As you might imagine, the World Cup is serious business here in Basrah. English newspapers sent over kits of flags and shirts to British Army personnel (I didn’t get one, sadly) as well as some big screen TVs so everyone could root for “the lads.” There was more than a little relief when the English defeated Trinidad in their second game, but it was a close run thing, just like their victory over Paraguay in the first game. Everyone was pretty happy going into the game against Sweden last night, but still a bit touchy because the team just isn’t playing as good as they should, or need to be if they’re to beat Argentina, Germany or Brazil. The more I think about, the more I think games involving England just aren't very enjoyable, there's just way too much tension (see attached photo of English football fans "having fun").

The base also has a goodly number of Italians, which led to a very tough, bruising game (and awkward following day) when they played the U.S. team the other night. The Italians had played beautifully in their first game, defeating Ghana in a fast paced attack-filled game, just like soccer (or “footie”) should be played. It was a game on par with outings by Argentina and Germany, who are both playing really well. In contrast, the U.S. had been thoroughly beaten by the Czechs, who trounced us 3-0 in what can only be described as an embarrassment.

So we weren’t really looking forward to be run over by Forza Italia, and the Italians on base kept smiling and making “two nil” remarks and such. It doesn’t help that there’s some new facial hair style among Italians, where they leave a V or I patch of beard on their chins (I am not kidding, maybe check GQ?), so they look a little devilish when they smile – I think it is a babe magnet thing (they certainly do seem to get all the action around here), but what do I know?

The game started at 2300 and about fifty of us gathered in the lounge to watch, many happy from a few beers obtained hours before (not that we Americans can drink, you know – General Order No. 1 and all that). Thankfully the U.S. team decided to bring their game on and actually put up a fight for the first 20 minutes. Everybody was surprised at how well they played, even the announcers, but particularly the Italians, both on and off the field. I think it took ‘em by surprise.

It got pretty physical quickly – elbows and knees and tackles got harder and more painful – but then the Italians scored on a beautiful shot sometime in the 20s. Everyone was like, “well, that’s that…” but not so. Not much later lady luck came to our rescue and a cross bounced off an Italian defenders’ leg and slipped into the corner of the net. Oh we yelled and jumped for joy, just as the Italians had done 10 minutes earlier. All the Italians were like, “well, of course its’ because you have some Italian-Americans on your team, of course that is why you do ok!”

And then it very quickly got bloody, literally, with an Italian elbowing one of our strikers in the face, splitting his nose open. Blood everywhere, and the ref gave out a red card, throwing the Italian out of the game. And the crowd goes wild! We have about 10 minutes of thinking, “we’re one man up, maybe we can win” when bam, one of our guys gets a red card! We lurch into half time even up.

Then tragedy, as we get another red card right after half time, now we’re down a man! All the Italians are grinning like dogs, and we’re all down in the dumps (and I saw we, ‘cause all the English are rooting for us to win) and the rest of the game is a nail-biting slugfest. Somehow the Americans pull off an upset and tie the Italians 1-1 at the end, to our immense relief – the b*stards can’t smile now! All our Italian compadres slouch out of the lounge, embarrassed and pissed off themselves that they didn’t win. Oh it was a huge black eye.

I write all of this to set the atmosphere. Normally I think its’ a bit silly to get too worked up about sporting events, although I have a weakness for soccer, since I play the game. But still, I don’t dress up in war paint or anything, or even travel to go see games. But there’s something different about watching your national team playing against foreigners. It symbolizes something more than just a business franchise. Like the Olympics, it is a something that touches your identity, your sense of self and the place that you and your neighbors back at home live in. It sounds corny, as do many of the things I write over here, but it brings a tear to the eye to listen to the national anthem when you’re sitting on the far side of the world in a dirty, grimy alien country. I imagine it is hard to see that back at home, where you are caught up in normal day-to-day living (I certainly didn’t give it much thought), but there really is something to “Mom and apple pie…”

Fair Winds and Following Sands!

P.S. Ok, I’ve put up with the garbage, and the air pollution, and the sewer stink, and the IDF attacks but now its’ gone too far! Last night I came in through the camp gate and the guard was standing outside his shack, looking at badges from the opposite side of the walkway where he usually stands. I asked him “What’s up?” and he says “Camel spider…” pointing behind me. I turn around and there is a brown, furry spider bigger than my hand (I kid you not!) on the ground, front legs lifted in aggression. I tell you I practically keeled over with a heart attack from the surprise. The “spider dance” followed, to everyone’s amusement. After recovering – and saying “Don’t *do* that!” in my best Costello imitation (which, ok, pretty much sucks but you get the idea) – I went and got my camera but the spider was gone when I got back. You can google and see pictures of them.