USA Redux

It's been a week since the US was eliminated from the World Cup, and I've read countless (many of them stupid) opinions and formulated some of my own. Instead of pouring gas on the fire, so to speak, I think ample time has elapsed to make these points:

1. The US wasn't as bad as it was made out to be.
2. But it's time for a new coach.
3. And Europeans, as always, are a bunch of idiots.

To expound:
1. Let's face it, the US lost its World Cup in a matter of minutes. Against the Czechs, we gave up a goal 5 minutes in. You can't really blame anyone for Tomas Rosicky's cracker of a 2nd goal, and the third happened because we were trying to launch everyone (unsuccessfully) into the attack. Against Italy, we had two red cards in 5 minutes after stealing the momentum away from those shifty Itals. And against Ghana, it was one stupid play, followed by one great momentum swing followed by an immediate stupid penalty call.

I'm not saying we didn't suck at times during the Cup: the offense was anemic, Landon Donovan played like a pansy and DaMarcus Beasley displayed the touch of a six-year old. But that said, there were some bright spots: Clint Dempsey (forgive the overused Texas expression) swash-buckled his way into these finals and ransacked his way to a great game against Ghana. Against Italy, he was clearly the difference maker. It's a shame he had to come off against Italy because of some unfortunate refereeing decisions, as he would have certainly helped the US win that game. In the end, he made my purchase of his jersey look very astute, and he should no doubt be playing in Europe soon (Holland?). I only feel sorry for him because playing in an MLS game this week must have been a major letdown.

Oguchi Onyewu also had a pretty good tournament. He had Luca Toni (by far the sissiest guy over 6-foot-5 I've ever seen. He flops. Enjoy those tall Italians, Toronto Raptors) in his pocket against Italy and did fine against Ghana. That penalty kick call was the worst call of the tournament because it so blatantly changed the game, and tournament. The only reason Gooch had so many calls go against him was because of his size, which clearly the officials couldn't keep up with (speaking of that, the refs clearly can't keep up with the game anymore. We need two of them on the field) and his nancy-pants opposing forwards couldn't either. As we have told our European friends until we are blue in the face, there's just no tolerance for what the Czechs, Italians and Ghanians did in those games (see point #3: Europeans are idiots).

Also, a huge hand should go to Jimmy Conrad. He came on to play central defense against Italy with the US down to nine men. It was completely the "oh s---, it's over now" moment of the tournament, but Jimmy more than held his own. Against Ghana, it looked like he would get beaten by a faster attacker, but alas, it never happened. I haven't watched any replays but I can't remember him getting in trouble once, which is more than I could say about anyone else.

Perhaps one of my favorite moments of the tournament came after the Italy game on a crowded walk outsidethe stadium: we bumped into Jimmy's (I can call him by his first name. He is a totally likeable guy and an English major with a column of his own that runs on ESPN.com) best man. It was really cool to be able to sort of share that moment, the "That was really awesome how well he did tonight, I'm so happy for him" for a guy I don't know and say it to his best friend. I'm still awaiting the column on ESPN that describes him getting summoned to face Italy off the bench, the "You want me to what?!" reaction he had to have had. World Cups...it's not always about the Ronaldos, the Zidanes, the Henrys, but of guys like Conrad who are completely fun to follow and root for and you're glad as anyone to see them do so well.

2. Bruce Arena has been the most successful coach in US Soccer history, that's a given. He's brought a winning attitude and even has made a federation (appear) to have grown up, and believe me, I know from where I speak. He's uncovered dozens of players who 10 years ago would have never played for the national team (and not because they were probably 14 at the time) and created heightened expectations for us fans, which I'm grateful. He's even kind of a loud-mouth know-it-all, but we can give him the benefit of the doubt becuas ehe took us to the quarterfinals in 2002.

That said, it's time for a change. New blood is needed on the sidelines as well as the field. Clearly Bruce's guys, like Josh Wolff, Greg Berhalter, etc. etc. need to be gotten rid of and other guys should be tried. This may or may not be exclusively MLS guys, but having followed the game on both continents, MLS does a good job but it's nowhere near the level of European leagues, on and off the field. Got that, Don Garber? You can't deny the fact that MLS has worked wonders in its 10 years, but it's still totally irrelevent to mainstream America (and to a certain extent, this die-hard American soccer fan) and clearly not the ultimate step in developing your soccer star (see: Donovan, Landon).

MLS is fine; deep down, I love it, but deep down, why wouldn't you come to Europe, if only for a few years, and see what happens? And in that sense, let's give some guys who are doing great jobs forging their careers on their own (Jay DeMerit is certainly one name to spring to mind) as well as guys that have come up through the flawed American system. It needs to work both ways, and I wish MLS wouldn't get so uptight about it. Hello, I worked for two MLS teams, probably the best organizations — but would I work there past 22 years of age? Probably not. And so you can imagine how it might feel to be a Clint Dempsey.

3. This is getting long, so I'll try to end it simply: Europeans are idiots. The more I hear about English and French newspapers and fans whining about the play of their team, the more I wish they would just lose. France has guys like Zidane, Henry, Thuram, Vieira, Makelele, Ribery, etc., and their country doesn't deserve any of them. In 1998, the adidas ad on the Paris metro showed Zidane telling the fans "You're crap!" It wasn't until they made the semifinals that anyone actually started to care. Eight years later, the French have won everything and their fans are still crap. Seriously, just the thought of having France's bench and guys on holiday already makes my mouth water, let alone having someone like Henry or Zidane on the field at all times.

England's the same way. They are playing lousy and the press decides to slaughter the one guy who is actually doing something about finding ways to score goals, David Beckham. I can't wait until the day the US plays lousy and still gets to the quarterfinals. IT'S THE QUARTERFINALS OF A WORLD CUP! It's not easy to get there, you know? The English press makes me sick with their extreme highs and lows after every game — they are the epitome of the "only your last game counts" theory, and it's growing a little old.

With that said, Germany's fans are at least optimistic and knowledgeable about the game and their team that their excitement is justified. They just want to have a good time and sure are fun to be around unless, of course, Argentina beats them tomorrow!

Let's get caught up

Today was the first day without games since the tournament started, so it was a welcome sigh of relief not to have to plan my schedule around the World Cup. Ah, who am I kidding? I can't wait until Friday.

First off, some predictions: Germany tops Argentina, bringing the streets of Munich to absolute bedlam; Italy bores to death and beats Ukraine; Brazil beats France, France's coach still couldn't be more French-looking (and annoying to boot); England beats Portugal.

That's right. I said it. England beats Portugal! Well, I won't stake my life on it, but somehow England's route one, conservative, unwatchable at times football (that's right, I said it, "football") will actually advance. Here's why:


Off the pitch, it's been incredible seeing Germany....well, their soccer stores are amazing. I just purchased my jersey for the trip, a Puma Angola jersey! It's adorned with the number 10 and name "Akwa." I have no affiliation with Angola (aside from being a really fresh white boy), but they have one of the most original and coolest jerseys in the tournament. The name and number font is a fresh alternative to awful adidas lettering, and incredibly detailed. A work of art. Can't wait until South Africa 2010!

