding anniversary at a special dinner.

We sipped margaritas and watch her beloved Red Wings take the lead. I barely watched the game, pondering what to say. I knew I was going to ask her. This was our moment.

So, between the first and second periods, I said:

“I think we should get married.”

She looked at me skeptically.

So I said it again.

She blankly stared at me.

So, I slowly got down on one knee beside her and held her hands, and quietly asked her to marry me.

I think she finally believed me this time. She cried, I cried, and she said yes.

Still, I think it took the entire second period to convince her I was completely serious.

Now, girls, I know I’m going to get some grief from you about this but I had no ring. Yup, no ring. As always, I was woefully unprepared.

Amy has always insisted she wanted to be married using her grandmother’s ring, a classy, simple ring that she keeps in a box above her dresser. There’s no way I could have snatched it without Amy noticing. Her brain notices everything.

So, I had no ring. But I told her I would get her whatever she wants when we get back home (and finish paying off THIS vacation.)

Amy insists she just wants a ring enhancer. I have no idea what that is. I’m sure I’ll find out.

We have no plans yet about a wedding. That’s for another time. Amy’s always insisted on beach destination wedding.

Maybe, Costa Rica?

The score: Medusa 1, Amy 0

2009-06-02T05:52:00.000-07:00

Monday in Costa Rica was really three adventures.

1) A slow, relaxing boat road down through the jungle with close encounters with monkeys and crocodiles.
2) A quick shopping trip in downtown Quepos.
3) A relaxing swim at the private beach -- where AMY GOT STUNG BY A JELLY FISH.

OK, first things first (IF you just want to read about Amy, see below): On Sunday, we’d spent half the day taking a guided tour of Manuel Antonio National Park -- a beautiful nature preserve just north of our resort. For the private tour, we had a fantastic guide, Leo -- who showed us a tree sloth, monkeys, numerous lizards and exotic plant and birds. Leo offered to take us on a boat tour of the jungle on Monday, his day off.

The journey was amazing. We began from the dock about 8 a.m. and the boat meandered down the river into the jungle. Very quickly, we spotted a big crocodile, swimming in the water. Next, we came across another bigger crock, lounging alongside the water -- it’s mouth wide open as it rested. As the boat approach, it slipped off the shore and disappeared into the water.

As we floated along, Leo -- who seems to know EVERYONE in Queops -- pointed out local plants and birds. The boat pulled into a tighter grove, and we spotted our first white-faced money, dangling from a tree and chewing on a mango. Then, we saw another -- then another -- then another. The trees around us were filled with white-faced monkeys.

The boat pulled up against the trees and Leo held out a banana to coax the monkeys closer. At first, they stayed in the trees. A few looked down, but went back to chewing on their mangos. Finally, one brave “mono” -- as they are called in Costa Rica -- edged his way down and jumped on the canopy of our boat.

Now, before the trip, Leo insisted that he doesn’t feed the monkeys. He only uses the bananas to lure them closer. However, the boat’s driver -- a man who referred to himself as Macho -- had no such qualms. The mono grabbed a bit of banana from Macho’s hand and scurried back up the tree. Soon, seeing their cohort’s success, other monkeys bounded from above, landing with a thud above us. Jan, Mike and I fed bananas to the monos while Amy took pictures. I clung tightly to my piece of fruit hoping to get a good long look at the critter’s stark white face. But it was too smart for me: it simply peeled my banana, taking the fruit leaving me holding just the peel in one swift move. It sprung away, grabbing the branch with his tail.

We sailed away from the monkeys, spotting another big croc. This one barely moved as he snapped it’s picture. Leo seemed very disappointed that he couldn’t find us an orange anteater.

After the tour, we shopped briefly in Quepos, the cool little town near our bungalows. We grabbed a bit to eat at a fantastic open-air seafood joint and headed back to the resort to hit the beach.

HOW AMY SURVIVED VICIOUS SEA ATTACK!

So, Jan went to take a nap and Mike and I readied to hit the beach. Amy was really torn. She wasn’t thinking about just hitting the pool, but at the last second she decided to join us at our resort’s private beach. (This would prove to be a bad decision.)

When the shuttle bus dropped us off, we found the beach completely empty. It was only us and a couple of servers at the nearby beach bar. We returned to our spot on the beach in the shade and headed off to the water.

The sea was mostly calm and the ocean does not get deep very quickly. We waded out, with Mike joking about poisonous sea snake. The water was perfecto. Cool -- just what we need after a morning in the sun. We were chatting and talking about Wednesday’s soccer game.

Then, Amy starts SCREAMING.

“I’M BEING BIT! I’M BEING BIT!,” she cried over and over.

I quickly swim over to her, thinking some critter scared her by swimming to close. But it’s quickly clear that she’s really in pain. Was it one of Mike’s poisonous snakes? I push the thought out of my head. I once stepped on a sea urchin in Aruba. That felt like glass…

Amy is still screaming and crying as I reach her. Mike is right behind me. Each of us grabs an arm and we begin pulling her to shore. She’s still screaming: “It’s biting me.” She keeps lifting her leg out of the water (which makes it difficult to keep her moving.)

I keep scanning her for a sign of trauma as waves from the beach keep smacking into us.

Once on land, I still can’t see an injury, but Mike notices a red mark on the back of her right leg. She can walk -- barely -- still howling in agony. I whisper in her ear, trying to calm her. I tell her it will all be OK. I’m not sure she even hears me.

We get her to the shaded chairs and Mike runs to get help. The bartender has already made his way down to the beach carrying a Windex spray bottle -- seriously -- and a small plastic bottle of lotion.

He looks at Amy’s leg.

“Jellyfish,” he says nonchalantly.

He sprays her leg with whatever’s in the bottle and rubs on the lotion. As he’s walking away, he says “Fine in 15 minutes.”

For a moment, it seems she is better. Her crying subsides and she sits on a lounge chair.

“Shouldn’t one of you pee on it,” she jokes.

A few minutes later, she’s screaming again and convulsing in pain.
It’s time to get her off the beach. Mike runs back up and asks the bartender to call the shuttle bus. Amy’s pain comes and goes in waves as we wait.

Once back at the hotel room, we call the front desk. They think Amy should see the doctor and call a taxi to take us to a nearby pharmacy. Amy asks Mike not to wake or worry Jan just let her sleep.

The cab takes forever to show up. He takes us down the road, but there’s no doctor at the pharmacy we stop at. However, the young woman behind the counter calls a doctor for us and gives us his name.

The cab -- which thankfully we told to wait for us -- takes us to a small caged door on the edge of Quepos. By now, Amy seems a bit better. She’s stopped crying but still in sporadic pain.

It would take an hour to tell the entire story of the doctor, but I’ll give some highlights. But let me say, he proved to a nice, friendly, competent physician who really helped us out.

The doctor, his name was Carlos Zuniga, looked young, chubby and a bit unkempt. He had a mustache and a bit of a beard. His medical scrubs were too long and he stepped on them with his flip flops.

He takes Amy back to his office/examining room. It’s tiny, the wall lined with medical texts. The first thing we see is a book sitting on his desk open to a ugly, infected jellyfish sting. Jellyfish in Spanish is "Medusa," he tells us.

He quickly says to Amy: “You must be completely honest with me. On a scale from 1-to-100, how sensitive are you to bee stings or skin irritations. You must be honest. It is all very similar.”

We all look at each other.

“On a scale of 1-to-10, how bad is the pain. Be completely honest.”

“6 to 8,” Amy says.

After a bit more questioning, the doctor gives Amy a couple of options. He can give her some oral antibiotics and skin ointment. Or she can get a shot.

“The shot will work quicker,” he says.

Still grimacing in pain, Amy opts for the shot.

Then, the doctor begins rummaging through a small box of little vials, apparently looking for the right medicine and dose. At the same time, he’s telling us all about the mistreatments by U.S. doctors. He and Amy discuss the sinus infection she’s be battling for months. He scoffs at the antibiotics she’s been taking.

“I’ll prescribe something else,” he says.

Finally, the shot is ready. Needles aren’t my thing. So, Mike stays with Amy as she gets the shot.

Total cost (with shot) for the emergency doctor visit: $70.

We pick-up Amy’s medicine from the pharmacy and head back to the resort. The color of her sting has already faded almost away, leaving only the scar from the sting itself -- several wavy lines along the back of her leg.

She felt well enough to go to dinner at nearby Aqua Azul, which proved to be our best dinner so far in Costa Rica. And while we were at dinner, the TV was on and it had a segment about the U.S. team arriving and practicing in Costa Rica. This cheered us all up.

We were incredibly thankful for how helpful Mike was. First, by aiding me in pulling Amy out of the water. (He insists his first instinct was to run for shore -- in case it was a shark. But bravely he stayed.) Then, he went with us to the doctor and the pharmacy in case we needed his budding Spanish skills. His good-natured spirit really helped keep us both calm.

Now, Amy’s trying to get some sleep as I sit blogging in 90 degree heat outside our resort’s office.

What a day. So much fun. A bit of terror. I’m just glad she’s OK. A moment like that really reminds me how much I love her.

Hopefully, our regularly scheduled vacation will resume tomorrow. If I get time, I'll add pictures of the monkeys and Amy's bite to the blog tomorrow.

More from the trip

2009-05-31T14:00:00.000-07:00

Our two friends we are traveling with Mike and Jan Lasort are also blogging from Costa Rica. You can read their blog at: http://www.lastort.com/weblog/TwentiethAnniversary.html

A LITTLE ICE HOCKEY IN A TROPICAL PARADISE

2009-05-31T06:44:00.000-07:00

There are three rules of living on this planet that I’ve always sworn to uphold:

1) Never get on an airplane that carries fewer than 50 people.
2) Never rent a car in a foreign country.
3) Never take a long bus ride a bus through the mountains in a Central or South American.

One way or the other, I knew one of these rules was going out the window on our trip to Costa Rica.

