World Cup

I don’t know why exactly, and it doesn’t really matter, but for the first time, it seems to me, there is a lot of interest in the US in the World Cup soccer competition. My own interest in it goes back to 1990 when it was held in Italy and ATA, then American Trans Air, had several contracts with European travel companies to take fans to and from Italy for the tournament. As a very junior L-1011 copilot, I ended up doing a lot of those trips, mostly to and from Ireland and England, because the more senior pilots generally preferred shorter, domestic trips and as the new guy, I got what was left. But it was fine with me—I loved the international flying and I loved being in Europe. You couldn’t help but get caught up in the enthusiasm and excitement, with every pub in England and Ireland full of fans watching on TV who couldn’t go, and every village square in northern Europe full of fans drinking hefeweisen, the traditional summer beer there, and watching the matches on big outdoor screens. Italy itself was decorated from boot top to toe with banners and billboards, the entire country decked out for the event. It was one of the best summers of flying for me at ATA, and one with many great memories.

One memory in particular stands out. I was flying with Dan Drummond, check airman and captain, and at this point in my career, something of a god (see “Step On It", April 2010). We were in Dublin, having dropped off a load of Irish fans in Palermo, and had set off, along with two flight attendants, on foot from our hotel to the nearest pub to watch Ireland play England, a rivalry that makes the Red Sox-Yankees rivalry look gentlemanly. We were anxious to get there, so we talked the two flight attendants into cutting across a pasture. They were dressed in I don’t really know what, but whatever it was left their feet and ankles exposed. We had long pants and socks on. (There is a reason I’m describing these details.) We got to the pub and managed to get a table with a view of the screen, got our beers, and before we had taken even a couple of sips, the flight attendants starting scratching and complaining about how much their feet and ankles itched and stung. And they wouldn’t stop, just more and more complaining, and they pretty quickly figured out that there had to have been something in that field we cut across, something not good, at which point most of the bitching and moaning became aimed at us. We asked locals what it might be and they said, “Oh, nettles, you know. Stinging nettles. Absolutely full of the stuff, up to the kneecaps.” It lasted for hours and I think the only reason they let us live is because we were their ride home.

There is another, happier memory of that match as well. Ireland scored the first goal, and as you can imagine, the place went crazy. The Irish take their kids to the pubs with them, at least they do on the weekends and for big events, it’s a very social, community place, and pretty much just let the kids run around having their own kind of fun. In the midst of this craziness, I saw a little kid, 3 or 4 years old, running to his dad to join in the celebration. Someone else, an uncle maybe, caught him as he ran by, picked him up, and flung him, some 10 or 12 feet, to his dad. The story does have a happy ending, the dad catching the kid and the kid screaming with delight.

Soccer is now a very big sport in the US, of course, with “soccer moms” almost as common a phrase as “golf widow.” But that is a fairly recent phenomenon. My generation, the Baby Boomer generation, generally didn’t know anything about soccer, didn’t even know what season it was played in, but it didn’t matter because we already had a year’s worth of sports, baseball, football, and basketball. As an army brat living in Germany in the late ‘50s’ though, we were introduced to soccer at school. I’m sure it was part of the Army’s continuing effort to improve German-American relations, an uphill struggle, and not just because this was only 10 years after the war, but also because we lived almost completely separate lives, with American living quarters built just for military families, US schools, US sports, US snack bars and movies and bowling alleys and so on. And it is still pretty much that way. If you are US military and you want to get to know the locals and their culture, you have to make an effort. You can spend three years in Germany and never leave America if you want to. So the soccer program was part of the effort to get us kids familiar with the national sport of Germany.

We were taught the basics of soccer, positions, rules, simple plays, and played some, not well of course, but it was all great fun because we were 10 years old and we were outdoors. But it didn’t really catch on with us. When the weather was warm we would always play either baseball or football, not soccer. Didn’t even think about it. And when my brothers and I got back to the States, no one had even heard of soccer. And I’m still not a big fan. Which doesn’t mean I don’t think it’s a legitimately exciting sport, it just means it’s a sport I don’t follow and don’t relate to much.

So why is it now so popular? I suspect it has to do with a generation of kids growing up not with soccer as a side sport, or an afterthought, but as a primary sport, the sport they play when the weather is warm. And that’s fine. For me, though, the part of soccer I miss is sitting outdoors with a hefeweisen watching it with a bunch of other fans on the big screen, and most of all, I miss being the guy who flew the airplane that got them there.

Well Done

1LT D (soon to be CPT D), arriving stateside, Pope Air Base, Ft. Bragg, NC.(For more on Lt. D, refer back to the post titled “Lt. D”, February 2010.)

I’ve flown in and out of Pope many times. It’s great to see it from another point of view.

To Lt. D and all the members of his platoon, well done and welcome home.