Espana.....a casa!

It's official: every team I root for will lose. The USA, Holland and now Spain. With that said, I'm now throwing my weight entirely behind Italy, for hope that those cheating scumbags get their come-uppance. But for now, some photos:


Before the Czech game, before we knew what hit us.



For the Italy game, we stayed in Mannheim, about 45 minutes away. The hotel was really nice, a smoking deal, but it had one odd flaw: the door to the bathroom was almost completely see-through. Privacy remains optional in Europe.



Me and Joe before the Italy game.



And after.


FIFA made the fans take down this Free Pablo (Mastroeni) banner before the Ghana game. Losers.



Before the Ghana game...before we knew what hit us.



With Joe's girlfriend Veronika, or Vroni, or Vronerl, at the Hofbrauhaus beer hall in Munich. And we aren't drunk, it just looks that way!



Mom will be so proud!

Germany wins, Mexico loses, USA still out

Forgive any typos this post may contain: Ryan's laptop screen now appears to only work at a 45-degree angle facing the keyboard. It's tough to see the monitor and type; so much so, that I typed that first sentence entirely without realizing my cursor wasn't in the text box. Anyways.....

I would be remiss not to describe a German game/victory here. Yesterday, Germany beat up on Sweden 2-0 and, I must admit, I'm starting to drink the German kool-aid. They are playing well, have a fantastic forward in Miroslav Klose (an aside: the Germany 2006 fanguide says it's okay to go up to Klose or "Balla" and say "hallo, Miro" without first addressing them with the formal "you," because, "after all, you've already seen them in their short-trousers") and a home crowd before them that's tough to argue against. Joe, lover of all things German and a guy that plans on staying here permanently, gets annoyed by this German "nationalism" because they bag on the US for doing it all the time and reserve theirs for World Cups. You see German flags hanging everywhere all around the country, and the place has a feel-good, ready-to-party vibe going. Put simply: it's great having the host in the quarterfinals of the World Cup because people are literally going nuts about it.

However, thanks to Germany's ugly past, this brings a feeling of unease. A good article, at least one that's a little more researched than mine, can be found here. Incidentally, this was written by Dallas Morning News writer Steve Davis, who we rode with on a train after the US-Czech game in Gelsenkirchen. You're welcome for the extra readers, Steve.

Germany will play Argentina in the quarterfinals on Friday, and the party could end abruptly for Jurgen's boys or carry on to an even serious level. Argentina toppled Mexico in extra time 2-1 last night, meaning zee Germans will face one of the most attractive (not with their looks, see Carlos Tevez) teams in the tournament.

rant alert: Is there anything dumber than extra time in soccer? The Euros tried golden-goal, or sudden death, before parrying it down to silver-goal and then eventually back to "let's bore everyone with 30 minutes between two tired teams no matter what." Argentina scores a fantastic goal a few minutes in, and instead of ending the game on a high note, we have to suffer through 20 more minutes of Mexico playing dirty and ultimately displaying their knack of not wanting to win an important game. I'm tired of Mexico getting hailed as playing wonderfully, but the bottom line is they have no killer instinct and their coach is a chain-smoking Argie who wears jeans and a sportcoat. I mean, who does he think he is? Pat Finley?

Meanwhile, the knives are out for Bruce Arena, with some justification. I doubt Bruce will be back: coaches hardly last one year, let alone eight and two world cups, at the international level and while he's done loads of good, it's probably time for a change. The biggest issue is the USA's offense, which was anemic aside from Clint Dempsey, who was one of the few to bring fearlessness into the game. Everybody is talking about Germany coach Jurgen Klinsmann, who commutes to Germany from Huntington Beach, and it wouldn't be a bad hire: he's experienced in the game, can accept challenges and he's a lot better-looking than Bruce. Then again, the guy I really want is Australia coach Guus Hiddink, but the dirty Russian mob...err, Russian federation has already signed him up after the cup. Is there a better guy at getting crappy soccer nations (Korea, Australia) to A) succeed and B) for fans to go nuts than Guus? Why wouldn't he want the job?

Maybe he's heard the asenine comments from Freddy Adu. Well played by his agents, by the way. Put the 17-year old kid who's mad that he didn't get much of a chance to go to the World Cup in front of everyone after the US lost to his birth country and let Tony Kornheiser fire questions like that at him. If and when Freddy doesn't turn out to be as good as he's been hyped, I think we'll all be able to point at his "representatives" for being total morons.

Hopefully tonight I'll be able to upload some photos so y'all can see. So check back. Go Oranje (Go Holland!)!

Rosenbaum: "This will not be my last World Cup"

Where to begin? The World Cup is over for the US and my conditional tickets to the next two rounds vaporized when the team was eliminated. That means, depending on what Aaron decides to do with his second round, quarterfinal and semifinal tickets (selling them would easily fund his trip), I won't be going to any more games.

With that in mind, we went out in style yesterday. Well, maybe not style, but we certainly made ourselves known at the party. Arriving in Nuremberg in the morning, we met up with Aaron and Miles and our new friends. Picture 10 Americans checking out the Nazi Rally Grounds, which lie right next to the stadium, all decked out in red, white and blue. And there were a lot of other people just like us there. I'm sure that's what Hitler envisioned: that one day, people of all nationalities and races would wear flags, paint their faces and trounce all over his decrepit grounds. The Rally Grounds weren't really impressive, as they are crumbling and not preserved whatsoever, but the pictures of it from Hitler's glory days were.

There's really only one place to go after a somber trip to a Nazi historic site, and that's a beer garden down the street! There we saw more German fans rooting for Ghana, but the number of fans was overwhelmingly American. A hilarious band played American classic rock hits, ultimately getting more and more cheesy as the evening later wound down.

It's funny how every World Cup game, and location, has its own vibe. Kaiserslautern was jam-packed; Gelsenkirchen was awesome on the day but is otherwise a terrible place to visit. Nuremberg? It just wasn't a terribly exciting place. It wasn't until you got into the stadium that you felt like you were at a terribly important sporting event.

The game itself: frustrating. Again, we gave up a crappy early goal and, what's worse, Claudio Reyna got injured and ultimately left the field for the last time for the US. It was fitting: he was playing well and then got injured. Beasley and Donovan were dreadful and can no longer be called golden boys of US Soccer. You just can't play that poorly in your second World Cup.

The same can't be said about Clint Dempsey. My man had a great tournament, and scored a great goal. He absolutely hammered it in, and his dancing afterwords was great. Of course, I didn't see it until replays, as me and Joe were going nuts. Then, three minutes later, we had a dubious PK called on Onyewu, and the rest is history.

We drowned our sorrows at the same beer garden outside the stadium. It was rather fun. After singing with English Fulham fans on the train ride back to the main station, we ended up losing Joe's brother Rick and our chances of making the 10:30 train back to Munich were looking slight. Finally, Joe found him and we were able to hop on board at the last second. On board, we were told by a friendly German fan that we had won a trip home and that we should take it soon, and later mumbled "Bush Bush Bush Bush Bush!" and left. Ah, Euros.