After a day in San Jose, we were headed to the Tulemar Resort in Manuel Antonio, a nature preserve on the Pacific Coast of Costa Rica. According to the travel books, it’s a harrowing 4 hour drive from San Jose. That didn’t sound like much fun.

Instead, we choose to fly Nature Air -- a small regional Costa Rican airline -- on a 30 minute flight to the coast.

Yet again, we awoke at the crack of dawn and grabbed breakfast with our two soccer buddies, Mike and Jan, who’d arrived late Friday night into San Jose. The couple choose this trip to commemorate their 20th wedding anniversary on June 3 -- the same night as the game in Saprissa.

After breakfast, we took a cab to the Nature Air’s tiny airport. The airline has draconian weight rules for baggage -- only 30 pounds for each checked bag. While checking in, they weighed each bag. With some creative packing, Amy and I came in just under the limit!

Next, they asked each of us to step unto the scale with our carry-ons. Apparently, if we were over 250 pounds, we would have to pay an extra fee. Of course, we were fine. Still, first time I’ve ever weighed in for a flight….

Now, I would like to say I had no fears about boarding a small 20-person plane to fly over the mountains to the Quepos airport. But I must have been pale in the hour before I plane left. Amy kept staring at me and asking if I was OK. My hands were sweating.

“Aren’t you even a bit nervous,” I asked Amy,

“I’m afraid of being killed in a shooting,” she said. “Or a kidnapping. Or a rape. Dying in a plane crash? That doesn’t scare me.”

We crawled up the ramp to the little plane and nestled into the first row. Mike and Jan were all the way in the back. Jan was even more terrified than I was. It was good that we didn’t feed our fears by sitting too close to each other.

In the end, the plane ride proved to be a piece of cake -- even enjoyable really. Unlike larger commercial jets, the windows on this plane were huge, giving us a great view of the scenery.

And really, the flight was smooth. It didn’t feel much different than any other plane ride.

After we landed, zipping low over a crop of palm trees, we headed to our resort. One word: Wow. Both couples are staying in their own bungalow nestled in the jungle. The bungalows are octagons, with giant windows on each side. Amazing views from every angle. There’s a big kitchen, giant bathroom and huge bedroom. It’s all better than we would have imagined.

The resort also has it’s own private beach -- which we quickly found. It was very relaxing. The only bit of excitement was during lunch, when a 4-foot long iguana decided to camp under our table. Amy got so scared she jumped up on her chair after the staff said it may bite her feet because of the pink nail polish. The rest of took its picture. Our waiter told us to feed it a tomato from my sandwich. The lizard quickly gobbled it up.

After the beach, Amy, Mike and I took a cab into the nearby town of Quepos to stalk up on food and booze. At the market, we bought bags of fresh bananas, avocadoes, cucumbers and mangoes. I think it cost like $3 total. We hit a grocery store for beer, bottled water, bread, cheese and lunch meats. We also grabbed some local rum to make mojitos.

Finally, we settled in at our resort’s bar to watch the STANLEY CUP FINALS.

Right after checking in, while waiting for the women to get ready, Mike and I had discovered the bar right next door to our bungalows. While they bartenders were flipping though channels, I noticed an ad for the Stanley Cup finals. Amy had seem resigned to the fact that it would be nearly impossible to catch her beloved Red Wings in Costa Rica. Yet, right next to our bungalows, we learned we’d be able to watch tonight’s big game taking place back home in Detroit.

So, just before the puck drop, and after a few drinks in our bungalow (Mike’s mojitos are legendary) we nestled into a table at the outdoor pool bar. To our left, we could see the sun dipping into the Pacific. To our right, a TV showed the puck dropping in Detroit. I’m certain Amy’s eyes never left the TV.

So, we drank margarita’s and watch the Wings take care of the Penguins. There was a brief scare when Sky Sports lost the signal for half of the second period. We missed the Wings second goal. But by the beginning of the third period, the game was back on and we were cheering victory. (This is the second year in a row we’ve watch the Stanley Cup opener in a strange setting…)

Really, it would be hard to imagine a more perfect start to our trip.

Destination: Costa Rica

2009-05-29T18:52:00.000-07:00

The 3:30 a.m. alarm seems like a 1,000 years ago. It always seems that way on vacations. The days last forever.

That alarm is also literally thousands of miles away now, as Amy and sit in San Jose, Costa Rica. A local band sings in Spanish in background as we relax in our hotel bar. They just butchered Endless Love, though.

We are five days away from USA-Costa Rica at Estadio Saprissa, one of the epic, scary stadiums in Central America. The U.S. team has never won here. Perhaps, perhaps this time, they will.

We arrived in San Jose around noon to what has to be the most pleasant airport in Central America. We weren't quickly rushed through passport control. Instead, we grabbed some cash and walked by a bunch of immaculately cute shops before clearing customs.

We took a cab and reached our hotel just as a thunderous tropical storm slammed into the city. The ground actually shook, and the rain came pouring down -- like movie rain -- torrential. For about an hour, the hotel lost power, but Amy and I grabbed a great little lunch at the (overpriced) hotel restaurant.

The walk from our hotel to downtown San Jose took about 15 minutes, but it wasn't the greatest neighborhood. But with Amy's awesome navigation sense at work, we found our way to San Jose's giant, crowded, outdoor shopping district. It reminded me a bit of the shops that snake though downtown Cologne.

Everywhere we turned, someone was trying to sell us lottery tickets. We didn't bite. We nestled down at a streetside bar to people watch. I quickly ordered one of the local beers (hoping it would be as good as the Gallo, the national beer of Guatemala.) After one lusty taste, I stopped cold.

"What's wrong?" Amy asked.

"Smell this," I said holding my beer to her nose.

"It smells like cold urine," she quickly said.

It didn't taste much better. But I forced down a few more gulps, before finally pushing it away in disgust.

So far, Costa Ricans have been amazingly friendly. The agent at passport control, smiled and softly taunted me when I told him I was going to Wednesday's game. Amy nearly ran over some guy in the street, who turned and gave her a big smile as she tried to apologize. (If only I could get someone to replace the down blankets in my room!)

I had told Amy we would grab a cab back after out trip to the town center. But Amy, showing a bit of bravery, marched us back down the scary streets as night began to fall. We arrived back just as the sun set. (The sun sets around 6 p.m. -- the price of being so close to the equator.)

Early tomorrow, we catch a small, regional plane for a 30-minute jaunt to Quepos on the Pacific Coast. We will spend four days among the rainforests and beaches of Manuel Antonio before returning to San Jose on Wednesday before the big match. The big question: Will there be anywhere to watch the Red Wings' Stanley Cup games while we are there???

(I must say: I'm not looking forward to the small plane ride. More on this tomorrow...)

Amy meets the boys in Columbus

2009-02-15T18:09:00.000-08:00

Wow. What an amazing trip.

Drove in leisurely Tuesday afternoon to our hotel. I went inside to check in while Robert handled the valet. Immediately spotted Bob Bradley walking by. Then Frankie Hejduk talking to some folks. What the heck have I stepped in to? Could it be the team hotel?

Don’t panic, I kept telling myself. Play it cool. Head to the counter and check in. Glance to the right. Boca is here! Boca is here! Breathe. Gooch. Landon. Tim. Breathe.

But I could not concentrate. The guy behind the desk was asking all kinds of questions.

Is a double bed OK? No. Concentrate. Don’t look behind you. Must text Robert.

Will a handicap room be fine? Sure. Concentrate. Don’t be one of those obvious fans. Breathe. Text Robert NOW!

Headed back towards the front door, plastic keys in hand. Took quick glance to the left. Still there. Oh my God, they are still here! Bolt out the door to find Robert collecting our luggage. He can see the bewildered look in my eyes. The players are inside I breathlessly mumble. Hurry.

Walked coolly past the group. Lock eyes with Boca. He smiles. I smile. Heart melts.

Park bags behind a pillar. At that moment, Dempsey is getting off the elevator. Grab my camera out of my bag and ask Robert if he wants his picture taken with him. Shy Robert says no. Not me. Camera in hand, I pass it to Robert. I want my picture with Boca. Only Boca. Barrel toward him and apologize for interrupting him. He is talking to Gooch and Donovan. Donovan shoots me a glance. Not sure what it means. But I see “I can’t believe you are interrupting me.”

Boca smiles stand up. He puts his arm around me and Robert tells him I am his biggest fan. He smiles. Robert points and shoots. Moment captured. I thank him for the picture and bid him good luck in the match the next night. And skulk away. Don’t want to leave. The boys are here. I want to stay.

But don’t want to be one of those fans. So we head up to our room. I am still shaking. Primp and head back downstairs. They were gone. Moment over.

Next stop: Claddagh’s for fan meet up. Had a fantastic night. Place was crazy busy and crazy fun. Great to see so many people we had met in so many cities and countries on our soccer adventures. And my high school friend Tony showed up for dinner and drinks.

Stayed out too late. Couldn’t sleep. Excited about meeting Boca. Seeing the boys. Excited about game ahead.

Woke late. Robert was antsy. He went downstairs to get some water and a brush since I forgot mine. Ran into Gooch on the elevator. He was on the phone with a friend. “Naw, dawg, I am in Columbus.” Nice moment.

Breakfast was over at the hotel by the time we got out of the room so we decided to walk to First Watch in the Brewery District. Our path led us directly in front of the Westin where Mexican fans were camped out for their national team. They started chanting, singing. Taunting us. I smiled. Said nothing but pointed to the U.S. emblem on my jersey over my heart and motioned 2-0 with my hands in the air. Deal with that reality guys!

Walked back to the hotel. Picked up our car. Back to Claddagh’s we go. It was packed again like the night before. Less noise but more anticipation.

