This is Fútbol!

On Wednesday night, I had the distinguished pleasure of taking an evening off from studies and heading over to Azul Stadium. There, with 30,000 other insane soccer fans (as well as a few seminarians and a wonderful family who set up this entire endeavor), I got to witness true, real, authentic, pure, unspoiled, and beatifically amazing Mexican fútbol!



For a long, long time I had wanted to be in a Spanish, British, or Italian stadium and witness the splendor which is soccer hooliganism and amazing atheleticism. On Wednesday night, I got to experience both. Our seats were about fifteen rows from the field, situated by the corner flag. To my right were excited fans. To my left insane fans (this was the die-hard section, I believe. They had tons of flags and horns and energy. Beer, I'm certain, was having a direct influence on the craziness of these fanatics). Beer was, of course, readily available throughout the stadium-- and the people willingly opened their pockets and their mouths. Mmmmm, Tecate beer!



The game itself was pretty exciting. It was a "friendly" as non-tournament/non-league games are called. The match was between Cruz Azul (Blue Cross)--a Mexican premier-league team, stationed in southern Mexico City-- and Atletico de Madrid (a team from Spain). There was some Mexico-Spain undertones to the event, as heard in the various chants throughout the game. The score was quickly 1-0 in Azul's favor after an errant crossing attempt found its way into the back of the net. That was in about the 10th minute-- and, sadly, the only goal of the game.



But, I was glad it was the only goal-- for, if the team from Spain had scored, I am sure the beer-drinking fans around me would not have been happy. Shoot, even without a unfavorable score, riot police were situated around the arena... just in case.



Ultimately, being at a soccer game in a Spanish, Mexican, British, or Italian stadium is exactly like every stereotype you have ever heard about attending such an event. It is loud, there is craziness, there is alcohol, there is cheering, there is prolific whistling at referees' terrible calls, and there is a lot-- I must repeat: a lot!-- of fun.

Oh, and tickets are amazingly inexpensive. Fifteenth row for about $15 American.



***************

But, as if that wasn't enough fútbol to satisfy my appetite, a bunch of seminarians studying close-by (Tlalpan is, apparently, seminary-central in Mexico City) organized a pick-up soccer game. Tim Noelker and I were the only participants from our "house," but that was ok; at the "seminario conciliar," there was quite a turnout of American and Mexican seminarians. All told, we were able to field two teams of 9 or so-- United States vs. Mexico.

I shall not say who was victorious in the 7-2 thrashing... ok, fine: it was Mexico. But, even though the score was a little lop-sided (ok, a lot lop-sided), apparently this was the Estados Unidos best showing. We did hold our own for the first 20 minutes or so. But then one goal went by. And then another and another. I had a couple fine opportunities, only to be thrwated in my striking attempts. Yet, I would not be denied!....

In the "last goal wins" section of the game (for it really became a kind of free-for-all at that point), one of my [mmm, oh, how can I say this without being pompus?]... one of my strong-hearted and dastardly-amazing dashes to the goal proved efficacious: sliding from right to left, I powered home a goal, the Golden Goal, the won-- I mean, the "one"-- that salvaged a 7-2 landslide loss into a 7-2 quasi-victory. And, like another just-as-quasi-famous goal of mine, I did so with my much-maligned and rarely-used left foot.

My right foot is currently jealous.


On that, goodnight!



No, really: all the fans in the stadium are going home. You should too!