The saving grace of the evening was that Ronaldo (whose weight has given him the hilarious nickname "Rotundo") scored two goals. It wasn't actually a saving grace, but it did make me giggle about my dog. The real Ronaldo probably celebrated by following the sun around the house and taking naps. And like his namesake, he probably conned my father into giving him a few extra treats at dinner.

Nervous?

Never!

Okay, well, maybe a little. Tomorrow's the Ghana game and everything comes down to the final games of the group. After the 3-0 loss to the Czechs, it's really all we can ask for that the US has a chance to advance to the next round. It's nice that this game not only means something, but means everything. Ghana's a tricky team to figure out. Like all African teams, you never know what you're going to get. They can overwhelm us physically or get completely smoked. Judging by our first two games, we're not much more consistent — hopefully the motivated team that showed up against Italy takes the field in Nuremberg. It's arguably the biggest game the US has ever played, as they need to keep the boost from everybody watching and getting into the Italy game going. I've tried to do my part by biting my tongue around Italian fans, fearing that laying into them will allow bad karma and they'll lose to the Czechs. If the US wins and the Italians lose, meaning the US goes home, will I hate anybody more than those flopping drama-queens?

Haven't had anything significant happen over the last few days, and Blogger won't let me upload any photos so you can't judge for yourself whether I've gained weight from a steady diet of sausage and beer (probably not) or see me flipping off the advertisement that has 5-6 Italian players in their Dolce & Gabbana underwear. Just trying to recooperate from the emotional exhaustion from Saturday night (believe me, it took a few days). The major battle has been against the heat. I can't stress how much I yearn for that Arizona dry heat. It was a scorcher today, complete with that good old East Coast humidity, but fortunately it started pouring after the Portugal-Mexico (speaking of Mexico, has anybody dragged their asses more in a weak first round group and still gotten through to the second round than them? And then they'll still get the seed for 2010. The Dutch are going to roll them, light them and smoke them in the next round, then take LaVolpe's post-game cigarette. I'm not bitter) game and hasn't stopped, meaning the air in our air condition-less apartment will finally be pleasant tonight. I swear Joe and Veronika are going to start World War III in the next month over whether or not the windows should be open or closed (Germans prefer stuffy. Insert WW2 joke here).

Tomorrow's day starts early with a train to Nuremberg. We'll meet Aaron, Miles and their crew there and US-Ghana's at 4. Then it's back to Munich, late night, hopefully with a smile on our face. I carbo-loaded and drank plenty of fluids (not just beer) so I'll be ready.

P.S. Does anybody else think Ozzie Guillen was really talking about Italian soccer players?

Goosebumps?

From the top of the stadium, the view and sounds of the national anthem before the US-Italy game in Kaiserslautern.

The Italian Job

Sunday, June 18.....4:30 a.m.
On a night train on the way to Munich
Listening: Blackalicious '4000 Miles'

9:27 to 9:32.

Unless Shakira wakes me up with breakfast in Munich tomorrow, it's gonna be hard to top those five minutes Saturday night.

To recap: The United States, embarrassed in its opening 3-0 loss to the Czech Republic, came out swinging against Italy. After giving up another faulty opening goal, there was little quit in the Americans. Their fans, as well.

What happened was this: The Americans scored in the 2006 World Cup!

Okay, okay — it was an own goal, but who cares? The fact was, the Americans were on the board and had erased an early deficit against Italy. Our World Cup, thanks to a 2-0 Ghana win over the Czechs, was still alive.

For those scoring at home, I hate Italian soccer and the Italian soccer team. To me, they personify everything Americans hate about soccer — they're boring and defensive, they cheat and they pose for Dolce & Gabbana underwear ads. Today? Check. Check. Check. And Check.

Pure joy, that goal was. I don't get over-excited often. In fact, I'm normally remarkably calm to the point where I wonder if I have a pulse. But this time, I went over the top. Not that it mattered, since everybody else wearing red, white and blue did the same. This is why I'm here. I'm not here to boo Italian players who dive, act like they did something in the Iraq war or cry and get corner kicks when the linesman so obviously could only see they knocked it out of bounds themselves. Again, I hate Italian soccer. I'm sure the country is all good and nice, but I tend to think countries are similar to how they play soccer. Brazil is a big party. England is rude and boorish, but they somehow get the job done. And Italy? Well, do I really need to italicize it again?

I wish I could go all Nick Hornby right now on this keyboard, but the fact is, I'm still not really sure what to do after seeing the US score in the Cup in person. I saw Eric Wynalda score in Pontiac in 1994, Brian McBride score a late goal against Iraq in 1998 that really wasn't worth celebrating, and now this. I did what any straight, secure American male would do — grab Joe and have one of a few moments in the next hour that will easily qualify as "Most Homoerotic Moment" of the trip. I don't really remember much, except that I waited a good two or three seconds before going nuts to make sure it was really true. I'd find out later this is good advice.

Minutes later, with the US back in it and the crowd firmly on the good guys' side, Daniele De Rossi KO'd Brian McBride with an elbow. Brian McBride — is he drawn to these situations? We'd already seen Italians, most notably the 6-foot-5 Luca Toni, called a tough guy in Serie A, fall all over the field, only to get up when he noticed the call went his way. McBride? He classily walked off the field — on his own, by the way. Italy, take notes — received treatment, changed to a clean jersey and then went right back on the field throwing his body around even more. I hate to play the "Italians are pansies" card (oh wait, no I don't), but Italians are pansies. Italy's best player, Francisco Totti limped off as a substitute early, presumably suffering from fake suntan overexposure. McBride takes his lumps and keeps going.

Celebrating those five minutes was just incredible. One, the mighty, sit-on-a-1-0-lead Italians scored an own goal that gave the US life, and two, an Italian player's bluff had finally been called. Had the US gone on to win the game, I don't know if I'd be able to type right now.

Unfortunately, I'm sitting on an express train to Munich with just sparkling water in my system — I might as well have not drank anything, I feel so un-refreshed — and watching the sunrise across the German South (I haven't seen fog in ages). It's nearly impossible to sleep on this train because it is so bright.

I really need to see more replays to see how badly I think the US got screwed by the Uruguayan referee. Hold on, I need to see a replay. FIFA does a good job of not showing controversial replays at the stadium, which gave the stadium scoreboard operator an easy day as there were no doubt a handful of decisions I'd like to see again. We were too high up (second to last row) to see everything clearly, but the DaMarcus Beasley goal looked like a typical Italian job — two players going in hard for a 50-50 ball, the Italian crumbling while the American keeps playing, ultimately setting up a perfectly good goal. Maybe there was offsides later in the play, but again, I have no idea what happened. Joe and I were too tight in each other's embrace.

Notes:

• Kaiserslautern is a great venue for one of the most intense sporting events I've ever seen. However, there were some serious flaws. The stadium is way up on a hill and FIFA redirects you all the way around on the way up and brings you out in a narrow passage, seemingly one of two existing exits. We were seated way up on top of the stadium, and the only restroom and concession facilities were a couple of stories downstairs. If I ever get season tickets to 1.FC Kaiserslautern, remind me that section 20.4, row 69 is not the way to go. The train station is also tiny, and there was a great crush trying to get to the rail platforms (think Liverpool, late-80s). The city itself is fine and has a much better vibe than Gelsenkirchen.