Headed to Crew Stadium early because Marcel had heard parking would be tricky. And then the rain started. At first it was a trickle to tease us. But by the time we arrived, it was full on hard rain. We met up with Marcel and the rest of the D.C. contingent and had a makeshift tailgate. We wore rain ponchos and waterproof shoes. They were no match for the storm that lay ahead.

Got separated from Robert because I headed back to the car with Mike to put on more layers and replace my wet socks. On way back to tailgate, ran into Brian who also wanted to go to my car to put on warmer stuff. Was standing outside when the rain turned furious. Knocked on the window. Didn’t care if he was naked, I was coming in. For about 5 minutes the car was pounded with hail and some crazy hard rain.

Found out later, Robert was caught walking with Amy, Jon and Jeannette with the rainstorm hit. Robert grabbed Amy who seemed to be blowing away. They huddled and just stood waiting for it to pass.

Rain storm over but still raining, it was time to head into the stadium. Hour or so to game time.

Walked to our seats, the cold, bitter rain and wind beating us side to side. Adrenaline motivating us.

Boys took to the pitch. Excitement grew. Cheers and chants rang out. Game was on. Bradley’s first goal reinvigorated the freezing crowd before the first half ended.

And when Marquez attacked Howard cleats up, the supporter’s section grew louder. Dirty play. I kept selfishly praying for that second goal, but was content with the win. When Bradley lobbed one past Sanchez into the net, my voice strained from exhaustion, cold and excitement about the meaning of that goal.

That was it. It was over. Another victory over Mexico. Another fantastic game I witnessed.

The team cheered, celebrated, jumped up and down. Then came over to our supporter’s section. They cleared the fences; some took of their jerseys and lobbed them into the section. Boca’s was headed my direction, but a guy a few rows up caught it. Mike was standing near him. I told him to ask the guy if he would take $200 cash for the jersey. He said no. I would have offered more. I am sure he would have taken more later.

Exhausted, wet and exhilarated, we marched in our soggy shoes back to the car again dealing with the bitter cold rain beating us on the way. Back in the safety and warmth of the Aztek, we waited out the traffic until we could leave.

Must change before going out. Need dry clothes. Dave and Amy decided to head to the bar to wait for us while Robert, Mike and I head upstairs. We change and head to the bar to search for Dave and Amy. Amy, with a beer already in hand, has met a friend. We debate leaving or staying while exiting the bar. Just as we are departing, the team has arrived back. They players are moving so fast and filing into elevators that I can’t keep up. Spot Landon. Boca. Torres. And they are gone. Push through the crowd and see other players in the lobby talking with other fans. Gotta get my picture taken with them. Mike offers to take the pictures and I tell Amy to get in the pictures with me. I think Robert will be too embarrassed by the experience.

Frankie is sweet as always and very chatty.
Tim is even more tall, dark and handsome in person. He told Mike the red card was justified.
Gooch is adorable and very muscular.
Beasely is wee and seems a little annoyed. But the moments are over.

I overhear Bease say they have a 10:45 team meeting but that they are coming back down to party. Decision made. We are staying here.

Mike, Dave and I head back upstairs to drop off our coats while Robert takes Amy back to her hotel to change. Just as we near my room, I spot Jozy walking down the hall. I stop. Almost stunned and say something like, "It’s you" while opening my arms outward. He laughs does the same thing, almost mocking me in a cute way. I ask him for a picture and tell him I was thrilled he got into the game. Picture taken. He is on his way. We are on ours. Moment over.

We settle into the hotel bar, found a table. Robert and Amy return with Jon. The night has wiped Jeannette out. She is in bed. I hope she doesn’t regret that. We get some drinks. Order some food. And then the players arrive. Boca arrives early and sits at the table next to us. This is seriously torture. I stare at him periodically. Have too. When am I going to have this opportunity again?

Tim arrives looking dapper in an almost tight black shirt and yummy jeans. Jon and Robert are having some man love also. Jon was starving so I go get him some popcorn and order some food. On the way back, I make eye contact with Tim. He smiles and says "Hi!" I smile and say "Hi!" What a moment!

Dan Califf and Heath Pearce also arrive. Don’t stay long. Ching shows up. Gooch hits the ATM behind us. I beg Amy to go get some money but she doesn’t it. She is shy cute like Robert.

Boca also talks to the table behind us. Jon asks for an autograph. I snap the picture. I regret not asking for an autograph. Too tortured.

The highlight was Bob and Michael Bradley showing up at the bar. They mingled and talked various folks. I had to talk to little Bradley again. He was very aloof when Robert and I had met him in L.A. But this time he was very sweet. Very good eye contact. Sexy bedroom photo eyes. I congratulated him on an amazing game. He really was amazing.

Bob and Michael cleared out. It was so cute to see Robert shake their hands and high five them as they left.

Team was gone. Place still packed. But we were exhausted. Night was over.

Another restless night. Thinking of brilliant game and amazing experience. Got ready, met Robert for breakfast. He went down early and ironically ran into John Harkes and Marcelo Balboa about game. He said Marcelo was cool because he missed an elevator and caught the next one to keep talking with him. Nice moment. Over.

After breakfast Robert went to fetch our car and check out, I went upstairs to get the rest of our stuff. Boy do I regret that. Robert ran into Boca who was walking around with his suitcase in the lobby. Damn. Could have had another random nice moment with Boca. Would have gotten an autograph. Or maybe just another sweet smile. Torture.

We loaded up our car. Our adventure was over.

We’ve stayed at the team hotel before. In Salt Lake City, we chatted with Brian McBride in the elevator. We had breakfast with the team the day of the game. It was great. But somehow this experience was so much more.

Pictures from Guatemala City

2009-02-15T12:19:00.000-08:00

A little late, but here are some pictures from the trip I took with my friend Jon Doyle to the USA's World Cup qualifier in August in Guatemala City:

A recap from Spain on our blog's new home

2008-07-05T21:56:00.000-07:00

Who knows if anyone will ever read this...

But I thought it was time that our blog moved from its original home on www.huschka.com/blog to its own little spot in cyberspace.

I've move all our original posts from the World Cup, our England soccer tour and our latest trip across the pond for the USA's match at Wembley in late May.

So, it's been awhile since the USA's match against Spain. I wish I'd blogged right away, but I'm going to try to reconstruct my memories from that game.

After the game versus England, Amy and I hung around London until Saturday. On Thursday night, we swung by Craven Cottage for Ireland's match versus Columbia. It was a spirited match that Ireland won on an early deflected goal. Only some great Irish goalkeeping kept Columbia from drawing (or even winning) the match.

As die-hard Fulham fans, the highlight of the match might have been when the PA announced said: "Remember to purchase your Fulham season tickets -- when we'll again be hosting Premier League football next year. You don't know how happy I am to be saying that." That drew a chuckle from the crowd.

Sunday morning, Amy and I parted ways -- after staying up until 4 a.m. AGAIN to watch Game 4 of the Stanley Cup finals. We actually took naps between period breaks. Immediately after the game was over, I had to catch a flight to Germany where I was going to spend a few days with my friend Chuck who's teaching this summer in Leipzig.

After two days of drinking German beer, I caught an early flight Wednesday morning to Bilboa. From there, I needed to catch a bus to Santander. I quickly learned that NO ONE in norther Spain speaks English. (I know about three words in Spanish.) Still, it proved fairly easy to get to the bus station and buy a ticket to Santander. The only mistake I made was I didn't know that the buses had assigned seating and got booted from my seat. Fortunately, the guy who had my seat spoke English (and was in fact going to game.)

Once I got to Santander, I proceeded to quickly get lost while looking for my hotel. I ran across a tourist information center and once I again discovered the value of an iPhone. By showing the Google map location of my hotel on my iPhone screen to the nice woman at the counter, she was able to give me directions.

After checking in, I decided to begin the hour-long walk over to the stadium. I knew if I just walked along the bay, I'd eventually run into the stadium. The view of the high cliffs towering over the surf was stunning. The air was cool but not cold. A wonderful day for a walk.

And then I heard a huge rumble tear across the water. Above me, Spanish fighter jets performed an incredible Blue Angels-style air show. A massive crowd had gathered along the cliffs to watch.

After the show, I continued my trek. But I hadn't expect such a crowd. A few folks began to notice my U.S.A. jersey. Some pointed. Others gave me a few dirty looks. But I encountered no outward hostility.

The plan was to meet a few fellow American fans at an Irish pub along the beach across from the stadium. But (and, are you sensing a trend here) I couldn't find it. Then, I turned around and ran into fellow American, Robert from Amsterdam, who I'd met the week before at the England game.

With his help, we located the pub. First, we went to the upstairs bar. As we walked in, we noticed nearly every person was wearing a Spain jersey -- and it seem like every head turned to look at us. We were looking for food as well as drink, but the bar tender indicated that food could only be found on the lower lever.

Fortunately, downstairs was a bit more quiet (and less hostile.) But still no food, just some crappy bar nuts that, in our hungry, we quickly devoured. Two more Americans showed up, but Robert and I decided to head over to the stadium early since he needed to pick up his ticket from will call.

Around the stadium, we walked in a cool, light rain through a fan fest surrounding the stadium. A few fans stop to take pictures with us visiting Americans. The centerpiece of the festival was a large white tent, featuring a tribute to Spanish football and the European Championships.

Amsterdam Robert quickly retrieved his tickets, and we headed into the stadium in search of food. The concourse of the stadium was pretty typical of European stadiums: dark, concrete, smelly walkways. But we found a sandwich stand, and, despite my limit Spanish, was able to snare a baguette with pepperoni. (Something, Spaniards would serve me over and over during my two day stay. Apparently, the Spanish think American like pepperoni.)

Our seats were in the second level of the stadium, just above one of the corner flags. A few U.S. supporters were already in the stands. There was no security separating our section from Spanish supporters -- which I took as a sign that no one was expecting even a bit of trouble. I ate my sandwich.

As more Americans arrived, we chanted and sang. The Spanish fans around us mostly laughed and took pictures.

