I was back in Berlin a whole 36 hours when I was thrust into the World Cup semi-finals. To make matters worse (because sleep deprivation's not enough), the match was between Spain and Germany. Up until now, my loyalty has always remained with Spain (in the plains, ha ha...). I mean, I lived there and it was in Madrid that I attended my first real deal fútbol game.
But I'm in the motherland now and I felt like I'd be committing a class A sin if I didn't root for Deutschland. Plus, I was going to watch the game with German friends in their German home. There could be no uncertainties. Well, unless I didn't care to be thrown out with my six pack of Radeberger.
Oh, kidding. Besides, my gut really was there with Germany although when Spain scored, I had to smile a teeny bit, picturing my entire host family back in Madrid crowded around their TV, screaming for their team. And when time ran out, I couldn't help but be a little thankful for Germany's loss. Thankful, that is, for quiet streets after three nights in a row of crap sleep coupled with my usual crippling case of jet lag.
But oh, was it sad to see those heartbroken fans wander the streets! So downcast yet still proudly wearing their flags, their red, yellow, and black leis and pretty much anything else in the tricolor family you can possibly imagine. In my opinion, the German fans were surprisingly non-fanatical and quite upbeat (although breaking bottles of beer seemed to be cathartic for many), considering all the hope they had wrapped up into this game. But tomorrow is another day, or wait...that's today, isn't it?
Stupid jet lag.
Anyway, my condolences, Deutschland but at least for the next round, I'll be guilt free. Go España!
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