USA! USA! USA!

It's that time again. You know, that one month every four years when Americans, well at least a few of them, actually care about soccer. Time to find that mothball scented USA shirt you bought after 9/11 and have not seen since. Time to spend all morning watching games on your computer while pretending to work. Time for the World Cup. Soccer is the most popular global sport, and the World Cup has the power to completely shut down nations and fill their streets with rowdy cheering fans. In countries like England, fans that are bitter rivals during the Premier League will go from hating each other to cheering in unison at the local pub. The sense of nationalism displayed in these countries during the World Cup is unparalleled, and to me, this is what makes it such a special event. The US gets excited for the World Cup, but too a much lesser extent than many other nations. Can you imagine if American football was played around the globe, and had a World Cup of its own? We would go insane. I have always wanted to be in a soccer-crazed country to experience the mania of the World Cup. Now, I wouldn't exactly say that Australia has this kind of love for soccer, but they certainly seem more into the game than Americans.

In 2006, the Australians made it to their first World Cup in 32 years, and apparently the fan support was impressive enough to secure one of the six worldwide FIFA Fanfest Sites upon their 2010 return to the games. Set in Darling Harbor, the Fanfest Site consists of several huge jumbotrons floating in the harbor and showing every single second of World Cup action. In addition, there are international food vendors (even a doughnut stand), tasty beverages, and an incredible view of the Sydney skyline. I'm pretty sure you would have to actually be in South Africa to find a better seat to watch a game. The only drawback is that some of the games are very late at night. If you're not familiar with the time difference between Sydney and the US, and I don't know why you would be, we are 16 hours ahead of the eastern standard time. You guys are so yesterday. In Sydney, the start times for the games are 9:30 pm, midnight, and 4:30 am.

Our first and most anticipated group match for the US was against England on a Saturday night at 4:30 am. Blake and I were out of town on a weekend trip to the South Coast and were spending the night in the small town of Huskisson on the shores of Jervis Bay. The motel room had a small seating area with an L-shaped bench covered by a thin cushion that looked more like it belonged on a boat than in a motel. But it would have to do. I ambitiously set my alarm clock for 4:15 allowing myself enough time to get situated and not miss a minute of action. After hitting the snooze button a couple times, I awoke just after 4:30; turned on the tv, quickly hit the mute button as not to disrupt Blake, and immediately dropped my head in disappointment after seeing that England was already up 1-0 in the 5th minute of action. It looked as though we were picking up right where we left off in the last World Cup. When the US equalized in the 40th minute, I jumped up, mouthing inaudible cheers and pumping my fist, before settling back into my seat for the remainder of the game. It finished in a 1-1 draw, which is quite a respectable result against England.

After watching the first match in silence and solitude, I couldn't wait to head to the Fan Site for our next game, hopeful that I would find other US fans there. The start time of midnight on a Friday was much more reasonable. We arrived at the Fan Site just after the end of the previous game, and were able to find two of the best seats (there are not very many to begin with) in the whole place. There were US flags, US gear, familiar accents, and best of all chants of USA! USA! USA! The place was by no means packed, but a few hundred fans cheering for the US was at least 4 to 5 zillion times better than a small muted tv at the Huskisson Beach Motel. I can only imagine how crazy the Fan Site is for the Australia games, which have drawn over 20,000 fans (thousands more couldn't get in for a lack of room). Chatting it up with several fans, I met several Americans, including a lady from Cincinnati. Go Reds. The game got off to what can only be described as a terrible start, and the 2-0 halftime deficit was enough to make me think our World Cup chances may be coming to an end. And then there was the second half. Our first goal was scored right away and with it came lots of cheering, yelling, and high fiving with strangers. USA! USA! USA! The second goal seemed like it would never come, and it was immediately followed by a third goal that would have surely secured a US victory. After a massive celebration, I realized that the goal and been disallowed. Feeling a bit like Guy Morris covered in Gatorade, I watched as the game ended with a less than favorable outcome, a draw. Luckily, thanks to an under performing England squad who later tied Algeria, we are still in control our own destiny.

Despite the draw, and being robbed of a late goal, I have never appreciated soccer more. Not so much for the game itself, but rather for the opportunity to find myself surrounded by a crowd of fans all pulling for the same team as I am. When you find yourself living on the other side of the globe, this rare occasion is not to be taken for granted. The type of camaraderie generated during sporting events has no parallel, and it for this reason I love sports as much as I do. There is no other event in which complete strangers will suddenly find themselves behaving like childhood friends. Chest bumping, bear hugs, and celebratory leaps into the arms of someone you just met are by no means out of the question during a big sporting event. Just ask Blake about my behavior during Kentucky's win over #1 ranked LSU in football a few years ago. Watching the game amongst so many fellow Americans and cheering on the USA made me feel like I was back at home, and it was a truly special experience.

It's a Good Thing I Left my Crack at Home

A few weeks ago after a meal Downtown, Blake and I decided to have an after-dinner drink, and we ended up at the typical Australian Pub. Oddly, this type of establishment never actually contains the word "pub" in the name, and is almost always called a "hotel". Granted, most of these pubs do offer rooms on the upper floors, but not all of them. If you were searching the yellow pages, or more likely the internet, this could be quite confusing; however, there is no mistaking one of these "hotels" when you pass them on the street. Almost always located on a corner, they are characterized by their victorian-style, second-level porches with ornate iron railing. If there is no porch, you will find outdoor seating on the ground level sheltered by an awning that is distinctly Australian. Accurately described by Bill Bryson, these awnings resemble a hat brim; they are unmistakably Australian, and you will find them on nearly every commercial building in Australia. Collectively, and much to the chagrin of umbrella salesmen across the nation, these awnings provide entire streets with sheltered walkways. Not that it rains that often here, but it certainly makes it more bearable when it does. Take notes Seattle.

So anyway, we were sitting in the typical Australian pub on a Friday night. Going by the sound of the karaoke it must have been 3 am, however, my watch read 9:00. Blake was in the bathroom when about 6 police officers and a drug dog entered the bar. Most of the officers either guarded the exits or stood off to the side in case they were needed. The dog was led by a policewoman, although I'm fairly certain she was actually an evil villain from a James Bond movie disguised as an officer. She seemed more likely to be struck by lighting in a tunnel than to crack a smile. This was a serious woman. She efficiently worked her way around the bar abruptly tapping peoples bags, purses and pockets (including mine) with a long wand. The dog sniffed whatever she tapped, and I can only imagine the drama that unfolds when drugs are found. I'm picturing a scene out of Cops; maybe an intoxicated overweight bearded man yelling up from the floor that he's never seen that bag before, despite its location in his pocket. Unfortunately, we were surrounded by upstanding citizens, and without a word the crew of officers dissapeared as quickly as they had come in. Completely shocked by what had just happened, and having nobody to discuss it with, I jumped up and walked over to the adjacent table and asked two guys, "Do they do that all the time here?" Looking a bit confused, they responded with, "I don't know mate, we're from New Zealand." I later learned that these type of searches are a fairly common police practice in Downtown Sydney, although, we have only seen it once.