Thankfully, the US played better than they had a week before in London. Also, security didn't care that we stood the whole match. The fans around us seemed to enjoy our antis. A few teens behind three some sunflower seeds at us. But we mostly ignored them.

Eventually, a late, inevitable (and pretty impressive) goal from Spain cost the U.S. a tie.

With Amsterdam Robert's help, we caught a bus back toward the hotel. And I quickly crashed, finishing a long

USA vs England

2008-07-05T20:39:00.000-07:00

(Originally published May 31, 2008)

Finally, Wednesday, the day of the big game had arrived. USA-England in Wembley Stadium.

As is usually the case on game days, Amy and I were edgy and nervous. We tried to sleep in a bit, but ended up just staring at the ceiling. We dressed in our tradition game-day attire: red U.S. soccer jersey and scarves. We expected it to be fairly cool by kickoff, so we carried more jackets and scarves for later in the day. Somehow, Amy managed to stuff all this into her purse. Ten pounds of shit in a five pound sack her grandfather used to always say.

Just trying to kill time, we headed down to Piccadilly to do a little shopping. First, we ran across the GREATEST nerd store of all time, a comic book and specialty shop called THE FORBIDDEN PLANET. It was like dying and going to geek heaven. Rows and rows of action figures and higher-end collectibles. Amy finally gave up on waiting for me and sat down in a corner of the store, watching the nerds walk by like zoo animals.

After I finally escape the siren song of the shop, Amy and I stumbled across the Indonesian restaurant she’s been dying to find every time we’ve come to London. I have no idea what we ate (Amy ordered for both of us) but it actually was fairly tasty.

After lunch, we took the train towards Wembley and met up at nearby pub/hotel that would serve as a gathering place for U.S. soccer fans.

Once off the train we ran into a guy named Rishi, who runs a soccer fan blog called American Fooligan. One of the last times we saw him, he was being dragged out of Soldier Field at the Gold Cup final for mouthing off to security. Still, he’s always seemed like a nice guy. Since he had his luggage in tow, we figured he’d just arrived and offered to lead him to the Green Man pub. (You can read Rishi’s account of our meeting at http://americanfooligan.blogspot.com/)

When we arrived, a few fans had already taken seats at the pub’s outdoor beer garden. There was a light-misty rain in the air, but tarps protected us from getting wet. As the afternoon went on, more fans – both American and English – filled the pub. The groups exchanged a few light-hearted chants, but everyone was pleasant and peaceful. No troubles at all.

We ended up spending much of time with players from the fan game the night before – recounting our international glory. About three hours before kickoff, the pub was filled with U.S. supporters. It was probably the largest pre-game gathering of Americans I’d seen since the World Cup.

About 2 hours before kickoff, Chase – the crazy kid from California – who did a great job organizing much of the week’s fan events lead us on a march to the stadium. About 100 or so chanting, singing, flag-waving Americans plodded down the hill, singing “When the Yanks Go Marching In.”

I had been concerned about marching in with a large group. It provides a big target for aggressive opposition. But my fears proved misplaced. The English fans smiled (or, in some cases, looked bewildered) as we strolled by. A few even applauded. Flash bulbs popped around us took as we marched up the long staircase to Wembley. But again, there was not a moment of trouble from fans.

Inside the stadium, the U.S. fans dispersed a bit to find food, beer or to check out their seats. Amy and I went to one of the in-stadium betting stands to place a couple of wagers. She bet on USA to win and for American player Clint Dempsey to score. We put down 20 pounds, and could have won a couple of hundred potentially.

We easily found our seats, three rows up with the pitch on the left side behind the goal (ironically sitting right next to Rishi). The stadium is like a cathedral, nearly completely enclosed. Overhead, we could see Wembley’s giant arch.

Honestly, I expected more noise from the England fans as we approached kickoff. It was fairly subdued, except for a large cheer when the teams came out to warm up.

The American fans seemed spread out across the front of three sections, all close to the pitch. In some sections, as you neared the entrance, the section turned over to England fans – a bit of a strange setup.

Before kickoff, there was an interesting on-field ritual with two giant flags. British soldiers unrolled huge England and U.S. flags and marched them in parallel patterns on each side of the pitch.

The noise and energy increased as kickoff approached, but still nothing when compared to a U.S.-Mexico match. Some media reports say England fans booed the U.S. anthem, but it must have been half-hearted. I couldn’t hear them over the singing USA supporters.

The game kicked off, and USA fans were quickly angered as security insisted they sit, rather than stand. (It’s actually a law in Britain that fans must be seated – a response to the country’s dark history of hooliganism and crowd deaths.) A few tried to shout down the stewards, but most quickly complied. (I did find myself thinking: I’ll bet they couldn’t get visiting German or Croatian fans to sit so easily if at all.)

Most people who will be reading this saw the game, so I don’t need to recount too much of it. England was clearly the better team for much of the match. The USA looked out of sync and, at times, pretty awful. Before John Terry’s first goal, the crowd was mostly subdued. After that, a little more singing and traditional British chants rose from the stands.

For the most part, the England fans just ignored us. The seated U.S. fans had a tough time getting chants going – especially with little to cheer about. At one point, after Jermaine Defoe got knocked over, I made security laugh by starting the chant: “Your striker is four feet tall… your striker is four feet tall…”

One old, fat English dude, seated about four rows behind us, just couldn’t leave us alone. He kept yelling, “Your dirty Western bastards!” Rishi yelled back at him a couple of times, but mostly we just ignored. If this was the worst Wembley was going to throw at us, I would be relieved.

After England’s second goal, I accepted the game was over and actually relaxed a bit. I tried to just sit back and watch these great England players and enjoy the atmosphere. Still, I hoped we would at least get a goal.

There was one thing I couldn’t believe: Several U.S. fans slipped out during the final 10 minutes. Why come all that way to leave early?

After the match, the U.S. team half-heartedly applauded their traveling fans. Only Frankie Hejduck came all the way over, handing his jersey to an excited fan who ironically played in the U-35 fan half the night before.

We gathered with several U.S. fans for the walk back to the Green Man for a quick beer and many complaints about the U.S. performance — before heading back for the tube stop, our Wembley adventure over.

Robert versus England

2008-07-05T20:38:00.000-07:00

(Originally posted May 31, 2008)

On Tuesday morning, after another loooong night with the Red Wings, we were in no hurry to get up. Unfortunately, before learning the playoff schedule, I had booked tickets to see the Doctor Who Exhibit in south London at 11:30 in the morning. (No sci-fi nerd’s trip to England would be complete without this experience!)

The alarm burned my head when it went off and I started getting ready. I was stunned when Amy actually woke and came with me. The exhibit itself was cool. Lots of neat displays of actual props from the series. Plus, Amy took my picture with Daleks, Cybermen and even the Face of Bo!

After the Doctor Who, we headed back to the room and grabbed a quick nap.

Then, we had a decision to make: We had to pick between the two separate soccer events going on Tuesday at the same time. The U.S. Soccer Federation had set up a fan party at a bar/restaurant at the O2 complex. However, a soccer match between fans of the U.S. and England teams had been scheduled at a field near Wembley. I was really torn. I desperately wanted to play in the game, but didn’t want to miss anything cool at O2.

The friendly match was set up as basically two games. In the first half, those 35 and older played our rivals. In the second half, those under 35 took their turn. Total score at the end won the match. Amy suggested that we go to the fan match so I could play in the first half and then catch the 40-minute train ride down to the O2 to catch the end of the USA party.

I’m so glad she suggested this, because the fan match was an incredible experience. The England fans treated it like a real game. They lined up the players and played both teams’ national anthems. They also presented us with a banner commemorating the match. They wore white. We wore red shirts donated by U.S. Soccer.

Watching England warm up, I figured we were in for some real trouble. There were some big lads on their team, and, it appeared, a lot of skill. If there was any good news, it was the many of their over 35 players looked much older than 35. Most of our senior team was under 40. Also, strangely, two of their players decided to play the game wearing medieval knights costumes. The ref made them take off their red capes.

I lined up at right back, really, really nervous. I just didn’t want our team to embarrass itself. The game started out slow, but suddenly England mounted their first assault. Three quick passes and a blast that smashed off the post. Over the next couple minutes, they had two or three great chances but our keeper made some point-blank saves to keep us level.

Then, we caught them on a counter. We fired a pass across the box that got pounded into the back of the England net. We were up 1-0!

The rest of the game went much the same way. England probably hit the post 10 times. Seriously. Our keeper was incredible, saving us again and again – before we caught them on a break again to go up 2-0.
England got annoyed but began to tire a bit. The striker I was marking had to be 60 years old. When I lined up against him on corner kicks, he was breathing so hard that I thought he was going to have a heart attack. His age didn’t stop him from going around me a couple of times.

During the half, the Englishman who set up the match used a bullhorn to make good-natured jibes at the Yanks. Funny how he got quieter as England fell behind.

England converted a penalty kick, but we came right back and pressed them again. The ball smacked into their keeper and slipped across the goal line. But there was no call from the ref or the linesman! We appealed for the goal but the ref yelled to play on. But, in the classiest move of the match, one of the England players went to the ref and told him the ball had crossed the line. The goal was awarded.

Finally, our half ended after what seemed like 1,000 years. We had done our job, winning our half 4-3. We learned the next day that American youth team won it’s half 3-0! USA had beaten England 7-3! Apparently, the England players seemed a bit embarrassed by this.

The England players presented us with a bag with an England hat, an England pin and pen and a photo card of English players and their signatures. Amy really liked this gift. It was truly a nice gesture.

I got dressed and Amy and I caught the train down to the O2, luckily a direct shot. We got there around 9:15, and only 4 or 5 people were still there. We have no idea if there was much going on early. But it didn’t look like it was too exciting. We’d certainly made the right choice going to the fan game.

We had dinner at an Italian restaurant at the O2 before retiring back to our flat.

