Some friends and I made a hefty walk from the Roosevelt EL stop to the field, over a mile in total before we got to the parking lot where the rest of my friends were. I knew there was a chance that Hondurans would be well represented to the point of possible majority, but I never thought this: Every car that was not a cab > Honking Hondurans; 90% of the people on the street > Flag-toting Hondurans in jerseys, honking back. 100% of the people in tunnels under LSD and various other bridges > Chanting Hondurans with drums and horns. 100% of the people on the steps of the Field Museum > Chanting Hondurans with a flag the size driveways.
I don't think I've ever been so outnumbered in my life, while at the same time, feeling absolutely no immediate threat. Everyone was there to support their country. It was peacefully raucous. Poetically unnerving. Epically counter intuitive. They had us outnumbered 4-1 for the 55,000 people that attended the game. Plus... the horns. They all had horns. I've been to the loudest and fastest and heaviest metal shows in arenas smaller than high school gyms, and the noise coming out of these tunnels was worse. On the verge of intolerable. But impressive.
While we meandered through appetizers and dips and grilling and bags and beers and mixed drinks and music and rain, we tailgated in a predominantly U.S. area. Masses of people marched through the aisles, chanting for their country. Flags were worn by the hundreds. But seemingly no hostility. Just excitement. And passion.
Then it was time to go into the game. We rolled to the gates with about 15 people, screaming the national anthem like we majored in being tone-deaf. Every American group of people we passed joined in our singing. We started take 2 while walking down the stairs to the lower level of the parking garage, and our voices echoed endlessly from wall to wall of the structure. I honestly cannot think of a time in my life where I have felt more American. Or, realistically, been more proud to be American.
The game itself was amazing. I spent a large majority of the fall of my senior year of high school watching my best friends play soccer, and this brought a lot of those memories back. Except I was sitting 10 rows back from the best players in my country, surrounded by 45,000 Hondurans. I screamed my lungs out for as long as I could. I yelled at Honduras dives and bad passes and every foul called. I felt like I'd been watching this team for years. And even though I hadn't, I hugged and screamed like I had been, and when the game was finally signaled over, one of the greatest moments of pure elation flooded over me. As insane as this sounds, it was almost surreal beyond explanation. The setting, the emotion, the beers... it was special. And I appreciated all I could.
I'm not sure how much you can get a picture of what it was like to be there just by reading this, but I can honestly say it was one of the best 6-7 hour spans I've had the joy of experiencing. I don't usually seep national pride, but on Saturday I was bleeding red, white, and blue, and felt very comfortable doing so. Can't wait to watch them in the World Cup next year. And am I actually considering traveling to South Africa to see them???
No comments:
Post a Comment