WC2006: Walk On (Part 1)

ON A TRAIN TO NUREMBERG (5:29pm local time) -- The stadium at Kaiserslautern is on top of a mountain. I know this because I helped lead an army - Sam's Army, to be specific - up that mountain, which is as appropriate an image as any given the ubiquitous talking point of the U.S. military presence in "K-Town."

The timeliness of the German trains is legend, so they seem to work out itineraries with tight stopovers as if to challenge themselves. I didn't miss either connection, but it was kind of close. The last leg, from Mannheim to Kaiserslautern, was packed with Americans, Italians, Germans going to the match, locals, and bicycles. It was still early, so it wasn't so rowdy. It was fascinating watching this one grizzled middle-aged Italian holding court over his group, which seemed like a mix of family and friends, some with brand-new Italy kits still creased from the packaging.

I dump my luggage at the Hbf and set off to find the meeting point for the U.S. fans. I find another U.S. fan contemplating the big map, and we set off together. He seems a reasonable sort, and as fate would have it, is looking for a ticket to the match. I happen to have an extra from my host in Berlin. That was easy, and I just made this guy's day.

It takes an eternity to find the bar, which will take on added significance later.

We finally arrive, and I start drumming along with whatever chants I hear, trying occasionally to sneak my pilfering of Outkast into the group consciousness. I catch up with a buddy from U.S. Soccer, who is kind enough to grab me a much needed beer after a long day of travel.

Some guy - who turns out to be the brother of the guy who started Sam's Army - grabs me and tells me we're going to march to the stadium, and would I come with them.

At the time, I didn't think about how far we were from the stadium. To be fair, I didn't really know how far we were from the stadium. Not that it would have changed anything. Let's roll!

We walked. We sang. We cheered. I played drums, along with another guy that I had met in Korea. We marched some more. When I got tired, I'd get people singing the national anthem or "God Bless America" so I could take a break. Cameras flashed. Video rolled. We kept marching. People cheered - Americans, Italians, Germans. For me, playing drums is all about affecting people, and good God, were we ever! You could feel the excitement building.

Once we reach the Fan Fest area, we turn left, still singing. Down a long road off the main square. Are we sure these aren't Italians leading us away from the stadium? No, there's a sign. And a hill. We march, onward and upward. It's really hot, and the black Captain America t-shirt and jeans along with about a half-hour of drumming and marching so far, and I'm drenched with sweat. This is much harder than those old Columbus Day parades we used to do in New York City when I was in high school. Hey, there's Frankie Hejduk! He's not even breaking a sweat! Fucker.

We finally reach the entrance gates and I feel like I've been filmed and photographed more than Bradgelina on holiday.