The next day: the real USA vs. England in Wembley.

(Not) Singing in the Rain

2008-07-05T20:37:00.000-07:00

(Originally published May 26th, 2008)

Ok, we didn’t go to the spa today. The plan had been to get up early and take a train to the city of Bath and go to a spa build over a hot spring used by the ancient Romans.

Two problems: 1.) We didn’t get up early. 2) It was pouring rain.

So, we decided to hang around London. We took a train down to Tower Bridge and pondered going to the Tower of London. But much of the Tower is outside so we stopped at a cute pub for lunch and hoped the rain would pass. It didn’t.

Then, we headed over to the British Museum of Natural History. Amy typically hates museums, but I convinced her to try it. Unfortunately, it was an England bank holiday, so the museum was hot and packed. We did get a quick look at the life-sized blue whale model I remembered seeing as a child before bolting back into the rain.

Next, Amy, of course, needed new, more sensible shoes. First, we went to the world’s largest department stores, Harrods. (Which just happens to be owned by Mohammed Al-Fayad, who also owns the renowned Fulham Football Club!) The shoes there were all a small fortune. So, we stopped at a few more stores and got her some new stylish black and pink Adidas sneakers. We also picked up a better umbrella – a tougher one, better suited to the wind and rain of the British Isles.

We headed back to our little flat, rested for a bit and then grabbed a late bite at an Asian/Indonesian fusion restaurant. Delicious but pricey. Amy was thrilled because the food tasted like something her grandmother used to make. (In fact, we are burning through money in England! The exchange rate is killing us.)

Now, we are waiting for the Stanley Cup Game 2 to begin. Good news: It’s on nationwide TV tonight in Britain so we can watch from our room. Bad news: It’s on at 1 a.m. We’ve stocked up on Red Bull and Absolut and are prepping for a late night.

Tomorrow, I’ve got a difficult decision to make. I was planning to play in a soccer game that England and U.S. soccer fans had set up on Tuesday night. But U.S. soccer has also schedule a party at some swanky bar AT EXACTLY the same time. Aaargh! What should I do??????

Go Wings!

American hockey fans in London

2008-07-05T20:36:00.000-07:00

(Originally published May 25, 2008)

Greetings from London!

I’ve begun my two-week odyssey across Europe. Amy and I are in London for a week to watch the US National Team play England on Wednesday at Wembley.

Then Amy heads home, while I fly over to Germany to visit my friend Chuck, who is teaching in Leipzig. Also, during that second week, I’m going to take a quick trip over to Spain to catch the US play a soccer game in Santander.

Yesterday was the world’s longest day. Took the overnight flight from Detroit to Gatwick. Caught the train out to the small, but cute flat we are renting in West London. Amy — as some of you may know — is a crazed Red Wings fan. The Wings, of course, are in the Stanley Cup finals this week. That game began at 8 p.m. Detroit time — that’s 1 a.m. here in London. Amy was desperate to find a place to watch it.

So, after getting to our flat, we took a three-hour nap, then headed downtown to see if we could find a spot to watch the finals.

Our first stop was the Maple Leaf, a Canadian pub that has Labatts on tap! A big sign outfront proclaimed that they served CANADIAN food. What exactly is that, eh?

Unfortunately, the Maple Leaf staff said the pub didn’t get permission for the liquor authorities to stay open late enough for the game.

So, we headed over the Sports Cafe, an incredibly loud establishment that’s a bizarre combination of dance club and American sports bar. It’s just down the road from Trafalger Square and I’d been there before during some earlier stops in London to catch NFL games.

We got to the bar just after they stop serving food, so dinner consistent of a healthy diet of vodka and Red Bull.

Fortunatley, the head bouncer was married to a Canadian and is apparently a big hockey fan — albiet a Penguins supporter. So, he set up the few hockey fans up in one of the sidebars and turned up the sound for us. Amy put on her Zetterberg jersey and we had a blast watching the Wings win 4-0.

The game got over around 4 a.m. — and I hadn’t realized that the tube actually shut down that late. The rain had begun to come down and we were forced to catch a $40 cab ride back to our place — a small price in Amy’s mind for watching her hockey victory.

Days 5, 6 and 7: A little soccer, a little rest, a little Shakespeare

2008-07-05T20:35:00.000-07:00

(Originally published April 13, 2007)

After surviving our thrilling Champions League match on Tuesday, we spent a quiet day walking and shopping in Manchester. I discovered that the local science museum had a Doctor Who exhibit, but by the time Amy and I wondered over there they were OUT OF TICKETS for the day. Still, I got my picture taken with the TARDIS. How cool am I?

That night, we watched a couple Champions League matches at a 500-year-old bar across from our hotel.

Thursday morning, we toured Manchester United’s stadium, Old Trafford. We got to walk down to the field and sit in the box where the coaches and players sit during the games. We even got to walk though the locker room — which actually had no lockers. Amy got to sit in the spot where another one of her “boyfriends” Cristiano Ronaldo gets ready before each match.

After the tour, we took the bus to Stratford-Upon-Avon, the birthplace of William Shakespeare, where we stayed Thursday and Friday.

Thursday afternoon, we wandered along the river and through the quaint center of town. We passed by Shakespeare’s birthplace and ate dinner at cute little pub. That night, we watched a match on TV at small local bar that seemed to love having bunch of rowdy Americans. We asked the owner when he was closing and he said “Whenever you are done drinking.” We were there late — probably too late.

We slept and slept the next day, missing our free breakfast. But we grabbed a quick bite at McDonald’s and headed off to do some souvenir shopping.

In the afternoon, we met up with a bunch of our American buds to actually play a little soccer. Right next to our hotel is a huge sports complex with tennis courts, a skate board arena and small soccer fields. They only cost 10 pounds an hour to rent. The surface was artificial, but incredibly soft. One of the guys described it like the surface of a tennis ball. I played for more than two hours and more and more of our friends arrived. (Amy didn’t bring any shorts so she didn’t play.) Eventually, just as were about to call it quits, our tour director Nick — a onetime coach with the Columbus Crew — showed about and ran us into the ground for another 20 minutes. We’re all going to be sore tomorrow.

On Friday night, we got standing room tickets to watch Macbeth at the Swan Theatre for only 5 pounds a piece. (Fortunately, standing room didn’t quit mean “standing.” We had a small bench we could sit. But to really see the show, you pretty much had to be on your feet. It was a striking, bloody performance. Really, really graphic. I felt bad for some of the kids in the audience who had been dragged by their parents.

Tomorrow, we’re off to our last soccer game in Birmingham, an FA Cup semifinal game between Manchester United and Watford. Then, it’s back to London for one last night in England before our flight home Sunday afternoon. We don’t want to go back yet!

Day 4: The worst and best of the world’s game

2008-07-05T20:34:00.001-07:00

(Originally posted April 11, 2007)

Champions League: Manchester United 7, Roma 1

Wow. What an unbelievable day…

But first a little background: A week ago, Manchester United played what is called the first leg of their Champions League game again AS Roma in the Olympic Stadium in Rome. (In this stage of the Champions League, teams play an opponent both home and away. At the end of the two matches, the team with the highest goal total from both games advances.) At the game in Rome, United fans were basically attacked by Roman security in the stands during the match. Who knows who started what, but it was fairly ugly. Roma supporters also clashed with United fans before the game, which Roma won 2-1. So, we knew the game Tuesday night would be a bit intense.

We spent much of the day on a bus from London to Manchester. It was actually a nice rest from the hectic days we’ve had so far. Amy and I slept most of the way.

After arriving in Manchester around 2, we spent a bit of time wandering the city. We needed some cash and I’d left our AC converter back at the hotel in London. We found the cash but not the converter.

We headed back to a pub near our hotel and sampled the local brews and had some tasty meat pies for dinner.

Once back at the hotel, we readied ourselves for the nighttime match. We learned by watching the BBC that Roma and Man U fans had already clashed outside the stadium, Old Trafford. We had no idea what “clash” really meant.

So the anxiety of our group was a bit high as we boarded the bus for Old Trafford. It was bit of a quiet ride over to the historic stadium. Our tour guides warned us to make our way inside as quickly as possible. Unfortunately, we knew we’d be sitting near the Roma fans, (visiting fans are segregated away from home fans at European soccer stadiums), so our guides seemed concerned about our path into the ground.

Their fears proved to be valid. As we made its way toward Old Trafford, we saw a group of Roma fans, surrounded by a police escort, signing and chanting as they approached the ground. Suddenly, angry hooligan Man U fans, some with their faces covered, started pelting the Roma fans with bottles and who knows what.

Police, some on foot, others on horses, charged into the area. Our group scattered in all different directions to avoid the chaos. One very nice English gentlemen tried to pull Amy and I behind a large sign to keep us safe. But we didn’t want to lose one of our tour leaders so we ran past the police line that was converging on the area. We caught up with one guide as things began to calm down a bit. He recommended that we walk completely around the stadium to get to our entrance rather than walk back through the Roma fans. This proved to be a good suggestion. Things seemed much quieter as we made our way around.

I asked Amy if she was scared and wanted to go back to the hotel. But she just shook her head, and we entered historic Old Trafford.

Once inside, things were much calmer. Old Trafford is called “The Theatre of Dreams” and it certainly lived up to that reputation. The stadium is gorgeous. Certainly a cathedral to the greatness of Manchester United.

Still, it was tense. There were two sections of Roma fans, one above us just to our left, and another two sections over on our right. I worried that if things got ugly we would get pelted by flying objects.

Before the match, the Roma fans were already LOUD, singing with choreographed movements.

However, as the Man U fans filtered in, they began to drown out the Roma supporters.

As the game got underway, we became engrossed in the match, and our earlier scare slipped out of our mind.

Quickly, Man U scored an incredible goal from Michael Carrick. After than, there was no stopping the Reds. Goal after goal hit the back of the net. If Cristiano Ronaldo is not the best player in the world, I don’t know who is.

