World Cup #1: USA vs. Portugal

When I think back on this, here is what comes to mind:

Screaming, “Oh, my God!” at the top of my lungs about 1,000 times during the course of the 90 minute game. Really.

Getting so excited I jumped out of my seat and almost knocked Daniel (twice my size) over at least three times during the game. (okay, he did just break his foot, so I probably should have been more careful…)

Shivering as the national anthem was played before the game.

Being absolutely incredulous that I could read the players’ jerseys, see their expressions, from our seats center field, 3rd row. Yes, third row. Daniel did us good.

I boarded the 1:00 pm train bound for Suwon on Wednesday. There’s something comforting about a train ride. The smooth, continuous motion? The lack of stops? The countryside it travels through? Or the novelty of it? The first time I rode a train I was 16 years old. In Europe. Maybe it’s the association with faraway places. Of places yet unknown, yet explored. Or the quietness and silence that usually accompanies the trip. People dozing here and there. The game of walking in between the cars, toppling to the right, to the left, as the car jerks unexpectedly to and fro. Or maybe it’s knowing I’m going *somewhere.* The anticipation of arriving somewhere new. Somewhere to marvel at, somewhere to wander unknown streets, somewhere to begin yet another adventure. Maybe it’s the calm before the storm. As I stare out the window now, and for the previous three hours, I’ve seen only the green buds of rice paddies, standing erect in the pool of muddy water, an occasional dot of white appearing, a crane standing guard over the beautiful sea of green. I literally cannot imagine what I’ll meet as I step off the train in a mere 5 minutes. Oh, I know, the hustle and bustle of people deboarding the train, scurrying to find the nearest exit. But then, the path to the stadium. Is it near? Is it far? I expect the hordes of people, making their way to the stadium. Seeing other Americans again. It’s been 6 months since I’ve seen my fellow countrymen, in any considerable numbers.

I exited the train, along with many other people obviously bound for the game. I followed the throng of people. Up the stairs, over the tracks, down the stairs, into the bright light. Daniel and I had not made a plan of where to meet. We just said, “The train station.” And sure enough, as I descended the last flight of stairs, there he was. I smiled and waved, we greeted each other warmly, then discussed our plan of action. Bus, I think that’s the way to go. Look, there’s a bus. And it says World Cup. Let’s get on.

We boarded the bus, squished among many others. We held on tightly as the bus lurched forward, bound for the stadium. We weren’t sure what we were looking for, but figured we would know it when we saw it. About 15 minutes later, Daniel pointed out the window and said, “I think we’re here.” I followed his gaze. What I saw I wasn’t expecting. Rows and rows and rows of police, in what appeared to be riot gear. Daniel, what’s going on here? “They’re running along side the cars and buses to prevent car bombs. The USA teams and fans are the potential targets of terrorists.” And sure enough, as the bus pulled in, about 50 policemen, 3 rows deep, ran along side the bus. I felt a pang of bittersweetness. I realize the people of many countries have lived for years with the daily threat of terrorism and hatred towards their people, but this is a new feeling for me. Knowing that because of where I was born, I am the potential target of another’s hatred.

We exited the bus and followed the many people walking towards the stadium. As we got closer, I literally started jumping up and down. I couldn’t contain my excitement. Daniel, we’re at a World Cup game. Can you believe it? Look at all the people. Look at all the Americans. Look at all the flags! This, too, surprised me. I didn’t travel to Korea to meet other Americans. But after being virtually isolated from other Americans for almost 6 months, I was excited. I pulled Daniel by the hand, running this way and that. Look at this! Look at that! What’s that over there? We saw some mediocre performance art. We saw pro-American demonstrations, led by a bleach blonde Korean girl in a red, white and blue bikini with an American flag draped around her hips. We received many pamphlets telling us Jesus loves us in all languages.

We entered the stadium. At this point we both were almost hyperventilating. Oh, my God! We’re here! Can you believe it? I bounced towards our entrance. We took pictures here and there. Of everything. The stadium. Him in front of the stadium. Me in front of the stadium. The stadium again. When we entered our “block” we checked our tickets again. Block E4, Row 3, Seat 28. I turned to Daniel. Is this like, row 3, row 3? Like, on the field row 3? “I’m not sure, but maybe. I think these are good seats.” As we walked down the stairs, I felt myself getting more and more excited. It was indeed, row 3. Center field. As we sat down, the pre-game show was ending. A huge soccer ball float like thing had been unveiled in the middle of the field amid fanfare and dancing. The dancers, drummers, and swordsmen formed lines and patterns to escort the ball out of the stadium. Except it wouldn’t fit through the “tunnel” where the players normally enter the field. It truly was like a scene out of Animal House where the oversized soccer ball blocked the exit for the performers, who continued to march, scrunching closer and closer to each other until they were on top of each other. I turned to Daniel, This is already great!

Then the players came out to warm up. I could see them. Really see them. People in the stands yelled names and players turned and waved. Oh, my God! They can hear us! Daniel just laughed and started pointing out players. Then, the players exited. A few minutes later, the pomp and circumstance began. This official was led onto the field. That official. The introductions of the players. The playing of the national anthems. Then, let the game begin!

It was amazing to watch the game from so close. To see all the action. To see them sweat. To see them frantically call to teammates, sending secret signals. It was definitely a pro-Portugal crowd. As in, the whole stadium except maybe two sections. Neither of which we were in. So, as the USA would run by we would scream, “GO USA! C’MON BOYS! YOU CAN DO IT! LET’S GO USA!” And when the first goal was scored, we both stared in amazement, then burst forth from our seats, jumping up and down, screaming, shouting, high-fiving. It was fun.

Then the second goal was scored. Then the third. We were in disbelief. We were reduced to simple, monosyllabic sentences. Oh, my God! This is huge! Did you see that? Oh, my God!

By the end of the first half, Portugal had scored one. Then they ran off the field. During half time we didn’t dare move. We thought we must be dreaming. We didn’t want to wake up. We didn’t want to jinx anything.

The teams came out for the second half. Oh, they were fighting. Hard. You could tell both teams were hungry. They wanted this win. When the US scored their “own goal” it was disappointing. But, a fine piece of sportsmanship. A really beautiful goal, perfectly executed. Just in the wrong goal. *sigh*

The remaining minutes couldn’t pass quickly enough. I was out of my seat, jumping up and down, praying the clock would run out. 3-2. 3-2. 3-2. Don’t let Portugal score again. Don’t let them. When the clock hit the 90 mark I was ecstatic. But they kept playing. I turned to Daniel. What the hell are they doing? The game’s over. He explained the “extra 2 minutes” rule. (This was the first soccer game I’ve ever seen.) Nooooooooooooooooo. Not another 120 seconds.

But those seconds did, indeed, pass, with no additional goals. The small contingent of Americans and American supporters cheered loudly. I took more pictures. Of the scoreboard. Of the team exiting the field. Of the American flags flying. Of the empty field. We didn’t want to leave. But, we knew we had to.

As we were exiting the stadium, two Korean young men stopped me. “May I please take my picture with you?” I looked around. I didn’t see anyone else behind me. Me? You want a picture with me? “Yes, please.” I didn’t understand it, but I agreed. And the grin on my face was sincere. I had just spent a good 3 hours feeling comfortable, like I belonged. Not feeling like an outsider, not being pointed at (or at least not noticing). It was a great feeling.