WC2006: Czech Your Head (Part 1)

ON A TRAIN TO BERLIN (1:54pm local time) -- If Sunday's physiological highlight was the violent adjustment of my sleep/wake cycle, today's was the similarly violent adjustment of my sinuses. I knew I was pretty dried out when I was going to bed, but this morning felt not unlike my head might implode. The smart thing would have been to take my allergy medication, but for some reason - maybe some residual effects of the jet lag - I decided not to, and got my stuffy head in the car for the long ride to Gelsenkirchen.

We arrived in plenty of time to sample the local culture, which also meant getting a primo parking spot at the stadium for only 4 Euro with a game ticket. The train stop was pretty crowded, so we walked one stop away from the center of town to get a seat. Once on the train, we passed the "Fan Fest" site, and managed to get stuck behind another broken-down train, which is where I learned that asking if something is broken seems to consist of pointing at it and inflecting "ist kaput?" just so, which seems like it might have unlimited alternate uses.

Coming out of the station, you could definitely feel the vibrancy of the tournament in the air, and if you missed that, the throngs of supporters decked out in the red of the Czechs and the alternating red, white and blue of the USA sort of gave it away. We located the main congregation of the USA fans, then I went off with another expatriate American friend of my host to find a bank and convert my pocketful of dollars to Euro. The last time I was in Germany, they were still using Deutche marks, so this is a new experience for me.

On the way back to the bar - and now with beer in hand - we pay a little closer attention to the regalia. There is a group of Americans dressed as the Harlem Globetrotters, complete with a boom box playing "Sweet Georgia Brown" on continual loop. A few Czechs sport jerseys that say "mates" on the back, proving that maybe puns, and not love, constitute the universal language.

As we approach the U.S.-overrun bar, the weird dislocated familiarity of running into people you know totally out of their usual context starts to take over. I first stop to chat with Jeff Bradley from ESPN Magazine, who asks if I want to know what happened in the Fire match. Even if it was on TV, two and half weeks is a long time to try to stay in the dark, and I had already checked that text message anyway. I also pointed out that I'm beating him with my unofficial foray into his "Battle of the Blogs" he's got going with Marc Connolly, but I haven't checked to see if I gained or lost ground over the weekend.

Next, I run into Brent, a supporter of the team formerly known as the Metrostars, and another key guy to the unity of the U.S. support in Korea four years ago. I assure him that, yes, I brought a drum, and he gives me a thankful hug, further embarassing me by telling me I'm the best drummer in the states. I will assume he means at soccer games, otherwise I'll be forced to introduce him to at least a half dozen guys in Chicago off the top of my head.

As an aside about the drumming, it dawns on me that this marks and end of an era of sorts. With the opening of Toyota Park, I've moved on from Section 8 and more "active" support of the Fire. I'm actually selling off my drums to the Independent Supporters Association so that someone else might step up. So this tournament may be it for me playing drums at soccer matches. I'm not sure how I feel about that.

Back to the bar, which I've noted has been overrun by Americans. Unfortunately, this takes its toll on the bartenders. I give up trying to secure the locally-brewed fare from a guy who another fan points out looks vaguely like Willem Dafoe studying for a role as a hip German bartender.