A World Cup Experience

***Before I say anything, I would just like to state for the record that I am a publicly declared World Cup fan poser. I have never cared about futbol in any context before I came to Panama, and I can neither confirm nor deny that my fandom will continue after my PC Service.***

The World Cup is a big deal to everyone in the world who does not live in America. According to some of my social media updates, I guess maybe even America got somewhat into it this year. If you are a devoted US soccer fan, I don't want to offend you, but American fans are posers compared to Panamanian fans. Before you get all worked up about that statement, take a deep breath. It is maybe not a bad thing you don't take it quite this seriously, nor is it bad that you just don't have to make these kinds of sacrifices to be a fan. In America, it is just easier. For a couple of those true soccer fans out there, I am sure that if you were put in the middle of the jungle or on an island in the middle of the ocean, or on the side of a mountain you would do these things too.

First, let me remind you that in my blog post from October 2013, I wrote about the first soccer game I ever attended (other than my little brother's YMCA games of first graders). That game was the Panamanian qualifying game for the World Cup against the US. In order for Panama to go to the World Cup, underdog Costa Rica had to beat Mexico and underdog Panama had to beat the US. With 2 minutes left in the game, it was announced that yes, Costa Rica had beaten Mexico, and Panama was up by 1 point. In less than a minute, the US scored TWICE and the game ended. Panama was eliminated. It was a national tragedy. We still don't talk about that game.

So Panama doesn't even have a team in the World Cup. All of this hullabaloo over a tournament that Panama doesn't even get to play in. Since they don't have a home team to root for, allegiances have been declared for Colombia, Costa Rica, Brazil, Argentina, and the US.

In May I bought a fake Brazil jersey. I am going to unabashedly tell you that I bought it because it was yellow and green and I wanted a yellow shirt to go with my paruma skirts. Every time I wore it, without fail, I would get comments from "fellow" Brazil fans. (It feels weird to say "fellow fans" because it implies that I am a fan of Brazil, when really I am just a self-admitted yellow shirt fan.) So I started paying attention to the World Cup mostly just to make sure when it was and was not safe to wear my yellow shirt.

The first week of the tournament, there was no school. I think that was a coincidence. Either way, it meant that the streets of my town were dead during the first round games. It was the perfect time to go to the store! Absurdly loud televisions blared competing games and throughout each day I would hear the iconic GOOOOOOOOOOL!!!!!!! shouted by the announcers.

One weekend during the point system play, I found myself at an international hostel where the television was constantly crowded by European surfers rooting for their teams and cheering their rivals losses. I’ve never learned so much about a sport so fast.

The last week of June, I traveled to an island in the middle of the Carribbean to build a latrine with them. No electricity, separated from land, I did not expect to find that the locals knew much more about the tournament than I did. They had a radio going the whole day while we were working, listening to the various games. On the day of the Colombia game, we broke for lunch early just to catch the start of the game. As the rains moved in, we lingered for hours. The entire family, several neighbors, and two gringas laying on the floor of their wooden hut, straining to hear the radio over the rain, drinking hot coffee. Colombia won that day. J

A few days later, I stood on a crowded dock waiting for my boat amongst many strangers watching Argentina take on someone from Europe. When they scored, people were jumping up and down, and the dock swayed with it. When the boat arrived, I think I was the only one who noticed.

On the day of Argentina-Switzerland game, my roommate Ben and I decided to figure out how to make the television our landlady loaned us work. A late-nineties box TV, sitting on the concrete floor in our spare bedroom (our house is a mansion compared to what our huts were) and an antennae sticking out of the avocado tree in the backyard. Eventually we got the screen to stop rolling and we sat on the floor eating our rice and lentils watching the game. When Argentina scored the one goal of the game, our neighbors started screaming with glee.