In the blink of an eye, it was 4-0 Man U. The fans at Old Trafford grew louder every minute. For those of you who have sat with crazy Sam’s Army fans at a U.S. game, this was like that. Only the WHOLE stadium was the Sam’s Army section.

The Roma fans grew quieter (but never completely silent) and it ended 7-1.

All was calm after the match as we trekked back to the bus and to our hotel.

Most of our group headed across the street from our hotel to a local pub. It was suppose to close at 11, but once the owner was told that a bunch of Americans had journeyed across the pond to see his beloved Manchester United, he kept the establishment open well past 1.

We’ve now seen 10 soccer matches on European soil now, and this is the only bit of violence we’ve witnessed. It’s too bad that the world’s game can’t seem to shake this. Manchester United’s performance this night was incredible. A thing of beauty. It’s too bad the fan behavior outside the stadium didn’t match the glorious skill of their team.

Day 3: One day, two games

2008-07-05T20:32:00.000-07:00

(Originally published April 11, 2007)

Fulham 1, Manchester City 3
Charlton Athletic 0, Reading 0

Amy and I watch a lot of English soccer. But there is really only one team we actively root for: little Fulham. Unlike most Americans, we didn’t fall in love with the big clubs: Arsenal or Manchester United or Liverpool or Chelsea. We somehow, slowly, unintentionally became fans of Fulham.

You see, there are three Americans who play for Fulham, more than for any other team in Europe. So, by rooting for our boys abroad, we ended up as Fulham fans. And now, it seems we are destined for eternal misery.

On Tuesday, we got to visit Fulham’s home stadium, Craven Cottage. Tucked away in a neighborhood in south London, the Cottage FEELS like English football. It’s not big and slick like Arsenal’s Emirates Stadium. It’s quaint, the fans are passionate but friendly, and there is even an actual cottage in one corner of the stadium where the locker rooms reside.

Unfortunately, our little team didn’t perform very well for our visit. They got behind 3-0 (the second goal was scored by yet another American, Demarcus Beasley. At one point, four Americans were in the game. We were proud of that, though.)

Still, Fulham fans didn’t give up. They yelled and screamed and pushed their team onward. Finally, Amy’s “boyfriend” American Carlos Bocanegra scored for Fulham off a corner kick, but it was too little too late. Still, our trip to the Cottage has been the best part of our trip so far. We got to see Brian McBride play again. Amy even bought a jersey with his name on it. I really wanted a Clint Dempsey jersey, but they didn’t have one my size!!!

That night, we went to another game in south London at Charlton, a team that is fight to stay in England’s top league. (Each year, the team’s with the three worst records are sent down to a lower division, while three other teams come up.)

Before the contest, the unveiled a giant banner in the stands with the team’s logo. It slowly made it’s way around the stadium handed from fan to fan. Charlton and Reading played to a nil-nil draw, but Charlton’s fans screamed the entire match. They seemed happy with the tie. They are so used to losing, that even a tie felt like a victory. And they left with a bit more hope that they would avoid relegation.

Day 2: Touring London

2008-07-05T20:31:00.001-07:00

(Originally posted April 9, 2007)

Sorry, we’ve haven’t posted much. We’ve been too busy going to see football! We’ll try to send a Day 3 report with games at Fulham and Charlton soon.

We took a bit of a time out from soccer on our second day to have a look around London. Here are some pictures from the day. Look kids, it’s Big Ben. Parliament.

Our first day in London

2008-07-05T20:29:00.000-07:00

(Originally posted April 8, 2007, during our soccer tour of England with PSG Sports.)

Day 1
Game 1: Arsenal 0, West Ham 1 (Emirates Stadium, in north London)

We’ve survived our first looooong day in England.

We always knew we were going to have a tight window in London. Our plane was scheduled to arrive at 10:05 and we had to be to our hotel by 12:45 to meet up with our group.

But our flight left Detroit about an hour late, so we didn’t get into Gatwick until 10:45. Still, we were able to clear customs quickly and grab the 11:30 train into London. We grabbed a cab ride (past Buckingham Palace) to our hotel and arrived about 12:40. Unfortunately, our room wasn’t ready set, so Amy quickly changed clothes in the bathroom.

We also got to meet half our group (the other half was off at the Chelsea-Tottenham game.) It seems like its going to be a good group. Everyone seemed very laid back. People came from New Hampshire, California, Atlanta and even Montana. It should be a fun week.

With little rest from out long flight, we marched off to the tube stop to head off to Emirates Stadium, the home of mighty Arsenal.

Emirates proved to be a monsterous, beautiful stadium — more closesly resembling an NFL stadium than most of the other soccer grounds we’ve seen in Europe.

One thing we noticed: There are no trash bins around or in the stadium. We couldn’t find anywhere to dump the water bottles we’d been drinking. A member of our group, Tim from Montana, told us that most stadiums ditched trash bins during the troubles in Northern Ireland. The IRA would drop bombs in garbage cans. So, they got rid of them. Trash just ended up in neat piles around the stadium.

Once in the stadium, we grabbed a couple of beers, a hot dog for me and a slice of some pizza-like substance for Amy. We headed off to our seats. We were surpised to learn that you can’t take beer to your seats. With only minutes until the game, we had to guzzle our beers. Not a problem.

Our seats were great. 13 rows up behind one of the goals. The game was fast and furious. Arsenal attacked the goal in front of to begin the game. They had chance after chance. Missing high. Missing left. A shot just blocked. They did everything but hit the back of the net.

Just before halftime, West Ham nicked a shot a long, looping shot over the head of Arsenal’s keeper Jans Lehman (the German national team goalkeeper Amy calls hot.) The visiting West Ham fans, sitting just two sections away from us (and surrounded by security) exploded into a giant celebration. I don’t think many of them left their seats at halftime. They just danced and sang.

In the second half, Arsenal continued their relentless surge. But again, they just couldn’t score. And as the last remaining seconds ticked away (Interestingly, the Emirates clock counted down, not up), the West Ham fans cheered and taunted their rivals.`

After the game, we headed down to the massive Arsenal store (The Armoury) to find a shirt for the husband of a friend of ours.

Our hotel is great. It sits right beside the Tower of London, basically under the Tower Bridge. It has the biggest rooms I’ve seen in a European hotel.

That night, we walked along the Thames River and watch the sunset near Tower Bridge. We ate at this cute three-story restaurant, called Dicken’s Inn. The first floor was a pub, the second was a pizza joint on a balcony overlooking the marina. And the third floor was an elegant restaurant. Amy, or course, chose pizza.

Our waiter (a West Ham fan) was suprised the Americans had come all this way to watch football. We had a bottle of wine and incredibly good pizza.

We miss everyone. Wish you all were here with us. We go to Fulham (and Craven Cottage) on Monday.

We are back!

2008-07-05T20:28:00.001-07:00

(Originally posted June 26, 2006)

Robert and I are safely back in the U.S. after our whirlwind trip abroad. Unfortunately we are both battling head colds. We blame our D.C. friend Ted, . And we are a bit jet-lagged. But glad to be back.

We arrived home Saturday afternoon and fought sleep the whole day. Sunday we made it to Belle Isle for pick-up soccer. Turnout was fantastic. Weather was beautiful. Later that afternoon, we hosted a few people over later to watch England defeat Educador and Portugal defeat Holland. We even managed to squeeze in a concert last night. NIN was in town and I couldn’t miss a chance to see Trent. We were both so tired, but we had to go. Plus I just spent 2 1/2 weeks watching soccer, Robert owed me 2 hours at a concert to see my favorite band.

Our air conditioner decided to break down while we were gone so we spent the first two nights home without air. Reminded me of Germany (I don’t think they were prepared for the record heat) but thankfully the house stayed cool with all the windows open. Robert just called and said it is fixed and tonight we can finally get a good night’s sleep.

Looking back, we had a great trip, met lots of interesting people, ate a lot of great food and saw some great (yet stressful) soccer matches.

Coupla things we will also miss:

* Good German beer. It is smooth, tasty and, when sold by the meter, is cheap. Plus no hangover or aftertaste.

* Our D.C. friends. It was great to catch up with Jim, Danielle, Jay and Marcel. And it was wonderful meeting Dana, Ted, Mike, Jan, Mark and Caroline.

Coupla things we won’t miss:

* Paying to pee. We paid as much as 1.10 euro each time.

* All the smoke. I can’t wait to go to a restaurant and not have to worry about all the cigarettes.

Time to go home

2008-07-05T20:26:00.000-07:00

(Originally posted June 23, 2006)

We arrived early Thursday in Nuremberg, Germany, for the United States final group match vs. Ghana. For the first time since we had come to Germany the firery heat had gone, and there was a chill in the air.

Like us, thousand of Americans wandered through the Nuremberg’s old town eating local cuisine, drinking tasty beer and occasionally singing and cheering. Our pace was slow; we were nervous of the day ahead. The mood was more subdued than in Kaiserslautern days earlier. There was guarded optimism, but optimism nonetheless.

We wanted to get to the stadium early. We were ready to do battle, ready to have our fate determined. We found our seats, seven rows behind one of the goals, surrounded by other U.S. fans. As the game started, U.S. fans began their usual chants and songs, but couldn’t quite seem to get in synch, much like our team on the field.

Still, when Clint Dempsey scored a tying goal for the Americans, it briefly seemed like it would be our day. Dempsey was our best player in this World Cup, and we were glad to see him get a goal.

Our enthusiasm was short-lived. After yet another controversial call, we found ourselves behind yet again. And this time, not many of us believed we would find a way back. And we were right.

If a loss like this had occurred back home at a Lions game, the fans would have quickly filed out. But we fans sat and waited for team to come over to our section of the stands and wave goodbye. The U.S. players lingered and so did their fans. Neither wanted their World Cup to be over.

