Switching from NL to Spain at Bear Tooth World Cup Showing

In 1990 we were in Hong Kong for the World Cup in Rome.  That meant the games began around 2 or 3 am.  For the three or four weeks of the World Cup, Hong Kong workers came to work sleepier than normal.  My son was part of this obsession.

Since we don't have cable at home, I don't watch much sports, but after being in Berlin on a couple of football Saturdays in May, I did pay attention to the world cup this year and even saw  bits of games if they were on while we were out somewhere.

Since about 700 million were reportedly going to watch this game around the world, it seemed like I should join in on this communal world activity. The ADN said it was free at the Bear Tooth, doors opening at 10.   So I got there at 10.

The line already went all the way around the building.


















Someone was passing out tickets as I looked for the end of the line so I took one. 






The man sitting next to me was from Barcelona and he overheard me when I called my son and answered Holland when he asked who I was rooting for. J was too, I think because Gus was rooting for Spain. "Are you from Holland?" the man asked. Then he told he he was from Barcelona and he'd met the Spanish players from Barcelona because they were friends of friends.









Then it began.  A few people in front stood up for the Dutch national anthem and it was clear there was a Dutch contingent - even a woman wearing a very Dutch white cloth hat.

Choosing the Dutch was pretty arbitrary.  I didn't really have a reason to go either way and after a while it sure looked like Spain was playing much better ball and the Dutch were pretty rough.  And in American sports, male players are supposed to act very macho and not show any signs of pain when they're down.  I'd been hearing about the acting talent of the World Cup players, and today I got to see it.  Every fall was a life threatening injury of great agony until the ref called the penalty (or not), then the player was up and fine.

Until the Dutch player de Jong kicked Xabi Alonso in the chest.  Watch it yourself on this YouTube. (It's only ten seconds.) It was terrible. 




I'd already found that my body, despite my decision, was rooting for Spain, and with this kick to the chest, my body and my head got back together.


So, when Andres Iniesta scored a goal for Spain with about two minutes left in extra time, I cheered loudly with the other Spain supporters.








Then I retrieved my bike from the crowded rack and rode home.