• Special thanks to the two stewards who came to our row in search of someone who must have threw something. It's so high and the roof makes it impossible to throw anything on the field, but the stewards were right in my way for Kasey Keller's great save late in the game. Danke shein.

• Subtle highlight of the game: After his drop kick right in front of an injured Jan Koller against the Czechs, Kasey Keller was so furious after Pirlo got stretchered off the field that he drop-kicked a ball out of bounds that just missed him getting treatment and ended up hitting the linesman. Keller was very animated, towards the refs and trying to urge the crowd on even more.

• Playing 9-on-10 messed with the USA's gameplan, but Bruce Arena and the team did a great job getting the one point and making the Ghana game on Thursday very meaningful. True, we should have won, but the US defense did a great job making sure those conniving Itals didn't steal a cheap win. Jimmy Conrad, who came in after Eddie Pope picked up his second yellow card, did a great job, for one, and that's something nobody really expected. Gooch played great, too, but his sheer size is getting him in trouble, even if he doesn't mean for it to. This was what I feared most with him, that he would draw fouls when the forwards just crumbled after being touched by him.

• Paging Landon Donovan, paging Landon Donovan. A few good moments, but where's he been?

• It's too bad Clint Dempsey had to be substituted for strategic reasons. Clint was taking on defenders and looked very confident. Had he been given 90 minutes, he probably could have been the difference between a win and a tie.

• Met up with Miles Uhlar, a friend of Aaron's who I met in a Paris train station after the US lost to Germany in 1998. Miles was wearing a Red Wings hat that day, and I immediately hit it off with both of them and think it's amazing that here we are, eight years later. Pretty cool. For the record, Miles, a Detroit native, still wears a Red Wings hat.

• Italian pop music really sucks. Just thought I'd hammer that home.

Off to K-Town!

Friday we're back on the rails to Kaiserslautern, home to the USA's second match against the Italians. Now that the 3-0 loss to the Czechs has set in, I would love nothing more than for us to shove it up the Italians (expletive) (explitive). I believe it can still happen — quit your job and spend time, money and effort coming over to Europe for a month and your definition of "delusional" changes — but it will obviously be difficult. Question 1 and 1A is how the Americans can break down an Italian defense that is the reason why people hate soccer (ie They're good and boring...and they fix matches, their fans can be racist and their players are women. God, I hate Italy. Be loud, be proud, Doyle).

Obviously it appears Eddie Johnson will get the start and Landon Donovan will be moved back to midfield, which brings up the point that bearded Landon Donovan is a far superior player than Landon with no beard. Landon was clean-shaven on Monday and touched the ball maybe four times, so in hope that he turns it around and shows up the last two games, I've vowed not to shave. I'm a little concerned about him. There really isn't much to dislike about Germany. The food is very underrated, the beer is fantastic, the quality of life is great and he was undoubtedly making a cushy living — and they get 30 days of vacation and 15 national or regional holidays, paid! — he's bailed twice here before and I'll be damned if he makes it three.

The first batch of games is in the books, and it should be no surprise that the best team in the first games was Spain. Actually, that should be a complete surprise, as the Spanish always frustrate at big events. I guess this is reasonable — you'd find it hard to really give it all when half of your country is bombing the other half — but Wednesday Spain laid the wood to Ukraine and was by far the most enjoyable team to watch. On the flipside, my tournament dark-horse Sweden finally decided to score and knock Paraguay out of the Cup with one match to play. Unfortunately this will make it difficult for Trinidad and Tobago to advance out of the group, leaving CONCACAF with just Mexico to fly the flag, unless the Americans pull off a miracle.

Anyway, tomorrow Joe's brother Rick gets in — already, he's served as a lightning rod for Mitch Hedberg jokes ("I wish I hadn't seen RICKY, on the SIDEWALK!" etc) before setting foot on the continent — and we're making sure he dives in head-first. We head to Mannheim, a town 45 minutes east of Kaiserslautern and where we are staying Friday night, and then Kaiserslautern for the Yanks Abroad Red, White & Brew supporter's bash. At 15 euros for all you can drink and eat, I recommend flying over here ASAP to take advantage. We realized that Saturday's game is at 9pm and there's no sense in getting a hotel, so we're taking a late night train back to Munich after the game and getting back Sunday morning. If Rick can't sleep by then, there's really nothing else we can do.

Extreme Mini-Golf

Taking a break from football before watching England-Trinidad, we went miniature golfing at the Olympic Park. In what should surprise nobody, mini golf in Europe isn't exactly like mini golf in the States. It's played on concrete (yes, concrete) and the holes are infinitely more fun. I couldn't really explain this hole, so check out the video. Joe thought he was funny by heckling me, and I thought I cruised to victory but it apparently went Flo, Joe and then me. I think it's a big conspiracy, as I was keeping score in German to learn some of the language. Silly krauts.

Deutschland 1, Poland 0

Watched the Germany-Poland match tonight in a jam-packed beer garden. If anyone is ever in Munich, and for all accounts you all should try to visit, I highly recommend visiting one or all of the several throughout the town. Germany snatched a late winner to assure advancement to the second round, and the horns are honking up and down the streets of Munich. The subway back to the apartment was loud and colorful, as otherwise-private German fans showed some national pride (irking Joe to the nth degree) and let their hair down in celebration. Tomorrow is a national holiday (not because they won tonight), so I'm guessing the horns will continue to blare through the night. They say a World Cup is best when the host country is doing well, and I really couldn't agree more. However, I'd trade a Germany win in for a US win over Italy any day of the week!

Now I just need to convince my friends here to go out and celebrate. Typical — I don't speak any German and have zero vested interest in the place, yet I'm wearing a fresh Germany jersey around town and the most excited about the home country's win.

Finally, a good luck to my good friend Connor Doyle. For those of you that don't know him, Doyle (Diesel) is a smart, irritable, irrational and argumentative friend of mine. He's also moving to Italy for the foreseeable future, so I wish him all the best. You better really start to like soccer, Doyle, and I hope you brought a good supply of deodorant.

Sweet Home Bavaria

Tuesday, June 13th
Where: On a train, just past Mannheim on the way to Munich
Listening: To whatever waiting four years and spending countless amounts of time, energy and effort waiting for something that ends up 3-0 in under two hours sounds like. That, and Jack Johnson.

Okay, so the first US game didn't go as planned. In fact, it didn't go anywhere near as planned. But more on that later. The trip up to Gelsenkirchen wasn't without its fun, however. In fact, the only thing that sucked about it was the three goals by an opportunistic Czech team that managed to send us to last-place in the tournament and all but assuring our early return home.

Since there's nowhere really to start, and too many things to really determine a hierarchy of importance, chronologically is the only way to go. The trip started in earnest Sunday morning in Munich. While looking around for where we needed to go to catch our train at the station, I completely walked across a stack of newspapers a guy was selling. Much funnier — you had to be there.

