Soaking In & Getting Soaked: World Cup 2018 Abroad and Here

This year marks the third time that I have enjoyed the World Cup as any kind of soccer fan. I always enjoyed the game as a passing thing, but I hadn’t been exposed to it much when I was young, and it was never really in my DNA.

That started to change in 2010. My first strong memories of the World Cup were at the old 810 Zone at Town Center, where I watched the people as much as the game, as they fervently rooted for the United States, which reached the knockout stage before going out to Ghana.

Later that year, I went to Europe for the first time. It was a trip built around, but hardly exclusive to, the fact that I covered the Ryder Cup golf matches in Wales that year. It was October, and spending quite a bit of time in the UK (I also visited Paris and Venice), it was impossible to avoid soaking up the pages and pages of Premier League coverage in the newspapers as you spent plenty of time on the trains and the underground. I watched a few matches also and I was hooked.

I decided to pick a Premier League side to follow. It was hardly scientific or learned. In the end, interviewing British golfer Ian Poulter at the Ryder Cup did the trick. I had seen him tweet a few times about Arsenal, and I asked him about it, and he waxed poetic about his side. I watched them play the next day, enjoyed their style of play, and that was that.

By the time 2014’s World Cup rolled around, I was a full-blown enthusiast. Because I was going to start doing occasional Sporting KC games on the radio in 2013, I paid close attention to any game broadcasts on the Sirius XM soccer channel to help me prepare. That further increased by knowledge. Of course Sporting won the MLS title that year. I called a playoff game, froze solid as a fan at the final game, and further cemented my interest in the sport.

2014’s World Cup memories were most clearly tied to the U.S.A. watch parties at the Power and Light district with thousands packed in and engaged as the U.S.A. team, with two Sporting players on it to add to the excitement, again made the knockout stage, being eliminated in a spectacularly exciting game with Belgium.

Maybe the Americans will create some great memories in years to come, but of course they didn’t even qualify this time around, and maybe a great U.S.A. run will give me great memories and stories, but it still will be difficult to beat the experience of this years’ World Cup for me.

That’s because I spent 12 days in England and France at the outset of the competition. I understand that soccer is not everyone’s thing, but I will try to illuminate the intensity the rest of the world soaks up every four years this way. Just think if American football was played worldwide, and while we were the best, the rest of the nations were quite good, too. Just think how batcrap crazy this nation would be during an American Football World Cup.

Think of the wall to wall coverage, think of the angst if in the first game of the three game group stage Tom Brady threw three picks, Von Miller had no sacks, and Travis Kelce fumbled as the U.S.A fell to South Africa 28–24. Panic in the streets, no doubt.

That is what I experienced in London on the night of the first England game. Now England was hardly the favorite, and they have actually won only ONE!!! World Cup, but they truly consider it their sport, and while expectations were somewhat muted, it still was all encompassing in the leadup, which I felt both in Halifax, England, which I visited first and London after that.

In Halifax I went to two pubs during the Spain VS Portugal match the second day of the tournament, and they were engaged, and it was quite fun, but still building in anticipation of their home nations debut a few days hence.

Taking the train down to London, I easily filled the three hours on Sunday, the day before the first match, with the pages and pages and pages of World Cup coverage (and not nearly just England-centric stuff) in two different newspapers.

Our hotel was the Novatel at London Bridge, which is a French-owned company, and the staff was all French. The bartender was extremely excited about the prospects of the French team, one of the favorites. A fun side note was the hotel was at the corner of Clink Street, right down the street from the “Clink Prison Museum”,and the hotel bar was actually called Clink’s so Danny Clinkscale felt right at home.

After two nice days spent celebrating the graduation of my daughter from the University of London, I went looking for the courtyard which had been showing the games on a big screen for the last two days. It was just a couple of blocks away and was the outdoor area of the George Inn, established in 1542.

England’s game with tiny Tunisia was just getting started, but armed with a recorder to get some sound for a podcast, I would have to watch the screen from outside for a long, long time, because the place was full of about two thousand maniacs, and the line was long, and they were only letting people in when someone left.

I did finally get in just in time for the second half. England had dominated the first half but the game was tied 1–1. Support was strong for the young team that the fans hoped would turn the tide of bad British fortune at the event in recent years, but tension grew as the prospect for a draw to open the competition against Tunisia no less was seeming more likely.

Finally in stoppage time, Harry Kane scored for England and the place was up for grabs. Whatever the fans had in their hands they just threw up in the air. Thankfully, the strong marketing of Budweiser meant that we mostly got just drenched in beer out of plastic cups, as while you could go inside the pub for a fine British ale in a glass, in the courtyard, only the American favorite was available.

I had a blast interviewing a few absolutely giddy fans, as everyone was roaring out the “Football is coming home” song that has become their anthem at the tournament. One fan in particular was fun, since he had been moaning the whole second half, only to have his mood altered completely with the dramatic win.

It was a win that propelled them on to a spot in the semifinals on Wednesday, and if they win, they could well meet France, which is where I went next. It was different, since I was way out in the countryside, in a village called Boutenac, which didn’t have a single pub or bistro, and I was staying at a place with no television and sketchy wi-fi. Still you could feel the vibe as France went marching on.

Our biggest World Cup connection there was the German family staying below as in an air B and B. As we watched a gorgeous French sunset gazing towards Spain, they were screaming and groaning as Germany, the defending champs, were fighting for survival against Sweden. Again stoppage time joy was experienced as the family burst out on their deck, shooting champagne as Germany scored the winner. Alas, it was Germany’s only moment of World Cup 2018 joy, but there in the south of France, I was part of it

Sports is often as much about the moments in time, and the people and places you share it with, as it is about the games themselves. The games have been great back home as I have watched for dozens of hours on TV in a fabulous tournament. But those times in England and France will be tough to surpass as a sporting experience.

I have been rooting for both England and France, and that has been fun. I haven’t really decided who I would support if they met in the final. I may not even have to make that decision since they both have to win. I don’t really even have a lean right now.

I know if either one lifts the Cup, I will smile at the thought of my friendly French bartender who kept the bar open so I could watch the end of the U.S. Open golf tournament at 1:30 A.M. Or if it’s England, I will grin as I recall the skeptical fan turned true believer, who after the Tunisia win, yelled back at my question, “I think this truly might be our year….Football is f#*king coming home!!!”, and laughed and laughed.

Note: I have created a podcast focused on this and soon will have an outlet to provide it to you. Stay tuned. I think you will enjoy my interaction with the underage boys in Murgatroyd’s Pub in Halifax, my profane friend at the George Inn, and much more.