World Cup

I am convinced that if all the energy and love and passion that will be poured into the World Cup over the next four weeks could be channeled into international politics, we would have centuries of a utopian existence ahead of us. The hopes and fears of the entire world are focused in one place and one time and revolve around the crazy love of one game. Of course, in reality this probably means that if all that emotion really could be channeled to a bigger arena we would end up with eons of the most destructive wars known to mankind instead of world peace, but I can dream.

On Saturday night the USA was due to kick off the tournament in their opening match against England, a game we were determined not to miss. (I think every American in the world watching the World Cup feels it is their patriotic duty to support our team in their underdog status.) The problem was finding a place that we could actually see the match. Sports bars or even restaurants with satellite TV are unheard of here, and we were deeply grieved to discover that the one organization in town that we knew did have a satellite feed was also mourning the broken state of their television. We had heard of a place that was trying to stream games live from the internet and suspected one of the local government offices would let us peek over shoulders to see their mini-screen. But we figured our best bet would be showing up under the floodlights and sandbagged walls of the UN fortress with a plate of cookies and a big smile to see if we could charm our way into their international-airport-lounge world. We were not above the bribing.

But as we drove down the road at ten o'clock on Saturday night, making our humble way to the orange glow on the horizon, we had to make a routine stop at a military checkpoint. In the moments it took for the soldier to greet us and lower the guardrail (really just a piece of rope strung across the road) I glimpsed a dull pulse of light in the shadows just ahead of us. I squinted into the darkness as we rolled down the road and realized what I was seeing was a small TV set up outside with a group of about twenty men gathered around it. We slowed the ATV down and peered into the shadows, trying to make out what was showing on the screen. When we felt pretty sure the blue specks on a green background were people, we eased the ATV off the road and parked next to the huge trucks and bulldozers circling the road construction camp. As we stepped out of our vehicle and moved hesitantly towards the island of flickering light, I grew increasingly sure that what I was hearing was "The Star Spangled Banner" under the drone of a diesel generator. Hope springs eternal.

The road construction workers seemed a bit surprised to see us walking in somewhat sheepishly but welcomed us like we had been filling potholes all day right alongside them. They scrounged up a couple more chairs and happily insisted that even though they were all rooting for England, we were more than welcome to support our country with them. This was said with a friendly smile that suggested the USA needed all the help they could get, which made me laugh. The plate of snickerdoodles we offered seemed to seal the deal and we settled in under the swarm of flying termites alongside two dozen men in white jallabias to watch the game on Al Jazeera Sports and listen to a running commentary in Arabic of which I could only catch fragments. (Although I did learn that the Arabic word for "sweet" is used at sporting events just like you might hear it used in English.) The icing on the cake was when a British guy from the demining camp down the road and an Irish girl from another organization showed up to add to the occasion. He made his loyalties good-naturedly clear. She said she couldn't decide which was the worst of two evils. ( :

Cheering for the red, white and blue isn't something I have done very much of in my life, for reasons that start with simple opportunity and meander on from there. But I have to say that I really enjoyed doing it on Saturday night. I enjoyed it because we were the underdogs that no one expected much from. I enjoyed it because it was just a game with implications I wouldn't be ashamed of. I enjoyed it because we were in the company of people who seemed to enjoy our presence as much as we did theirs. I enjoyed it because our team had names on their jerseys like "Onyewu" and "Gomez". And I enjoyed it because it put me in the company of the rest of the world - desperately hoping for the best, fearfully agonizing over the worst, cheering for a country that sometimes frustrates me but that at the end of the day I really, really love.

The game ended with a tie, which seemed to please everyone, even our demining friend. The night ended and people from at least four different countries shook hands good night and made their way home to sleep of the late-night revelry and get ready for another busy day of building roads, finding land-mines, learning a language or managing a business.

So I'll admit, the World Cup may not ever usher in an era of world peace. But it does make for some mighty fine cookies at midnight with friends.