Many events become memorable ones, especially when it’s a
shared experience. Last Friday I left the comfort of my apartment and ventured
downtown to the East Village to a bar called Nevada Smith’s. As my wife will
tell you, I’m not much of a drinker. I wholeheartedly agree. Half a glass of
wine and I’m horizontal on the couch, snoring thru DVR replay of “House.” I
tend to stay away from bars because while the food may be good and the HDTV
screens make the games seem larger, that’s where the drunks and 38-year-old
adolescents hang out. I know these
establishments are some of the most common social gathering points on the
planet but damn if folks can’t wait for the weekend to start trouble. Sort of
like department stores and supermarkets, where fed up parents beat their kids while you’re down the aisle looking for the instant grits that are reportedly
on sale.
But I digress. I made my way to Nevada Smith’s to bear
witness to that cultural appetizer on the international soccer menu, the World
Cup Draw. “The Draw” as it’s affectionately known, is where national teams that
have qualified for the competition are randomly chosen for group play in the
opening round of the tournament. It doesn’t matter if your team has qualified
or not (unless you’re Irish), you want to know, who’s playing who, where and
when. And while the competition isn’t until the end of June 2010, you need to
start worrying about how your team will fare, NOW.
So, I arrive a good 30 minutes before the draw jumps off and
mark the time by talking to friends I haven’t seen in months and chat with
folks I’ve never met about what their expectations are. FIFA’s
gonna screw us; is the common refrain amongst USA supporters. Previous
draws have not been kind to the United States, despite the team’s success in
our region. I feel, that, no matter whom we’re grouped with, the US will need
to overachieve in order to advance.
(Not to be confused with Morgan Freeman)
Notice how I substitute we,
us and our, with US Mens National
Team? It’s not a conscious choice. This is what happens when it’s time for
the World Cup. Don’t worry, you’ll
find yourself doing it come June 21st.
We get a videotaped message from Nelson Mandela; followed by
a commercial of Morgan Freeman playing Mandela in a Clint Eastwood directed
film. Studio analysis is heard somewhat over the clanking of pint glasses and
beer bottles. I’m nursing a bottle of Mangers Cider, taking midget sips every 3
minutes or so.
And then it starts.
Charlize Theron, co-hosts, while sporting figures and
entertainers throughout the world take their places by the printed ping-pong
balls. Mega-Millions indeed. One-by-one, balls are selected, the top teams are
seeded and other nations are placed into various groups. The crowd in Nevada’s
is pro-American and sprinkled with Brits and other Euro-sorts, awaiting their
nation’s fates.
And then it happens.
The United States is drawn into Group C with England.
Collectively, the crowd erupts. It’s a measuring stick for
us Yanks. We want to know just how good we are on the world stage and this is
the best way to prove it. North Carolina’s favorite son, Ric Flair said it
best, “if you wanna be the man, ya gotta
beat the man!” Somebody else said, “be careful what you wish for” but I’ve
consumed half my Magners and can’t reference the Daily Operation’s Wayback Machine properly.
(Slovenia?! US stalwart midfielder, Landon Donovan surveys the crowd)
As other teams are selected and placed, we see that France
is still out there and the patrons are concerned that they could be placed in
our group. No one wants to be placed in a the dreaded “Group of Death,” where
3-4 major teams are grouped together and only two will advance. Algeria is
drawn into our group and another roar fills the air. English and Americans are
fancying their chances to advance. As another round of nation are selected, it
becomes a process of elimination. France is placed in Group A and the crowd
cheers with relief. Slovenia gets placed in our group and I’m surrounded with
ear-to-ear grins. “We’re gonna advance,” is the cry from
my fellow US supporters. I smile but I’m reminded how we licked our lips at the
thought of playing Ghana back in 2006 (and subsequently lost 2-1).
(the back four (l to r): Cesar, Milenko, Kevin and Yours Truly)
As the draw ends and the pundits analyze the groupings, I
survey the crowd and am reminded how sport brings folks together. Bar staff,
patrons- some unemployed, some playing hooky are all chatting away about what just
happened and what it means six months into the future. I’m reminded that it’s
the world’s game as I converse with a gentleman from Australia and two others
from New Jersey and Brooklyn. It also dawns on me that my wife is British and
the reality is; we will probably watch the England v. US match apart from each
other. Four years ago, we were dating and did the same thing when the US played
Ghana. My then girlfriend’s parents were born in Ghana and the roots run strong
under the Union Jack.
But I don’t mind. It’s just a game, the world’s game and I’ve got six months to ponder the what’s, the
who’s and the how’s.