The sports axiom, “there is always next year,” doesn’t apply in world soccer. It will be four years until America gets a chance to prove itself on this stage again. Many of the faces will different.

But we hope to be them with them in four years. South Africa here we come.

FINAL THOUGHTS

Just like the U.S. National Team, our World Cup is over. We’ve been planning this trip for more than two years, but it ends when we catch a plane back to Detroit on Saturday. Despite the U.S.’s performance, it’s been the trip of a lifetime. Here our some final thoughts from Germany:

* Soccer fans are good people. Almost everyone we encountered was friendly or at least peaceful. Even dressed head-to-toe in U.S. gear, we encountered no hostility. All our worries about hooligans quickly evaporated. We only saw one fight: And that was English fans beating on each other at 5 in the morning.

* Stadium security and transportation were unimpressive. Considering the scale of the World Cup, we didn’t see nearly as many police officers as we expected. Sure, nothing bad happened at any of the matches we saw. But what if it had? Also, it took a miserably long time to get in and out of stadiums, and we were often crammed onto stifling hot trains.

* Korea has the best fans. Thye sing non-stop, even when their team is behind, and each section of fans has a conductor who uses hand-signals to coordinate their cheers. Each song has a dance that goes along with it. It was mesmerizing to watch.

* U.S. fans have arrived. No Europeans expected us to show up, but we encountered Americans everywhere. U.S. merchandise was sold out at many souvenir stores. Before and during games, we were loud, passionate and impressive. Our fans have joined the world’s game.

* U.S. Soccer has a long way to go. Did the referees hurt us? Sure. But when it mattered, the United States couldn’t score or even put a shot on net. We certainly weren’t the worst team in the tournament, but we certainly aren’t among the elite either. We have four more years to figure it out.

Better to post late than never

2008-07-05T20:25:00.000-07:00

(Originally posted June 19, 2006)

WARNING: LONG POST AHEAD!

What a long few days for Amy and me.

On Friday, we began the day by doing laundry. Our hotel offered to do it, but at the cost of two euros for a pair of underwear. Prices skyrocketed after that. So, Amy and I bundled up our clothes and headed off for the nearest waschsalon. Once we got there, we loaded all our clothes in the machines, but couldn’t find any slot for the money. We stood there for a minute or two looking around like morons. Finally, a nice, young Germany woman took pity on us. She showed us that you place your coins at a machine in the front room and then press a button that corresponds to the number on the machine. Now, we have clothes to wear.

We spent the rest of Friday as we spend most of our afternoons in Koln, sitting in an outdoor pub called Memos watching the day’s World Cup matches. Usually we are joined by some of our American friends from D.C. At Memo’s, beer is served by the meter. They bring out a meter-long tray that holds 11 beers. The whole thing cost 11 euros. The pub is right across from the Koln’s central fan fest, so the atmosphere is usually pretty incredible.

On Saturday, Kaiserslautern – the site of the U.S.-Italy mach — is about 4 hours by train for our home base in Koln. We grabbed a train at 9 a.m. so we could get in early and wander the city.

It was a nice quiet train ride and we were able to get a little bit of sleep. Amy flirted with a couple of German brothers who were amazed by how many World Cup matches we were going to see.

We got to Kaiserslautern around 12:30 and a giant American street party had already begun. Kaiserlautern is near one of the large U.S. military bases in Germany. Still, Italians were everywhere and not nearly as friendly as fans we had met from the Czech game. But as has been the case throughout the World Cup, we didn’t encounter any outright hostility.

(No Tuna, this picture is not of us…)

We made our way over to a gathering of U.S. fans at a local bar. But it was too crowded so we wandered early over to the stadium. All the stadiums we’ve seen in Germany are incredible. Big, beautiful temples to soccer. But we’ve been unimpressed by crowd management at most of the venues. Lines into the stadium are long. Bus stops and rail stations seem overwhelmed. Considering that these stadiums are full every weekend for club matches, we expected the Germans would be better at this.

We got into the area around the stadium, did a bit of souvenir shopping and got up on an outdoor stage with a bunch of American fans to sing “Born in the U.S.A.”

Since Amy and I didn’t get tickets together for this game, we wandered up to my seats in the last row of the stadium behind one of the goals. We watched Ghana beat the Czechs on one of the big screens, which, of course, was huge for Team U.S.A.

Energy continued to build as more Americans arrived for the match. The atmosphere was incredibly hopeful. We expected a better performance from our boys. The seats around us continued to fill up and Amy was ready to head off to her seat. But this incredibly nice couple next to us from Colorado insisted that Amy stay and squeezed together to make room.

At kickoff, the U.S. fans were crazy. The largest, loudest group of crazed U.S. fans that I have every seen.

Right from the start, we knew this game would be different. The U.S. team looked like a much better team. They beat Italy to every ball. They were faster and they made better decisions. Clint Dempsey look phenomenal. And yet, we still conceded the first goal.

But the American fans only got louder. And when we tied the game a few minutes later, the fans erupted with the more joy than I’ve ever seen at a sporting event. When an Italian player earned a red card moments later, pandemonium ensued. U.S. fans now believed that this was our day.

Of course, it didn’t stay that way. Two red cards later and our team was clinging on for dear life. Fans and players of soccer always insist that a crowd can lift and carry a team. I don’t know if that’s true. But it seemed that way on Saturday. Every time, it looked as if the momentum was turning against us. American fans would chant or sing or just scream their lungs out – and the team would respond by making a key stop.

When the final whistle blew, Amy and I had nothing left. We slumped against my seats. I have never been more exhausted or relieved at the end of a sporting event. While we were happy with the draw, many of us wondered about the red card calls and the disallowed U.S. goal. We really wanted to see the TV replays.

Fans were quickly running through the scenarios for our third group match. Our best hope: Italy beats the Czechs; we beat Ghana. We would be through to the next round! We’ll have to wait until Thursday when both matches kick off simultaneously at 4. (That’s 10 a.m. in Detroit!)

After the match, the train station in Kaiserslautern was incredibly overcrowded, and I became concerned that someone might actually get trampled. We managed to squeeze our way to our train. Amy and I have gotten smarter and now reserve seats for every train we get on. Otherwise, you could end up standing in the aisles.

We tried to get some sleep on the five-hour ride home, but a bunch of loudmouthed Americans talked loudly for most of the trip. It frightens me that we’ve met so many people on this trip, but the only really, really annoying ones have been Americans.

The next day, Sunday, we caught a cross-country plane to Leipzig to watch Korea and France. More on that later…

A big day for U.S.A.

2008-07-05T20:24:00.000-07:00

(Originally posted June 18, 2006)

In the game of soccer — if the clock is always running after all – why are there moments when time seems to stand still? Moments were every second seems like it is being pulled out of your chest.

In Kaiserslautern, Germany, on Saturday, we watched the U.S. national team claw their way to a bruising, bloody, incredibly 1-1 draw with Italy. The U.S. fans – surely the largest, most passionate, most knowledgeable group of Americans to cheer their team on foreign soil – felt every collision, screamed at every poor decision and held their breathe during the final tense moments.

For this game, we didn’t have tickets sitting together, but the Connecticut couple (Mike and his girlfriend) next to Robert’s seat squeezed over so we could stay together. It wasn’t like fans were using their seats anyway. The Americans stood for the entire match.

If you’ve never watch an international soccer match from the stands, you’ve never really experienced the game. On Saturday, the U.S. fans cheered, sang and chanted for the entire match. We have been too big sporting events: NFL, NBA and Stanley Cup playoff games. Nothing comes close to the eneregy we saw in Kaiserslautern.

As the game ticked toward fulltime, the Americans – many now clutching their flags like security blankets — got louder and wilder, willing their team to hang on. We survived one Italian corner kick, then another. Another. Would the referee ever blow the final whistle?

When that whistle did come, U.S. players collapsed onto the field. Their fans finally exhaled, but only for a moment. U.S. players and their manager Bruce Arena came over to the main section of Americans in the stands and applauded their fans. The fans responded by singing and chanting long after the game was over.

—–

The above is our postcard for the Free Press. We’ll try to post more later about the day with pictures, but we are jumping on a plane today to head to Leipzig for the Korea-France match.

Between games

2008-07-05T20:21:00.000-07:00

(Originally published June 15, 2006)

Like the U.S. team, we fans nursed our wounds the last few days. After the intensity of Monday’s game, we rested most of Tuesday. We did a bit of shopping in Cologne and had a nice long lunch with some of our D.C. friends. We spent most of the day sitting in our Irish pub, drinking German beer, watching the lackluster Swiss-France match and the incredibly competitive Brazil-Croatia contest.

On Wednesday, we again met up with our friends and took a long eight-hour ship ride down the Rhein to see the castles along the river. There seemed to be a castle about every three miles. The ship had a restaurant with great German food and Germany wine. It also had a TV so when you got sick of castles you could watch the World Cup!

We finally got off at a cute, little German town. Right as we arrived, one of the D.C. guys spotted an old college pal he hasn’t seen in years. As they say, it’s a small world.

We struggled to find a train back to Cologne and ended up missing the Poland-Germany game. By the time we got back, the streets around our hotel were filled with people celebrating Germany’s late, victorious goal. The crowd was so thick we couldn’t get through and had to take another route to the hotel. The rain suddenly began pouring down on us, but the German fans just kept partying.

Two days until U.S.A.-Italy. We are all hoping for a better performance.

It’s their world, but we’re now living in it

2008-07-05T20:20:00.000-07:00

(Originally published June 13, 2006)

It’s never easy being a fan of the United States. You don’t get any respect – even in your home nation. It’s tough to find your matches on TV. There are only a few highlights on SportsCenter.

In Europe, the American soccer fan is viewed as a strange, rare creature. We get odd looks in the streets. People walk up and ask to have their picture taken with us. But I don’t think they expect much from us – or from our team.

In Gelsenkirchen on Monday, the site of the first U.S. match, our fans – if not our team – showed something to the world.

