Red, White & Brew(s)

As promised, I'm back now with a brief assessment of Saturday night's rousing World Cup match. I returned to the same pub with several of the same guys that I posted about earlier last week and upon closer inspection of the joint, I found a Connecticut license plate hanging above one side of the bar. My geography might be a little spotty, but I'm pretty sure the Constitution State is at least a good two-hour train ride away. This left me to wonder how such a decorative piece found its way here in the first place. The most likely explanation: one of the several Americans that works behind the bar is either from CT, or kidnapped someone from there and is holding the plate as ransom. I'll be sure to phone Chris Dodd when I get to the bottom of this mystery.

On the soccer side of things, the pub filled up quite nicely prior to gametime, with folks of all ages in attendance. Very much looking for a performance more becoming of the Scandinavian champs, the people were literally clammoring with anticipation and excitement. Before the game came on one of the several large projection screens situated around the bar, some strange satellite sports network recapped all the day's highlights in not only soccer, but also horseracing, rugby and of course, cricket. Most people here know a little something about cricket and they all say, ''Yeah, it's pretty much like baseball." I'm not so sure about that, what with the wooden ball, wickets and flat bats that never seem to hit the darn thing properly. It's pretty amusing being clueless about the sport and watching those highlights with scores of 217-168 flash by. At least it's comforting to know that no crickets are ever actually harmed during play (I think).

The broadcast ended and before long, the game commenced. Team Danmark faced a very energetic Cameroon squad that struck first with aggressive ball pressure just in front of the Danish zone. A lethargic effort to get the ball out soon resulted in a quick steal, shot and score for Cameroon within the first ten minutes of the match. A brave young man of no more than seventeen wearing a green and yellow jersey was particularly happy with this. The place became rather jittery and grumbles could be heard at some of the tables and benches surrounding us. The Danes did not lose their composure though and soon began playing more tenaciously themselves.

This effort would prove worthwhile as they scored their first goal of this year's tournament in the thirty-third minute when star player Niklas Bendtner slid into a pass coming across Cameroon's zone that froze the goalkeeper and knotted things at one apiece. The pub went wild and I found myself joining in with the chanting crowd. I mean, I am entitled to Danish healthcare, why shouldn't I be allowed to cheer for a soccer game? This would close out the scoring for the half and kept the intensity raised for the remainder of the contest.

The two teams both had chances in the second half, but the Danish attacks continually built momentum that culminated in the sixty-first minute with a scoring strike from Dennis Rommedahl. Denmark took a 2-1 lead and never looked back. The bar was in high spirits (in more ways than one) through the end of the match. Following the conclusion, the town was indeed painted red (and white). People were giddy with excitement:


Everyone certainly was into the game; I noted many different types of fans around the bar: There were the casual observers, who were more concerned with their own conversations than the goings-on on the screen. There were the hoot-n-hollerers, who led loud, boisterous cheers, whether anyone was their to follow or not. There were the barroom coaches, whose strategic insight in the form of hand gestures and head bobs clearly made difference in the end. There were old guys who puttered about in search of the perfect place to watch from, yet never seemed to get there. Amidst these various characterizations, only once did I almost see things get ugly.

A very short elderly fellow was watching nearby with presumably his daughter. The two were continually blocked by a much taller young man about my age. I noticed the older guy try to speak to his obstruction several times, but to no avail. Before long, this would not stand and the man barked some terse Danish words towards the kid in a very hoarse old guy voice. The kid had words for him too, but I think he started to realize he was dealing with someone who has seen quite a few more World Cups than he. Trying to play the tuff-guy card, he just turned his back on the situation. But after doing so, I noticed him inch inward from the older man's vantage point. so as to not be spoken to again. It just goes to show you: don't mess with old men when it comes to situations like these. Their old man powers always seem to prevail. Perhaps he was a Jedi.

I just realized I've posted on three consecutive days. Goodness, I haven't done that since my days as a plucky young newcomer in mid-March. I wonder if I've got four in me? Stay tuned to find out ... (Spoiler Alert: probably not and I won't post again until August.) Just kidding; I'll be back soon (maybe).