THE BEAUTY OF FANDOM

 

A great injustice to my status as one of the biggest footy-fans I'm aware of is that lack of live matches I have attended in my life. Indeed, prior to this weekend, I had only attended one professional game, that being a very early (and very poorly played) MLS final. I'm not even aware of who was playing, such is the amount of time that has passed since that event. So, in order to partially correct this great injustice, and at the encouragement of my girlfriend, Victoria,  I attended the Gold Cup quarterfinals. Honduras was victorious (by virtue of penalty kicks) over a tepid Costa Rica, while Mexico overcame an early, surprising deficit to defeat Guatemala (by virtue of Chicharito's genius). The games were more exciting than I could have hoped for, but the experience of the entire spectacle was epic, unforgettable, and completely detached from mainstream American sporting events...

So much of the day was notable that it's quite difficult to put it all into a single post. The party/tailgate in the sponsored section was a loud and hilarious introduction to the fixtures, filled with screaming Hispanic hype-men and some of the best fan costumes imaginable--sombreros aplenty.  The regular tailgate reflected something like an inner-city barbecue, complete with individual neighborhoods reflecting the countries of origin of the 78800 fans in attendance. As my editor stated frankly, the real beauty of this whole scene was that this was a small slice of the USA, not a part of Central America being brought into the states for a weekend party. It was refreshing to me to witness this personality and character within the nation that I call home.

It was my first glimpse of the field, however, that truly excited my inner fanatic. My permanent smile was extended a bit further towards my ears as I watched Costa Rica warm up from a mere 25 yards away and gazed up at the terraces from which I was to view the spectacle.

 There is something unique about seeing these footballers in person; it isn't as though all of them are impressive with regards to muscularity, yet when one sees the technique that a Costa Rican bench player exhibits, it is finally possible to obtain the right amount of respect for these competitors. When we had found our seats, then moved forward about 20 rows to (seemingly) still vacant spots, we observed the first match to be played, Honduras against Costa Rica. The match was memorable for the penalty kick save by Honduras spectacular goalkeeper that maintained a 1-1 scoreline in regulation time, but I was more enveloped in the Honduran fan support than the game itself. It should be noted that at this point in the afternoon, neither my girlfriend or I had heard a single utterance of English, which provided an other worldly, or better yet, other-AMERICAN feel to the day. Yet until the stadium-wide Honduran chants began in the second half, I had not yet been treated to an atmosphere that my imagination had deemed a probability. When the majority of the fans had finally ventured into the grounds near the middle of the second half, the New Meadowland Stadium finally began to quiver with the voices of thousands of rabid and partying Hondurans (seemingly, not many Costa Ricans had figured their squad would put up much of a fight, or New York houses more Hondurans than I previously thought). During Honduras' eventual penalty-kick conquest, the noise coming from all around the stadium was deafening.

The real treat of the day, though, and the real reason that I had decided to come to the Copa Oro quarterfinals, was to see a young and vastly talented Mexican side take on Guatemala. During the hiatus between matches, I mentioned to Victoria that the empty seats previously witnessed during the first match were slowly being filled in by green shirts, and that we might have to move back to our actual seats. Indeed, by the time the line-ups were being announced, we were not only escorted back to our seats, but the entire stadium appeared to be at capacity (save for a few shockingly expensive box seats). Flags and chants were in abundance, the ground beneath our feet was shaking; this was the spectacle that I hoped I would witness as day became night in the outskirts of New York City.

The formerly pro-Honduran stadium was now utterly dominated by Mexican fans, and seeing that me and Victoria had donned new Mexico T-shirts just prior to kick off, we made friends easily. The first half of the Mexico game was well and truly a blur for me. Between screaming the little Spanish I knew, observing a Guatemalan fan being escorted out of the stadium (likely seconds before a brawl took place not 3 rows in front of us), taking in the most impressive atmosphere of my life, and Guatemala's shock opener, I truly was suffering from sensory overload. Yet I was left feeling a bit down at the half-way break; I really had came to the day's games to see my hero, Javier Hernandez, play in person, and hopefully have him net a goal or two. This didn't seem implausible at all, seeing that he had already banged in five goals in Mexico's previous three games, but all the Little Pea offered in the first half (despite great movement of the ball and a surprisingly deft touch) was a header over the net when the Guatemalan goal was begging.

I wanted, NEEDED to see him score. And I was unsurprisingly granted my wish less than a half hour later.
 

Mexico equalized almost immediately after the second half kicked off, via a scrum within the six yard box where despite the heroics of Guatemala's keeper, Aldo de Negris was able to prod home. With the stadium shaking at it's very foundation, the overwhelming feeling in the stands was that it was now a matter or when, not if, Mexico's dominance would yield another goal. That goal came in the 66th minute. After good work by Mexico's midfield duo of Castro and Torrado, the ball was shipped out to the wide open (and up till this point utterly ineffective) Pablo Barrera, who got a half step on his man and whipped in a cross. Chicharito's finish was one of fantasy and verve...

I'm not sure I have ever been as comprehensively ecstatic as I was when that ball lurched across the line. There is something to watching your favorite player score on TV, seated comfortable in your living room. Is is something entirely else to see that same man score before your very eyes, when standing among tens of thousands of similar minded individuals. Mexico went on to win 2-1, and I had one of the best days of my life. My hero had scored a wonder goal, I was celebrating with my now Chicharito-adoring girlfriend along with thousands of other green-clad Azteca's, and all was right in the world...

OTHER NOTES FROM THE GAME:

*It was incredible to me how ruthless the Mexican fans were against their own players. Any shot that sailed over the net from a Tricolor player was met with hisses and PUTA's! aplenty by an unimpressed crowd. This only changed after Chicharito's brilliance.

*The amount of Chicharito jerseys among the Mexican spectators was astounding. All other replica jerseys probably only amounted to a quarter of those for the Little Pea alone. He truly is a phenomenon in the Mexican community at the moment. A superstar.

*Giant's stadium is absolutely perfect for futbol. Not a bad seat in the house, and the four jumbo-tron screens ensured that a replay of the action could be easily sought out.

*Mexico is my favorite team in the world at the moment. They play at such a breakneck speed that in person they were simply irresistible. Furthermore, they keep the ball on the ground whenever possible, and only used long balls to overcome Guatemala's back six when down 1-0.

*USA doesn't have a chance against El Tri. I don't even think I want my country to win this tournament after this experience