Hours before kickoff, Americans were everywhere in the streets of Gelsenkirken. Hundreds of fans took over a town square. We unfurled a giant American flag, and we sang and danced for hours. As Americans wandered out of the nearby train station, the crowd greeted each with a deafening cheer and welcomed them into the party.

Around the square, open-mouthed Europeans stared at the crazed U.S. fans with a bemused look on their faces. I heard one British guy on the phone exclaim to a buddy: “Yeah, it’s a bunch of &%$# yanks! And they’re singing!” Even fans of the Czech Republic couldn’t help but smile as they headed to the match.

By the end of the day, there was little singing from the Americans. Our team soundly beaten, we headed back to the train station. We put their arms around each other. Many of us exchanged hugs.

But no Europeans taunted us – not even the Czechs. Many gave us a sad, knowing look, as if to say, “You’re football fans now. There is as much agony in this game as there is joy. Welcome to our world.”

And that’s a lesson, we American fans now have learned. The road to the top of world’s game will not be as easy or as quick as we had hoped.

We knew the day wasn’t going to go well

2008-07-05T20:19:00.000-07:00

(Originally published June 12, 2006)

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.

Red, white and blue

2008-07-05T20:17:00.000-07:00

(Originally published June 11, 2006)

In the middle of December, three crazy Americans (me, Amy and Ron Recinto) huddled around the small TV on the Free Press newsdesk on a Friday afternoon. Everyone who passed by wondered what had us so engrossed? Had some huge, breaking news occurred? No, we told them: We are watching the World Cup draw. They shook their heads and walked away.

When the U.S. was drawn into Group E, that was the first I’d ever heard of the German city of Gelsenkirchen, the site of the American’s first game against the Czech Republic. Since then, we’ve thought of little else. It seemed like June 12 would never come.

Tomorrow, we’ll board a train for Gelsenkirchen wearing our red jerseys and our red, white and blue scarves. A flag will be wrapped around me like a cape. Amy’s even agreed to let me paint my face!

I’m so nervous. I have no idea what our chances are tomorrow. Amy, of course, is certain we will win. For those of you in the States, the game is on at noon Eastern on ESPN2. Don’t miss it.

Last night, we went to our first live game: Portugal and Angola. Our seats were INCREDIBLE. We were in midfield, TWO ROWS from the pitch. Amy could see the dimples on her boyfriend Cristiano Ronaldo. At one point in the second half, a ball flew off a Portugal player and shot right at me. I leaped into the air and grabbed it. Of course, you have to give it throw it back to the ball boy… I wonder if I just could have kept it…

The Angola fans were having one huge party in the stands. It almost sounded like they brought a whole band with them. Even thought they were outnumbered, they certainly out-shouted the Portuguese who seemed more nervous than excited.

The police presence at the game was far less than I was expecting. But it proved unnecessary. The fans were incredible well behaved – certainly better behaved than Lions fans. We were thoroughly searched by security both as we approached the stadium and when we entered.

When getting drinks at events in Germany, you basically rent your glass. The give you a plastic cup which they charged you one euro for in addition to the beverage. You can bring the glass back and they’ll give you back your euro. It keeps down the littering, I guess.

Everyone: We are loving the comments. It makes us feel like you are all here with us.

Go USA!

Soccer-loving Americans

2008-07-05T20:14:00.000-07:00

(Originally published June 10, 2006)

Finally hooked up with our D.C. soccer friends last night. Met in the public square that was showing the England game. And we had our photo taken with some Brits who wanted to remember the crazy soccer-loving Americans they had just met.

Cologne is filled with college kids and has a very cosmopolitan feel. We absolutely love it here. Went to the university-area of Cologne last night to watch the Argentina/Ivory Coast game. Drinks were super cheap so we will be going there again. Robert had way too many Jack and Cokes. Soccer-loving, heavy-drinking Americans seemed a novelty there.

He is feeling it this morning. I had to go to breakfast alone. Thought of my sister when I was sitting in the restaurant facing the lovely courtyard eating my breakfast of brot met eggs, tomatoes and mayonnaise. Reminds me of Holland. I sure hope I get to visit this trip.
Clonts, you would love the coffee. Very strong and very yummy. I find myself craving it (and the German beer, of course) every day. Maybe it is just the cream, but things taste better in Europe.

We are walking like crazy. Good thing I brought some sensible shoes. God I am old, sounding like an old lady wearing her Naturalizers. And the weather is much warmer than we expected. We are burning through the clothes and will have to do laundry sooner than expected. This also calls for shopping, I think.

Days seem so much slower here and we are enjoying every minute. Life is good.

P.S. Anderson, Robert and I are so happy you have embraced soccer and are enjoying the tournament as much as we are. Glad the Oilers won one; if you beat the Wings, you better go all the way.

The world’s greatest game — even scoreless

2008-07-05T20:12:00.002-07:00

(Originally published June 10, 2006)

People are quick to ridicule soccer for the lack its lack of scoring.

Yet, the World Cup’s best game so far is the 0-0 draw between Trinidad and Tobabgo and Swenden.

In their first-ever World Cup game, tiny little Trinidad absorbed chance after chance from powerhouse Sweden. The last 30 minutes of that game were as gut-wretching as I’ve ever seen. T&T hanging on for dear life as Sweden swarmed around their goal. We watched the game on our tiny hotel room TV, and yet Amy and I were both up out of seats screaming for the Socca Warriors to hang on to the tie – the biggest surprise of the World Cup thus far.

Only a fool would call that game boring.

On Saturday night, Sweden fans wandered around in despair. Trindad earned respect in the biggest game their nation has ever played.

Tomorrow, Amy and I will see Portugal play Angola in Koln’s stadium – our first live World Cup match. We can’t wait.

The world’s greatest game — even scoreless

2008-07-05T20:12:00.001-07:00

(Originally published June 10, 2006)

People are quick to ridicule soccer for the lack its lack of scoring.

Yet, the World Cup’s best game so far is the 0-0 draw between Trinidad and Tobabgo and Swenden.

In their first-ever World Cup game, tiny little Trinidad absorbed chance after chance from powerhouse Sweden. The last 30 minutes of that game were as gut-wretching as I’ve ever seen. T&T hanging on for dear life as Sweden swarmed around their goal. We watched the game on our tiny hotel room TV and yet Amy and I were both up out of seats screaming for the Socca Warriors to hang on to the tie – the biggest surprise of the World Cup thus far,

Only a fool would call that game boring.

On Saturday night, Sweden fans wandered around in despair. Trindad earned respect in the biggest game their nation has ever played.

Tomorrow, Amy and I will see Portugal play Angola in Koln’s stadium – our first live World Cup match. We can’t wait.

A nation quiets, then rejoices

2008-07-05T20:09:00.000-07:00

(Originally posted June 9, 2006)

It’s been said that the World Cup can clear streets.

A half-hour before Germany’s cup opening match in Munich against Costa Rica, an eerie silence descended on Cologne. The few people and cars on the street all seemed to be rushing toward the nearest television. I guess I was expecting a party atmosphere as the first match approached. Instead, all of Germany seems to be holding its breath.

As Amy and I walked from our hotel, toward the center of Cologne, every storefront has a TV in the window and people are crowded around, their heads craning for any view at all. Pubs were completely full, with patrons outside pressing their faces against the windows.

Near the city’s giant, ancient cathedral, cup organizers have set up a giant screen so fans can watch all the matches. We can’t get anywhere close. German fans stood shoulder-to-shoulder in the street. Thousands of flags sprang up from the crowd. Still, the crowd noise stays at a low murmur – until the German national anthem begins playing. With one voice, the crowd sings. We can’t squeeze close enough to a television to see the World Cup’s opening kickoff, but the noise of the crowd told us when it happens. When Germany scores early in the match, a giant cry shot though the downtown. Church bells rang.

Amy and I escaped the crowd and wandered back toward our hotel, desperate to find a pub where we could watch the game. We made our way back to an Irish pub we had eaten at earlier in the day where we can watch the games in English. By the time we get inside, three goals have been scored. Still, the scene on the street was worth missing most of the first half. And fortunately, the second half proved just as interested as Costa Rica put up a valiant fight before falling 4-2 to Germans. (Plus, inside the pub, drunk England fans taunted every German misstep with loud off-color songs.)

After the match, the streets around our hotel – empty two hours before — flooded with people waving flags and honking their car horns. People partied on every corner.

Whew…and this is only our first day here. Two more weeks to go.

We are in Germany!

2008-07-05T20:04:00.000-07:00

(Originally posted June 9, 2006)

We made it!

After an 8-hour flight where Robert slept most of the way and I was too excited to sleep, we arrived in Germany just after 8 a.m. (2 a.m. Detroit time).

There were fewer people wearing soccer jerseys on the plane they we expected: a few Mexico fans and a father and son wearing Serbia gear. Also, there were some strange old men all wearing old-fashioned German hats (we forget what they are called) with feathers in them. I bet they had lieder hosen underneath.

When we arrived at the airport, we heard our names being called over the intercom. Our driver Steven met us at the Frankfurt airport with sign with our names on it. How cool is that! We are soccer rock stars! He drove us around Frankfurt (we had to drop off another fellow Soccer Travel passenger) and then around Cologne (where we will be based).

The German countryside looks a lot like Wisconsin (thick forest, rolling hills) and if you weren’t paying attention you wouldn’t even know you were in another country. We saw a bunch of McDonald’s along the road.

Still, we quickly learned Germany’s reputation for fast freeways is no exaggeration. Our driver quickly revved his Mercedes up to 200 kph. (What is that in mph, anyway?) I found the fast speed soothing and conked out the whole way to Cologne.

We checked into our lovely hotel and quickly found a Starbucks a block away to get some caffeine and relax. We had to wait for our room to be ready, so we’ll be heading back to hotel after some lunch to shower and unpack and back out to find a pub to watch the opening match.