After a meager three hours of sleep following a full day of hiking on the beaches of North Stradbroke Island, I dragged myself out of bed and limped downtown one last time to see France and Italy duke it out in the final game of the World Cup. At a packed British pub called Union Jack's, I met up with my French labmates, Elisabeth and Jean-Marie, and their French cohorts, a.k.a. "Team France." They were, of course, decked out in full French garb, with flags and face paint. They even (forcibly) painted little French flags on my face. Obviously, I had to root for France, but not just because of these crazy French dudes (who react very violently if you do call them crazy). I was also very anti-Italy given how the Italian team really only made it to the final after some "referee help" in games with my other two teams, Australia and the USA (more on that later). And finally, my late labmate Ben had been a big France supporter (although coincidentally, Giulia was Italian).
Sadly, France lost with Zinedine Zidane's bizarre meltdown, and with that, the World Cup was over. My French friends were crying. And I, as an American, had to shamefully walk home through the streets of Brisbane at 7 in the morning with little French flags still on my face.
But the World Cup ride had been worth the loss of sleep. One of the highlights was watching France beat Brazil at Union Jack's. The pub had been packed shoulder-to-shoulder two hours before gametime with both French and Brazilian fans. The Brazilian fans set up an impromptu Samba pit in front of the big screen and seriously did not stop dancing for a full hour and half. But after the game, it was the French fans that were dancing and chasing down cars in the streets, while the Brazilians were in tears.
Of course, at heart, I am still a die hard United States National Team supporter. Unfortunately, there was not much to root for, with pretty the American's biggest stars and brightest young prospects falling flat on their faces.
Having waited 4 years for this moment, I think I would have been more upset at the USA's dismal performance had I been watching in Berkeley. But one reason why I was able to shrug it off was because Australia's team succeeded where the US did not. With a team of pretty much equal caliber players, the Socceroos used hustle and teamwork normally associated with the US team to win its way into the knockout rounds. In fact, I probably enjoyed the Aussie success more than an American one, because I was able to join in the fun of rooting for the Socceroos with the natives at pubs and public amphitheaters.
Aussie fans at a pub
You're not a real fan without an inflatable kangaroo
Sunrise and the second round at the big screen at Suncorp Piazza
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2 comments:
Quite a walk of shame. :)
Why didn't you wash your face prior to leaving the pub?
Well, Carmen, here are a few reasons for not washing my face:
1. I didn't want to tell my French friends, "Pardon me while I erase all evidence that I know you."
2. Besides, the pub owners promptly kicked us out after the game. They were probably thinking: "Phew! Good thing we don't have to deal with them for another 4 years." And it's not like other shops were open at that hour for me to go remove my dainty French makeup.
3. Some of us aren't exactly so experienced in the art of makeup-removal. As it was, I had to scour for a little bit to remove it.
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