Our soccer travels: The Movie

My apologies: I know I "borrowed" the music and a couple of a photos. No harm or commercial intent is intended.

Good-bye South Africa

(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

(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

(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

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

(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

(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

(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

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

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!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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