On our way up, we were seated next to a few American fans. A good sign while traveling to watch your country play soccer in a foreign land is a few friendly faces and some American flags worn as capes. A couple walked on wearing white #06 jerseys. Her's said "McBride" on the back, so the 06 wasn't an oversight on there part (he's #20), but a cool way to remember the trip. He was wearing the same jersey, same number and everything. They told us they were on their honeymoon and traveling across Europe to watch the US games (lucky bastard, this guy). Better yet, his jersey read "McGroom." They were from Santa Barbara and die-hard fans, to say the least.

Another good sign was a guy from Purdue who, we found out later (and, quite frankly, scared us) is a physics major there and doing the backpacking tour of Europe. He was saying how badly he wanted tickets to the game but was unlucky in his search, to which I peaked my head around the chair and told him about our two extra tickets. 100 Euros later, or just slightly above face value, I sold him the pair and absolutely made his trip. He was definitely going to have a good time, be rowdy and I just don't have the heart to charge an American fan (a good one, anyway) anywhere near the going-rate for the tickets. This good-natured behavior seemed stupid when Aaron would later sell three extra tickets to a Czech fan and a random scalper for 600 euros. Or, roughly, one and a half times what he paid for tickets to all the games. Grrrr....

Upon reaching Gelsenkirchen, to catch what we could of Holland-Serbia&Montenegro, we were struck for the first time that Gelsenkirchen is an absolute hole and is searching for enlistment on the top five crappiest cities in Europe. Actually, it's not that bad, just everything that one might find bad about Europe. The street near the station was hopping, but in general it was just crappy gift shops and kebab stands drumming up the business. Eurotrash was everywhere, it should go without saying. The city, visibly, has two things going for it: 1) it's spectacular soccer stadium — the Veltins Arena, home of Schalke 04, which features a retractable roof and pitch, for optimum condition and for the stadium's multi-purpose use — and 2) a completely indescribable abundance of hot chicks in a place that there's absolutely no reason to have a completely indescribable abundance of hot chicks. True, most of them were probably just skanky teenagers, and as Aaron's friend Carl said, might as well be from Jersey (he's a Jersey natives, and knows from where he speaks), but it was quite surprising.

After finding a decent place to catch what little we could see of the TV, we headed to Muenster, our base for the next two nights. Muenster couldn't be more different than Gelsenkirchen; it's pretty, relaxed, there's historical and cool sights, has a lot of students and is almost completely cheese-free (and I'm not talking about the dairy). After a harrowing bus ride — to give you an idea of how quiet this town of 50,000+ students is, it was not a stretch to say there were more people on the bus from the station than we would see the rest of the night — we were bounced all over the place by our extremely rough driver and steaming hot due to a recent and unexpected heat wave and the European's laissez-faire attitudes about air conditioning. After some getting lost, we found Joe's friend Steffi's house and went out to dinner. The town is really nice — it definitely has a Cambridge/Oxford vibe — and Steffi and her roommate Elstrid (spelling?) gave us a very insightful tour. They were proud to have guests visit and be curious about the place.

I was feeling adventurous at dinner and ordered the blood sausage (inside joke alert: I know it's past visiting hours, but can I please give you this...blood sausage). I wasn't a huge fan — I couldn't get the image or taste of blood out of my head and mouth — and was described as "brave" by the girls. Blood sausage is not restricted to the Basque country, by the way, and is considered a very Westfalian (the state we were in) meal.

Sleeping was easy that night. It was a long day, we probably were smelling quite ripe and the game was the next day. Monday, we got decked out and walked around Muenster wearing our jerseys and flags. The town seemed like it could care less about the World Cup, so nobody was amused by our outgoing behavior.

In Gelsenkirchen, obviously the mood was quite different. Americans were out in full force, and impressively so. Walking around Gelsenkirchen before we met Aaron at the station, we reconfirmed the fact that the town still blew, but at least the World Cup fever overshadowed any of that. To tie his flag as a cape, Joe wandered into a shop that sold mostly Arab trinkets and such, and bought a necklace. We have no idea what the necklace means, but we made sure to be well out of sight of the store before we went chopping it up and using it with an American flag.



We met Aaron and Dawn (and Carl) and immediately headed right out of the train station to Hibernia, a bar where American fans were congregating before the game. This was the place I was looking for yesterday, but of course, being so easy to find, we walked right past it. Today, the square was jam-packed with American fans, dressed in everything from Elvis costumes to Captain America to a giant hot dog suit. Tops were 5-6 guys dressed as the Harlem Globetrotters, complete with a bag that played the theme song non-stop.



We had a beer and caught up inside, where we met Grant Wahl and Jonah Freedman of Sports Illustrated. Wahl is easily my favorite soccer writer, and I enjoy his college basketball work too. He was incredibly friendly and sat with us while he ate his lunch. We talked about the game, why Mustafa Shakur is staying in the NBA Draft, etc. etc.



Outside again, the US fans were singing and cheering and basically overtaking this little square. It was by far the best spectacle of American soccer support I and anybody else had ever seen (it brought one guy wearing a Ben Olsen to tears at least twice), and an all-around excellent prelude to the first game. My favorite cheer was "You can shove Pavel Nedved up your ass! You can shove Pavel Nedved up your ass! You can shove Pavel Nedved, shove Pavel Nedved, shove Pavel Nedved up your ass!"

The trek to the stadium was, sadly, nowhere near as much fun. The bus was pretty jammed and it took forever to go a few kilometers. It was a good mix of fans, nobody starting anything until some drunk 16-year old Czech kid walked on a few stops in. He decided it would be funny/smart to yell obscenities to every American and mention "Vietnam!" "Iraq!" etc. etc. He left one stop later after someone yelled "USSR!" at him, which was well-received.

God bless the orderly system they have here at World Cup stadiums, but getting to our seats in Gelsenkirchen was a serious pain in the ass. One, we had to walk clockwise all the way around the stadium to get to our gate, and two, it was poorly marked. We did get to see the US team bus come in (the only team without a flag on it for security reasons) but high above from a distance. It remains whether to be seen whether DaMarcus Beasley was actually on the bus or not.


The gorgeous Veltins Arena, errr, FIFA World Cup Stadium Gelsenkirchen

After a pre-match meal of a brat and Coke (Coke in a World Cup stadium...FAN-tastic), and watching Australia pull three goals out of the hat late to beat Japan, and the moment was getting closer and closer. US fans clearly outnumbered Czech fans, despite some idiot reporter from the Boston Herald later bitching to us that American fans need to pick one color and stick to it, and we even had some good, loud chants and songs.



I'll admit, I had a good feeling about the game. The Czechs were aging, hurt and primed for an upset — much like Portugal four year ago. At worst, I felt we'd tie. Don't get me wrong — I was nervous as all hell, especially as the game got closer and I couldn't believe I was actually and finally here. Then BAM! Five minutes in and Koller scores. Haven't seen too many replays of the goal, but it's hard to fault Eddie Pope for not beating him to the ball when the Czechs can run free down the right and get a perfect cross into a guy that's at least 6-foot-7, in my opinion.

