World Cup 2010: Vamos, Vamos, Argentina!

On the 3-hour return flight from Ushuaia, LAN airlines made the genius, inspired decision to show a game-by-game recap of the 2010 World Cup finals. Eager for a distraction from the little girl who would not stop kicking the back of my chair, I plugged in my headphones to watch. To my amusement, it was a British sportscaster narrating the game recaps. It was delightful to hear his Anglophile renditions of names like “Xavi,” “Forlan,” and “Kaka.” To my horror, with each passing moment, I came to realize how fully I had invested myself into this sporting event. For starters, I had somehow found the time to watch every game in the knockout stage. Moreover, I hadn’t just watched them. I followed them. Religiously. I recognized the names of the star players (usually the “strikers”). Every night, I would faithfully log on to ESPN to filled out the results in my little bracket chart. From the highlight reel, I was able to relive some of the emotional highs and lows: My heart swelled with pride when Donovan scored the last minute go-ahead goal to push Team USA into the finals. It broke for Ghana’s overtime loss to Uruguay. I cringed as I was forced to re-watch Germany’s systematic disassembly of my beloved Argentina. And in the dramatic finale, when the camera zoomed in on Iker Casillas, the Spanish captain and goalie, weeping for joy at his country’s first title, I found myself shedding a tear for them as well.

It seems like only yesterday that in anticipation for this grant, I was asking my friends for a crash course on the rules of the game. The concept of “offsides” was particularly difficult to grasp. I remember being at a restaurant with Koci, who was moving salt shakers and napkin holders around the table. With Zack, we were at a tattoo parlor, so the only props available were his hands. Although their valiant efforts were unsuccessful, it all turned out to be unnecessary. As it turns out, I just needed to watch a couple actual soccer games. Once the Mundial started, it all clicked. By the end of the qualifying rounds, my Facebook status was dominated by shout-outs to Palermo and Maradona. Selene and I were fluently dissecting the different styles of play: Team Argentina’s flashy offense, Germany’s chilling scoring-efficiency, Spain’s intricate European formations, Team USA's clumsy ball-handling, Holland... just kind of being there. One of my prouder moments was maintaining a respectable conversation with a middle-aged Argentine banker regarding the differences between the European and Latin leagues. It is for all these reasons that I am convinced that the World Cup remains the single-most international sporting event, even surpassing the Olympic Games.

For example, I have found K'naan's stupidly catchy “Wavin’ Flag” song far more effective at rallying a crowd than any of Bono’s or Will.i.am’s UNICEF/Save the children/USO super-medleys. Just last week, the kickboxing instructor at our gym made us do about 30 lunges to this tune. I don't care how cheesy it is- even now, 3 months after the start of the tournament, the opening “Ooh-oh-oh-oh” riff still gets my blood pumping. There are several versions recorded to appeal to the various regional demographics (for a fascinating examination of Middle Eastern culture, check out the Arabic version featuring Nancy Ajram), but naturally I am partial to the Spanish version featuring David Bisbal:

One of my favorite memories of this season (and possibly my entire stay in Argentina) was the Argentina vs. South Korea game on June 17. Purely by chance, this game fell on the week of the Fulbright midterm conference, and we all found ourselves back in Buenos Aires. It was a double whammy-- not only was I reunited with my fellow ETAs, but we also had the unique opportunity to watch a World Cup game in the capital city. It was sure to be a memorable experience, possibly the only thing that would have roused some of us up before 8 AM. Meeting in the lobby, we were decked out in our various iterations of celeste and white: silly hats, bootlegged black market imitation jerseys, one particularly enthusiastic individual had draped himself in the Argentine flag.

Gringos united

We were headed to the Plaza San Martin in the heart of Retiro, one of Buenos Aires’ largest and most centrally-located districts. The expansive park features a sprawling, sloping lawn, perfect for an outdoor showing. Cold and still bleary-eyed from shenanigans the night before, we shuffled in silence. The streets around our hotel were fairly empty, or at least only just beginning to wake up. As we neared the plaza, however, the undeniable buzz of a gathering crowd became palpable. Our pace quickened as we followed the electric hum of people convening from all directions. Street vendors with horns, flags, and other miscellaneous memorabilia were beginning to pop up with increasing frequency. We started to see more wires and cords, eventually leading to A/V equipment. And finally, we saw the huge screen and knew we were in the right place.

Our party situated itself near an enthusiastic-looking group (per K'naan's instructions, there were lots of flags waving) - close enough to get a great view of the action, but safely out of reach from potential mosh pits up front. It turned out to be a good decision, since hidden amongst our neighbors was a little impromptu band featuring a drummer and an indefatigable trumpet player whose tunes kept us hopping and clapping the entire game.

And what a game it was. With each Argentine goal (there were 4… it was kind of a slaughter), the crowd reaction grew increasingly raucous and rowdy. By the third goal, we were hugging, screaming, and twirling our shirts over our head. Confetti was raining, and those horribly obnoxious horns that sounded like dying elephants were blaring non-stop. By the end of the game, our throats were hoarse from cheering, our feet were tired from jumping, and our shoulders were sore from waving our arms. It’s one of the best feelings in the world. It’s like that adrenaline high that you feel after leaving a rock concert or a really badass nightclub. Everything is little muted because your ears are ringing, but you really don’t care because you’re in such a giddy mood. Nobody’s really talking to eachother, but there’s a little skip in everybody’s step as you’re walking back home (or in this case the hotel). Even in typing this entry, I am just hit by a wave of nostalgia for Texas football games at Darrell K. Royal Stadium… the Godzilla-tron, the incessant drum cadences, surprise appearances by Matthew McConaughey, and those coupons for 5 free wings at Plucker’s every time the Longhorns won. As stoked as I am about football, however, my first experience following the World Cup has finally converted me into a soccer fan. Although I’m unlikely to follow the regular season with any consistency, I will probably find myself falling in love all over again in four years. That is, if I’m not actually in Brazil.

In the meantime, a personal note to Coach Brown: How about ordering 100,000 vuvuzelas for DKR? Combined with “Texas, Fight!” our defense would be unstoppable. And we would still be less obnoxious than Red Raiders fans…

Dinosaur suit = best. costume. ever

Giant bouncy ball

 

Argentine flag wavin'. Caution: NOISY