That afternoon was the US-Belgium game. We took the table out of the kitchen that the stove was on, put it in the living room, invited the other Volunteer in town over, and bought Miller Lite- the only American beer sold in Panama. With our America tshirts, we sat patiently through the entire 90 minutes of tie and then agonized through the overtimes. We didn’t know enough about how overtime worked so we didn’t know how much time was left. It made for a very stressful, hopeful, disappointing, and frustrating game as we tried to tell ourselves we could come back from a 2-0 deficit to win. Even the Panamanians were confused. A neighbor came over in the middle of the 2^nd overtime to give us her condolences on our loss. Our response- BUT ITS NOT OVER YET! Another often shouted phrase was, ‘How much time is left? Should I be worried? I DON’T KNOW HOW TO FEEL RIGHT NOW!’ In the end, we lost and America went home. Wah wah.

Friday was the 4^th of July and a BBQ at a Volunteer’s. It was also the Colombia-Brazil game. This PCV did not have a TV so the neighbor brought over his old one- a television that was definitely older than I. We thought it was only black and white but after it got hit by a stray bean bag, popped from green and gray into color. We watched most of the game scrolling by as the picture rolled, but it cleared up enough to see who had the ball and whether or not a score had been made. To our disappointment, Colombia lost.

I spent the afternoon on the beach while Netherlands and Costa Rica battled it out. That was a highly anticipated game for Panama, especially here in Chiriqui as we border with Costa Rica. We kept checking in with different hotels for the score. To my Dutch roommate’s excitement, and the rest of the country’s dismay, Costa Rica lost.

The day of the Brazil-Germany game I wore my yellow Brazil shirt, just because I could. Besides, I ought to at least support my own continent. I had to travel to Panama, so I spent the first half of the game on the bus. When we got to the bus terminal in Santiago for our 20-minute pit stop, I got off the bus and kept getting lots of sympathetic or embarrassed looks from people. I couldn’t figure out why. Then realized…Brazil was down 0-4. I stood in line to get lunch and realized that I was out of cash…I only had 70 cents. I bought a plate of plain rice and sat down to watch the game. The entire terminal was huddled in front of the flat screen, and the Brazil section made room for me. As I ate my rice, Germany scored 3 more times. A guy that had been in line behind me gave me a package of cookies and said, ‘I’m sorry’ it was that sad and pathetic. The team just completely fell apart. After that day, I had to put my Brazil shirt away for a few weeks.

A few days later Argentina and the Netherlands faced off. Riding the buses through Panama City that afternoon was a piece of cake because there was no one on them. I got to Cinco de Mayo, a long road full of stores, shops, and street vendors with ten minutes of play left in the game. We walked down the road, going from one huddle of Panamanians to the other to watch the game unfold. There were masses of men, women, kids, old people, young people, store workers and customers pressed together in front of every television. No one was watching or talking about anything else. When my group hit the end of the road, we went straight to the lobby of our hostel were many other PCVs and the rest of the hostel guests were watching the game. The Panamanian working at the hostel that knows me well gave me a free beer and I squeezed in to watch the last of the overtime and penalty kicks. Sorry Europe!

I didn’t take the time or effort to watch the Netherland-Brazil game to compete for 3^rd place. I didn’t have the time to watch Brazil get stomped on again, which is what happened.

The Volunteers of San Felix all got back to town within 12 hours of the World Cup Finals. With houses full of dirty laundry and empty of food, we went to the local ‘Bar Grace’ to watch the game on the projector. A local recognized us and gave the 3 of us his table when we walked in and we cheered on Argentina, hoping they would take down the German powerhouse. It was a good fight and we all had fun. Within seconds of the game being over, Panamanian typico music (high in volume and accordion, low in anything else) was blaring and it was back to Panamanian business as usual.

If you ever have the opportunity to watch the World Cup in another country, take it. Especially if you can do so in a rural area of a developing country. Listening to stories about entire communities piling into a house to listen to the radio, sharing money to buy gas to run the generator for the TV, and climbing to the tops of hills to get signal are priceless to experience first hand.