Despite being down 1-0, the US was maintaining control and putting some good combinations together. Claudio Reyna, for one, is very fun to watch live. You don't pick up his positioning and passing as easily on TV, and his field vision and ability to ping the ball around from the middle is really a joy to watch. I thought for sure his shot was going in, too. It was right in line with us, and another half-inch to the right, it's 1-1 and a completely different game. But, much like in France 98, the post was unfriendly and it ended up being a huge difference-maker.

Tomas Rosicky hit an absolute bomb to make it 2-0, and you really can only chalk it up to being an incredible strike. Down 2-0 at halftime, yet I'm still confident that we can turn it around.

I was probably one of the few optimists around in the second half, but the Czechs' defending (they almost always had 10-11 guys behind the ball and there were literally no lanes to make things happen) made sure I walked out of the stadium deflated. The third goal was nothing except to make our goal difference almost impossible to overcome and to give us the worst loss in the tournament so far. Great. Dead-last.

Afterwards, we stayed away from the mob-scene that was the bus and tram system, walking halfway back to town before catching a bus at Fan Fest. We were down, but not without our spirit. This may have been helped by Czech fans taking baths in a dirty pool that surrounded a building (not only were there no US fans in it, we were all repulsed by the idea of it all). Dawn, a pregnant woman wearing sandals, led the charge and set a blistering pace we didn't try to keep up with. At a crowded gas station, we refuelled with some badly-needed water.

The town was still abuzz from the game. Oddly, there weren't many Czech fans celebrating. Dejected Americans downed a few beers and we watched Italy beat Ghana 2-0. The highlight, or at least funniest moment, was when a waitress dumped an entire tray of beer on this poor little Czech girl who was so proud to be wearing her jersey. I've never seen so much beer spilled, and I'm sure it's scarred this girl for life.

-----NOW BACK IN MUNICH-----

Perhaps the two funniest moments of the evening happened back at the Hibernia pub later in the night. A group of American fans were heckling another group of American fans because two guys were wearing Beasley jerseys. This set off a minor argument that was quickly quelled, but added gasoline to the fire later on. In the middle of this, a guy at another table spontaneously combusted and stood up, tore apart his game ticket and yelled "DIE TICKET, DIE!" Unfortunately, this was overshadowed by two groups heckling each other some more, then out of nowhere, a guy in one group yells at a guy in the other group "Hey faggot in the tanktop! Faggot in the tanktop!" which was said in an almost girly way that me and Joe continue to giggle at it. Anyways, the two groups (of American fans) exchange words and try to fight, which did not please the peaceful group of Czechs at the table next to them. Seemingly the problem was over, but on our way back to the train station (which is no more than a block away), the two sides met again and provided us with even more entertainment.

We took the same train to Muenster with Grant Wahl and Steve (last name?) from the Dallas Morning News. They gave us some tidbits and comments about post-game reaction from the locker room. To neither of our surprise, Beasley and Donovan were called out for their bad performances by Arena, and Beasley will be lucky to see the field the rest of the World Cup for his play and negative comments in the media. It was a nice come-down from the hilarity and drunkenness of the arguing American fans, not to mention good company on the otherwise boring 45-minute trip to Muenster at 1:30 in the morning.

More details to come if I remember them as being noteworthy or funny, but I'm tired from a long day on the rails. We're back in Munich, which really felt like coming home. We watched Brazil-Croatia and laughed at the German commentator's continuous slagging on Ronaldo's weight. A great strike from Kaka was the difference in the game. Thoughts....incoherent.

Eng-er-lund, Eng-er-lund, Eng-er-lund

Tomorrow (Sunday) we head to Gelsenkirchen, spending the night in nearby Muenster. It should go without saying that I'm excited to train to the first game (albeit a six-hour journey) and see the US take on the Czech Republic Monday evening. It's been quite a long wait and finally it's almost here, but at the same time, I like the anticipation almost as much as the actual event.

Today's games were, in a nutshell, pretty dull. England-Paraguay turned out to be one of your typical Sven Goran Eriksson affairs, without the added excitement of it actually being a high-profile affair. Winning 1-0 on a 3rd minute own goal sure must not be as fun to Sven as his afinity for sex, lies and hidden microphones by reporters pretending to be Dubai shieks. I was disappointed in England. I think, if Wayne Rooney and Michael Owen get completely healthy, they could win it all, but their route-one football and continuation of using Owen Hargraves to kill off a game makes watching the Three Lions as enjoyable as watching Washington State basketball. And the English will nonetheless put down the US at some point for their athleticism, fitness and determination. Funny how that works.

We watched the game at a beer garden in the English Gardens, a nice big park that's enjoyable to ride a bicycle around before partaking in an afternoon beer, bratwurst and pommes frites (french fries). Problem was, the screen was hard to see during the day, and the ridiculous shadows at the Frankfurt stadium made it even worse. I was yearning for the days of Fox Trak where they lit the hockey puck.

Sweden-Trinidad & Tobago finished 0-0. That's about as much as I can say about it. But go T&T.

The evening could have been salvaged with Argentina-Cote d'Ivoire (that's Ivory Coast to you non-Francophones), but while the Elephants were tantalising at times, ultimately they left you disappointed. And thank you, thank you, that was today's effort at trying to sound like a snobby European journalist.

Off the field, it was a fun day. As mentioned, me and Kathi rode around Munich on bikes before meeting her friend (Anna?) at the beer garden. Of the four or five beer gardens in the park (yes, it was that big, and yes, the Germans take their drinking that seriously), we picked the most crowded one, unfortunately. On the walk/ride back, drunk Germans continued singing that song that sounds like "Oh the games people play," just without words. When I mentioned that every German soccer song lacks coherency or words, the girls said it came in handy when one was under the influence. Point taken.

Veronika and Kathi are going to a club tonight (it's 12:15am and we haven't left yet) and have convinced me to go. European dance clubs are cheesy, irritating and repulsive — and feature off the charts comedy, unintentional or not. Count me in! If we ever get out of here, and judging by our 9am train that's getting closer and closer with each word I type, that's more and more unlikely. I'm sure I'll have some stories if we do. Unfortunately, you may have to wait for them. Internet access up in the Gelsenkirchen area is not guaranteed until we return to Munich on Tuesday (There's my intinerary, J), so news on the USA's impending rout of the dirty Czechs might be on hold.

YESTERDAY'S NOTE: In the first note, I called Muncheners "Munchers" completely accidental, but I was so amused upon reading it I didn't want to change it.

I got the magic stick

Quick thoughts from Day One of the Cup:

- Nothing beats watching the host country on a big screen with 20,000 or so of your local Munchers. As my brother said, you could almost smell the B.O. back in America.

- The tournament motto should change from "A Time to Make Friends" to "A Time to Get Drunk." Honestly, I don't want to imagine if this sort of thing of it happened in America, but here it somehow works. Yyou can fortunately just side-step the drunk people (or at least just shove them while they sway into you and later high-five with everyone around you when a Tico knocks the beer out of his hand and forces him to get lost trying to buy another).

- Cars are still honking on the streets of Munich. It's just Costa Rica, guys....

