Random Thoughts on World Cup, Dads & Grads

Men in Kilts, Curaçao Meatballs and Poor Dads

Random Thoughts on World Cup, Dads & Grads

In 1994, the Men’s World Cup was in the US and eight games were played at the Rose Bowl, including the final. We lived walking distance to the Bowl and our house was used by several friends with corporate jobs to host pre-parties. We ended up with some free tickets. I went to two games and they blew my mind. It was my first exposure to the infectious joy of the fans and the intensity of the matches. The outfits! The singing! The Parading down the streets! I was sold.

Brazil won that year. The team bus drove right past our house near the Rose Bowl on a street closed to everything but team buses. We held up a hand-lettered sign that said “Senna”—the name of the Brazilian F1 driver that had died in a terrible crash that year and to whom the team had dedicated their efforts. The Brazilian bus stopped and all the players leaned out the windows and cheered with us.

And the US men made a remarkable run in 1994, thanks to a victory over Colombia. If you’ve never seen ESPN’s 30 by 30 documentary about the fallout from that game, I highly recommend The Two Escobars. Stunning.

Orange is a fantastic national color. Well done, Dutch.

I’m so happy to see more American open their hearts and minds to the spirit of the World Cup. It’s amazing to see a sporting event that’s more about the fans than the sponsors. (Even though FIFA tried to price the fans out.) At least that what it feels like.

In 1994, there were a lot of grumpy old US sportswriters sounding off about how soccer is stupid, blah, blah, blah. That take is tedious and unacceptable today.

Real Grass > Turf

Men in Kilts make perfect sense in hot, humid Boston. The Germans dancing in the clubs of Houston? Epic. The protests outside the stadium by the huge Iranian population in Los Angeles are powerful. Take it all in for the next month.

So far, my three teams are doing great. A big win for the US. A thrilling win for Korea. Looking for a W for Norway over Iraq for a perfect first round.

Honestly, my hopes for the US team have risen slightly. It’s a restrained hope.

My parents visited Curaçao in the 1970’s. My mother brought back all these necklaces made from tree nuts and a recipe for Curaçao meatballs, a spicy sweet and sour concoction that seemed very exotic. Some classic 70’s booty.

I don’t know what or where Cape Verde is. But I bet they have a national meatball, too. And it involves chimichurri.

The complaints by the Europeans about American air conditioning really make me laugh. A Spanish friend told me that Europeans blame air conditioning for almost all diseases. They just don’t trust it. Enjoy Houston, mes amis!

Let’s not forget about Dads and Grads, only because the phrase makes me laugh every year. Poor dads. They barely even get their own day—lumped in with kids going from pre-school to kindergarten like that is some major accomplishment. Imagine if moms had to co-celebrate like Mothers & Others. Or Mamas and Llamas. Mommies & Tommys? We wouldn’t stand for it.

A national team jersey and silly hat is a nice gift for any dad or grad.

Cheers,

Lian Dolan

Pasadena, California