Albissola Marina is a nice little seaside town on the Italian Riviera. We had hoped to reach Nice before nightfall but after a long, hot July day on the autostrada, where your foot constantly cramps up from pushing down on the gas pedal trying to keep up with the traffic, we were ready for a break and there was Albissola Marina. A delightful pensione, just a block from the beach, had a very nice room for us. We checked in quickly, took a beach stroll and then a nap before dinner. When we came downstairs, the reception room/bar was empty. We called out but no answer. It was a short walk to an inviting restaurant with a screened-in porch for dining. After a considerable wait, a young woman came out and begrudgingly took our order. There were no other diners and no sight of any traffic on the sidewalk or the street outside. Strange, we thought, but maybe this was another one of those European “siesta” times that we hadn’t experienced.
The meal was excellent and so was the pitcher of house wine that always seems to match the food perfectly. The young woman warmed up a bit as the evening went on but she was still a little grumpy. I finally put the sign language aside and, after a brief look at my phrase book, in my best pidgin Italian, I said, “Where are the people?”. This got no response at all. Then I asked, “Is there something wrong here?”. Two words came back, “No Calcio!”. “Calcio?,” I said. “Futbol…No Futbol!” she responded as she walked to the screen door and pointed down the street. I still didn’t get it. So we paid the bill and started walking down the empty street in the direction she had pointed. It was dark by then but it was still a very weird feeling as we walked along. A block and a half away, we heard a muffled cheer…then another…and another. In a very large house with a big front porch, we found virtually everyone who lived in Albissola Marina. The 21-inch, black & white television was sitting precariously on the top of a bookcase. THE soccer match was on television and the whole town was watching. Young and old, they all were squinting to catch every move as Milan played Amsterdam in something called the European Cup that was leading up to the World Cup in West Germany the next year.
This was my first real encounter with the power of soccer around the world. It’s football everywhere else and what we play on the gridiron is American Football. From my stuttering Italian conversation with some of the local revelers in the big house, I found that this was the only television in that part of town, that “calcio” is the Italian word for soccer and that the young woman from the restaurant had said “No Futbol!” because she was lamenting being the one left behind to work while the rest of her family came to watch the match. (Milan lost, by the way.) Soccer is indeed the world’s game.
Flash forward to today. We’re lucky here in Seattle to be a soccer town. Many of us know the game, follow it closely and even play, as long as our bodies hold together. The Sounders FC have become the darlings of professional soccer in this country and no youth or school soccer programs come close to those we have homegrown here. In my travels, I have been fortunate to see soccer being played in every corner of the world. For almost twenty years, I have been travelling to South Africa and I have made many wonderful friends there. This is their moment and South Africans are feeling the pride and jubilation. Sport is bringing us another world-changing spectacle. We saw it in Beijing with the Chinese…and then in Vancouver for the Canadians. My friends from the veld are well-connected in sports circles and they have brought me into the loop with the local organizers of these games. I’m “skyping” my opinions on a regular basis and still hope to be there before this momentous month is over.
The African continent and South Africa in particular has always been a mystical and spiritual place for me. As the players of Bufana Bufana, the South African team, came down the ramp into the stadium this morning and took the hands of school children, you could sense the emotion. Seeing our good friend, Archbishop Desmond Tutu, who has grown so close to Seattle and its people, cheering in the stands with that beautiful smile of his was truly heart-warming. Sadly missing was the heart of South Africa, 91-year-old Nelson Mandela, also a great friend to our community. In spite of a personal tragedy in his family, his message to the country came through loud and clear…these games must go on.
So put on your rally scarf. Grab your vuvuzela (we used to call them stadium horns but vuvuzela is so much more fun to say.). Get ready to toot and cheer because these games are happening…now! I told my good friend in the UK this morning that he’d better start practicing his Ugly American cheers because there will be no holds barred when the USA and England play tomorrow. British Petroleum be damned!!! It’s World Cup Fever…catch it!
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