- Nice effort, Poland. Glad those combined 20+ corners and free kicks in the final third paid off against a team that was probably at least 4 inches shorter than you at every position. Way to make it happen. (Who am I kidding? Screw Poland!)

- How about the Ecuadorian goalie's facepaint? Looks like he stopped off at Fan Fest before the game.

- I won the award for most obscure jersey in a place where everyone was wearing one. My #11 Patschinksy from the 2003 U-20 World Cup earned me anywhere from a friendly "Who the f&#! is Patschinsky?!" to a guy who knew he played in a Hamburg second-division team. For the record, that man also bought me a beer.

- German studio analyst Christophe Daum is the ugliest man on television (well, one that was paid to. You're exempt, Lorenzo Mata). Don't believe me? Sooooo German.

- Funny conversation: talking about Dirk Nowitzky to a guy while his friend, obviously obliterated and unable to speak any other English other than a 50 Cent song, was carrying a pink magic wand that lit up and repeatedly waving it in my face saying "I got the magic stick! I got the magic stick!"

Vamoooooos! Vamos, Los Ticoooooooooos!

Today's the day. Not wanting to miss out on any of the action, I took the U-bahn (subway) down to the Marienplatz to soak up a little pre-game atmosphere. I wasn't left disappointed, as there were plenty of Ticos and obviously a lot of Germans (who easily go down as the team whose fans have the most predictable look: jersey, bad German flag hat, scarf, flag tied around their wrist, ripped jeans, beer in hand). If you weren't paying attention, and no doubt some of you are, you would think today's game was a cut-throat battle between Germany vs Costa Rica vs Mexico. Yes, Mexico is out in full force, yet none of them seem to know where or when they play their first game (which might explain why they're in Munich). For the record, they play Iran on Sunday in Nurenburg, which isn't far away so they can be forgiven.

A sizeable chunk of the Costa Rican population must be here in Munich. Their fans have a good time, and all wear the same red jersey and hat. The most popular jersey is Paulo Wanchope's, and it's quite possible he could be enjoying himself on the square as we speak instead of, you know, playing the game (he has a tendancy to hide). As for who has the best songs, you be the judge:



The Germans, predictably, are uptight and nervous about the start of the World Cup. They're fully confident of sweeping aside the Ticos, even with Michael Ballack on the bench with a calf injury. Every German fan's scapegoat appears to be manager Jurgen Klinsmann, who has unfairly taken the blame for Germany's worst team (on paper) in two generations. Ballack is the only star and they'll suffer when he's out, relying on a bunch of guys who otherwise aren't really worth mentioning. Now, the star and manager are butting heads in the media, so who knows how this will all play out. Recent history tells us that managers under pressure before the Cup (Aime Jacquet of France in 98, Guus Hiddink of Korea and Phil Scolari of Brazil in '02) can become national heroes, and despite the criticism of Klinsmann's ways, the German fans would more than love to heil — excuse me, hail — him as their new hero. Unlikely, though. Quarterfinals for sure, but no further (and only because FIFA is clearly rigged).



The US game is in three days. More importantly, I travel to Gelsenkirchen in two. While Germany, Costa Rica and Mexico dominated the landscape in fans in Munich, the US was well represented and a respectable fifth after Brazil. If the numerous sports shops in the center sold anything more than a single US jersey, hat and t-shirt (in comparison to pretty much anything you want for Brazil), there'd be more. My personal favorite was the #9 US jersey. But instead of Eddie Johnson, it was right-back Steve Cherundolo, who definitely will never wear #9 or play up front. Nice try, though.

Every World Cup has songs that almost become one with the event (the Ricky Martin video in 98, the "LIttle Less Conversation" by Elvis in 2002, for example), and this summer should be no different. Among the songs competing for the top honor, judging by the "Energy!" radio station here, are: Shakira and Wyclef, "Hips Don't Lie," Juanes "Adios Le Pido," Black Eyed Peas "Mais que Nada" (typical BEP, updating an old song, but it's catchy) and that Rihanna "SOS" song. My bet is on the Shakira song, because no matter where you are, the hips certainly don't lie. Incidentally, Toni Braxton (Toni Braxton?!) sings the official song, which I have yet to hear.

Well, my feet are rested from a morning and early afternoon of pounding the pavement. Maybe a quick nap and I'll head to Olympiapark to get a seat for the game.

Shocker: "Hips don't lie" just came on. Although she does make a brother want to speak Spanish....

One day away, and I'm on a roll

Having learned my lesson from yesterday's blown photo-op with Carlos Valderrama, I made sure to have my camera with me at all times. It paid dividends immediately, as walking through the Olympic Park and the Fan Fest, I ran into Drew Carey! I was stopping to look at some postcards, completely randomly, when the guy at the booth was trying to buy Bayern Munich gear. The voice was totally recognizable, and the black glasses confirmed it was him. After he bought a really ugly Bayern hat and a ball, I struck up a conversation with him, thanked him for his promotion of soccer and, more particularly, the national team, and one of his camera crew guys snapped our photo. Totally random.

Figuring that was as good as it would get, I walked into the ginormous official World Cup store. I resisted the urge to buy face paint, which I'm not really sure why, and got the first in a series of World Cup souvenirs, a poster of the logo. It's not really spectacular, but it's still really cool. Now I can just leave it here in Munich until I go so I don't have to worry about traveling with it.

Leaving Fan Fest, I walked up to the top of Olympic Park to snap some pictures of breathtaking Munich. Okay, not breathtaking, but still very nice. On my way up, a camera crew was doing a TV spot. Upon walking closer, I noticed that the microphone said ESPNHD and, sure enough, it was Rob Stone doing a promo for the World Cup nightly show.



Guess which one's not wearing makeup.

Anyway, I joked around with him after one of his takes, saying something like "I thought you worked from the back room in Bristol, Stoner." He was quite friendly, even after I dropped a "You're the second most famous person I've met in the last 15 minutes" on him. After a quick talk about Tucson, the upcoming US games and the strong pre-World Cup production work done by ESPN (which he claims to have no role in), we took a picture together and I hoofed to the top of Olympic Park for some nice but ultimately unmemorable photos and views. Yesterday, it was Valderrama. Today, Drew Carey and Stoner. Depending on your viewpoint, my celebrity sightings are getting more or less impressive by the day. Of course, Joe is off to Dusseldorf for the Tool concert tonight, so he missed out on everything. Sucker.

Get Caught Up

So...I've been to Germany for a few days and now the wireless at the apartment I'm staying in is up and running on my computer. But fear not, I've been updating my journal as normal, so now you can get caught up. Enjoy and check back often!


Wednesday, June 7, 10pm
Where: Couch, Munich
Listening: City sounds of Munich

I'm sleepy, and I'm tired of walking. On the bright side, I did get to see a lot of Munich today. Joe arrived this morning, battle-weary from the travel but ready to have a go at seeing the sights. We went to the main square, whose name escapes me now (Odeonplaatz?) but I'm sure I'll be well familiar with it soon, and ate sausages and drank a giant beer. A giant, delicious beer. Munich is teeming with all kinds of World Cup merchandise, to which we gladly took the opportunity to peruse at any and all times. No purchases yet other than an intertwining Nike livestrong band in the colors of the USA (red and blue, fyi). We are so trendy.

