Euro 2004

22 June 2004
My brother and I arrived after what seemed like a shockingly long flight from Chicago to Madrid and then finally to Lisbon. First class was pretty rad though...thanks to George and all his frequent flier miles! On our way out of immigration we were both handed some pamphlets and small foil-wrapped packages. George was like, “What’s in the wrapper?” And I’m like, “I think it's gum.” When I took a closer look...those foil wrappers contained condoms! And the pamphlet gave advice on how not to contract AIDS while visiting Portugal for the tournament. I advised my brother against having sex with strange men in the bathrooms at the football stadiums and not to worry about getting AIDS from a toilet seat. I couldn’t tell if he looked relieved or annoyed.

Since we didn’t have tickets to tonight’s game, we took a cab to the fan park — set up at the Palace de Nationales, site of the 1998 World Expo. The fan park is a huge area with pitches for 5-a-side games, lots of football activities and an Adidas area with the scooters from the Road To Lisbon adverts. I think the only reason George had his pic taken on Beckham's scooter is because I took Zidane's.

We sat with a couple hundred other people and watched the match on one of the big screen teles. Most hated team of the tournament = Italy (followed closely by Germany). Having once been an Italian fan, this bothered me for only a brief second, as I secretly wanted them to lose. Spectators held signs reading "spaghettis go home" and "Nordic victory 2-2" (as a draw would advance both Denmark and Sweden to the quarter finals). And in the 89 minute that's exactly what happened! Sweden's Mattais Jonson scored a truly beautiful goal and the fans went mad! Hey Italy, see ya!

We tooled around the next day looking for cool football gear that’s unavailable in the US (which was pretty much everything). Ate some free food at the free hotel (thanks again to my brother and all his Mariott points!). Caught a cab with some nice German fans and headed out to Jose Avalade stadium (home of Sporting Clube) for the Germany v. Czech Republic game. Germany lost.

24 June, the big day…We've got tickets to the England v. Portugal game at Luz Stadium (home of Benfica). All day I was like, "I’m going to see Michael Owen, I’m going to see Michael Owen, I’m going to see Michael Owen." I jumped up and down with glee. I grabbed my brother’s arm and slowly said "Michael Owen". He responded with, "My sister is a dork." Indeed.

We're sitting about 30 yards behind the goal – with some extras from a Guy Ritchie film behind us. Game starts, 2 minutes in…Owen's running toward the goal…he gets the ball, spins 180 degrees in the air and finds the back of the net! Thousands in the stadium leap to their feet screaming! That collective energy…whoa. It seemed like a win, until the 89 minute when Helder Postiga scored the equalizer and the game went to nail-biting extra time, and then penalties. David Beckham? Whatever. I imagined my father throwing his hands in the air, muttering under his breath in Serbian…just like he did every time I put the ball over the goal.

Since Portugal won, we hi-tailed it out of the stadium in hopes of returning to the hotel before the whole city went completely mad. I should mention that sidewalks end abruptly and for no logical reason in Lisbon. We found a main road and a sidewalk. We thought it would lead us to the hotel.
After a few minutes of walking our conversation went something like this:

G: "I don’t think this is a sidewalk."
M: "Sure it is. Keep walking."
G: "We’re really close to the freeway."
M: "So?"
G: "I think this is a drainage ditch."
M: "It’s a sidewalk."
G: "It’s a drainage ditch."
M: "No. It’s a sidewalk."
G: "No. It’s a drainage ditch."

By this point we’d stopped walking. I looked around. Yipe! Being about a yard away from speeding cars carrying drunken Portuguese fans celebrating their victory seemed like certain death. We retreated to higher ground (i.e. up the embankment and over a fence.) And then we had to ask two police types for directions to the Mariott. In the hotel elevator I was nearly accosted by a drunk German…I went back to the room and requested my brother's protection at the hotel bar. I ordered a Corona. The bartender smiled at me and said I made a good choice.

25 June, France v. Greece.
We set out to find food and cruise around the city before the game. It was hot. We ate next to a group of French fans who sang, in broken English, accompanied by street musicians playing accordions. We were treated to such timeless hits as, When The Saints Go Marching In, The Boxer, and Blowin' In the Wind. Then the Frenchmen danced in the street with a group of Greek fans.
Game time. Holy merde! Our seats were so close to the field…we could clearly see Zidane and Henry. Everytime Zidane moved I became more convinced that he's not human. He glides across the pitch and effortlessly dribbles the ball around opponents. After one amazing fake, George and I looked at each other and were like, "How did he do THAT?!" I guess that's why he's the best footballer in the world.

And my brother made a new friend: Kinas. The Euro mascott is rumored to have been born with the knowledge and craft of all great footballers, past and present. And yeah, we did do a bit of sightseeing…like we went to the Castle of St. George. But this trip was all about football…and it really is a beautiful game.