The highlight of the day, or at least funniest moment, was when we were walking around. I glanced ahead and noticed a big, fuzzy mop of hair in front of me. Without thinking, as the moment was very quick, I noticed it was Carlos Valderrama and immediately blurted out "Hey, Carlos Valderrama!" He said "Hey" and shook my hand, and we continued walking in our separate directions. This entire transaction took place in literally two seconds, but it'll give me a lifetime of memories. Unfortunately, I didn't have my camera on me, and I griped about it for the rest of the day. Oh well. Maybe the hilarity of it happening in 1.7 seconds makes it better than it really was.

We actually ate Mexican food for dinner, and it wasn't bad. Who knew the good folks at Tapa-Tapa would recreate authentic quesadillas? Not bad at all. The only bad thing was the big screen projection TV (we were outside, but it showed TV on the wall) had the USA-Germany game from 2002 playing in full. It was essentially the German way of infuriating me and Joe, who saw the handball on the goalline as if it were happening live.

Back at Veronika's apartment now, ready for bed. I was good for most of the day, but I still have some jet lag, but we did a lot of walking today so maybe it's not all travel-related effects. Regardless, I'm beat, and tomorrow's another day (or "World Cup Eve," so technically not just another day). Night!




Tuesday, June 6, 2:50 p.m.

Where: On the rails, somewhere between Stuttgart and Munich
Listening: The Roots 'Phrenology'

I'm literally typing this with the sole intention of trying to stay awake for the last 90 minutes of my haul. I certainly can't complain about the comfort of the Deutsch Bahn Inter-City Express trains, a comfortable, smooth and astonishingly quiet ride. Unfortunately, after the Frankfurt to Stuttgart leg, we've turned around and I'm now traveling backwards. Normally this isn't a bother; but after 26-odd hours of traveling with spotty sleep, it's like I might as well be reading in the dark.

Speaking of reading, my high school English teachers (who once believed I had a future as a teacher or at the very least a boy well-versed in the finest literary works) will be glad to know that, when I need some reading material, the Bild Sport World Cup preview issue (English version) jumped out at me at the airport train station. It's 146 pages of fantastic coverage and even more fantastic German-to-English translation.

Anyway, the rest of the flight went smooth. Landing at Frankfurt's imposing airport, I knocked off a few things I needed to do (get a phone card, get in contact with Veronica and Kathi despite not writing down their numbers, therefore needing to track down internet access, and the German rail World Cup special pass that allows for unlimited travel). Figuring that today, and probably tomorrow, was a complete bust — not literally, of course — I put that Weltmeister Pass to work and am headed to Munich. I have four weeks here....let's ease into things, okay? So I'm meeting Veronica (who shall be referred to herein as 'Vroni,' her nickname) at the Munich train station and will probably do little more than sleep the next two days. I must admit, the impressive bridge of Oliver Kahn at the Munich airport was a deciding factor to my day-earlier-than-expected arrival — now I can go with Vroni to pick up Joe tomorrow and see this thing.

I like Germany so far. I always find it strange, but somehow adjusting to the cleanliness of Northern Europe (ie Holland and Germany, but probably the other countries I've never visited, too) to be hard to grasp. About the only thing grimy here is me — man, I can't wait to shower, brush my teeth, change clothes and, most of all, sleep. I love the design of Germany and Holland public areas and buildings, and it was a startling reminder to walk out to the open-ended train platform all hot from the trek with the backpack, only to freeze when I took off my fleece jacket. Ah, Northern Europe.Stay layered, Frankfurt.

Another odd thing is not being on US Soccer time on arrival. I admit it was great not having to worry about accounting for 25+ giant bags at the baggage claim. Just me, man (although the contents of my bag, while not nearly the same volume, consists of essentially any self-respecting US Soccer fan would take to a World Cup). One worry is my complete lack of preparation for this country: I speak none of the language, and I already resorted to hand signals when buying a phone card (which are fantastic, by the way — the phone cards, not the hand signs). And while I have a reasonable grasp on German geography, I can't stop reaching for the map at any time curiosity or doubt creeps into my mind of where I am or where I'm headed. I'm guessing that, with four weeks here, I'll have a good understanding of the haps here. Then again, they just might be screwing themselves over if the keep printing these English World Cup magazines....






Monday, June 5, 2006

Where: 32,000 feet over the Labrador Sea, east of Newfoundland
Listening: Guru's Jazzmatazz Vol. 1

The trip began in earnest at 5 this morning, with Ronaldo awaking me with licks and half-howls. It was too early for him, yet he was still excited to see me (but perhaps not see me off). I consider myself a good traveler, and despite the fact that my once-routine inter-continental last took place over two and a half years ago (oddly, from Frankfurt), I was quite at ease with the prospects of spending 20 hours crammed into coach. Granted, I've been waiting for this day for the last two years, so suddenly all the working and school and not having any weekends seemed to have finally paid off. Last night was my last at the Star. I'll admit I was happy to walk out of there one last time, but the future, be it the USA's chances in the Group of Death or my own (though the two are heavily intertwined), is always a little scary. Fortunately, I've been down this road before. I can't believe I was finished with my freshman year of college EIGHT YEARS AGO. That's nuts.

Anyway, the trip has been welcomingly uneventful. Unknowingly scored an exit row for the Houston to Newark leg, which I'm really reminiscing at the moment. The lasagna was delicious and eaten at a much better pace than my McDonald's was at the Newark airport. I may have had a tight connection, but travel experience tells me no international flight boards on time or quickly, so I was able to score a few precious minutes of iPod charging and final calls to my mom and sister. I cannot believe Julie and Chris begin driving to Tucson on Wednesday. Actually, I'm more amazed I will miss the whole experience from the comforts of home — unless Verizon messes up and grants me international cell phone usage, I'll miss hearing stories of how J is bored along I-70. When I return, they'll have been living in Tucson for a few weeks, which is even stranger. In a good way, of course.

Not one to partake in an in-flight movie (the Houston to Newark leg featured a movie with Lindsay Lohan and Rachel McAdams, which I watched without sound for some time before realizing the girls weren't them, and about 14 years old to boot...I'm guessing it was something about traveling pants then) I've devoured the latest Sports Illustrated and FourFourTwo. I certainly won't miss the Barry Bonds steroids talk or the NBA Finals, which feature a Dallas Mavericks team I'm programmed to despise, simply because they have Stackhouse and Van Horn and about another dozen useless players. I'm convinced Antoine Walker will switch sides during the Finals. One conclusion I've come to in my readings: SI and ESPN have done a good job with pre-World Cup coverage. The 'Levels of Fandom' feature is well worth the read.

So now I'm wide awake, which isn't all bad considering there's (according to the brilliant and at the same time maddening in-flight moving map) 4 hours and 43 minutes till we land. That gives me plenty of time to sleep after I watch a little Eurotrip. Yes, it just seemed appropriate for the trip!

A few videos to get started