Sporting emotions at the highest pitch
Trip to Mexico for World Cup qualifier simply unforgettable
MEXICO CITY -- On the day of last week's World Cup qualifier between the United States and Mexico, a Mexico City newspaper polled citizens asking if they felt the country's national pride was at stake. Seventy-six percent said yes.
Think about that for a second. Americans are obsessed with sports. We currently sustain four major professional sports leagues, as well as NASCAR, the MLS, MILS, the WNBA, every conceivable NCAA sport, dozens of golf and tennis events, boxing and UFC cards, the WWE and even the Little League World Series. Can you remember a sporting event making us feel as if our national pride was at stake? Me neither.
Take all the sports we care about here, mix that passion together, condense it into one mega-sport, and you'd have soccer in Mexico. Had the U.S. crushed Mexico's Cup chances in the legendary Estadio Azteca last week -- that's right, the U.S., the big bully to the north, a country that doesn't care about soccer even 1/100th as much as Mexico does -- it would have been a national tragedy. Maybe it's not amazing that 76 percent of the people felt as though their pride was at stake because the number wasn't higher.
II. I flew down to see our suddenly promising U.S. national team tested by an antagonistic crowd. This wasn't a must-win by any stretch; more of a litmus test. Could the Americans keep momentum going after the team's astonishing performance in the Confederations Cup? Should we start getting legitimately excited about South Africa next summer? Beyond that, what the heck was happening to me? Why was I starting to get hooked by soccer -- a sport I have never totally liked and even actively hated at times? Was this an extremely early midlife crisis? And if so, why soccer of all things?
The good news? My trip to Mexico quickly morphed into one of those "I'm going to remember everything that happened 40 years from now." I stood on the field at Azteca, grabbed a few strands of grass and put them in my wallet. I rode in SUVs with bulletproof windows and security guards. I asked a hotel concierge if there was a good place to get coffee, followed by him pointing me toward a Starbucks to our left, then saying, "Whatever you do, don't go right." I got trapped in one of Azteca's oppressively hot elevators and saw my life briefly flash before my eyes. I watched one of my bosses get nailed by a flying burrito after the game. I got rocked by Montezuma's revenge on the way home, which was strange because I am absolutely positive I have never done anything to Montezuma.
None of those memories matched the game. The Americans were a sterling 0-22-1 in Mexico before Wednesday's match ... and with reason. The stands hug the field, shoot straight up and couldn't be more intimidating, especially in the corners, where fans shower opponents with beers, sodas and LTYDEWTKWTA (Liquids That You Don't Even Want To Know What They Are) on every corner kick. The lower section of the stadium is fenced, with a guarded, waterless moat (seriously, a moat!) with a second fence above it that prevents fans from racing onto the field. Atop the stadium, an uneven half-roof leads to eerie shadows and goofy lighting that seem to change by the minute.
Opponents never feel safe. Inside the bowels of the stadium, the players walk down a concrete tunnel that feels like it was built in 1362. Emerge from the tunnel, and Mexican fans are suddenly right there, wearing green jerseys, yelling obscenities and pounding the fence in front of them. The venom starts immediately -- booing and hissing, horn blowing, various "Meh-hee-CO! Meh-hee CO!" chants -- and never really stops. The Mexican fans had no problem drowning out "The Star-Spangled Banner" with jeers. They tossed drinks and debris at the U.S. bench for most of the second half ... which didn't matter because Azteca's opposing bench has an impenetrable plexiglass roof, but still. During a corner kick in extra time, they showered Landon Donovan with such a staggering amount of debris that he briefly staggered back toward the field in disbelief, shrugging his hands as if to say, "How could anyone act like this?"
On the worst days in Mexico City, opponents deal with high altitude, intense heat and oppressive smog that makes their lungs burn. (The famous Azteca story that sounds like an urban legend but is actually true: Eric Wynalda once coughed up black blood after a game there.) Mexico passed up a more lucrative prime-time telecast for a mid-afternoon start, hoping humidity, altitude and pollution would wear the Americans down. Nope. The weather settled in the mid-70s. There was a breeze. The skies were so clear you could glimpse the mountains. The U.S. team will never have better conditions for a game in Mexico City.
Normally with international soccer games (especially Cup qualifiers), a few sections are reserved for the opposing team's fans. Not in Azteca. The U.S. was allotted about 500 seats for Sam's Army (a traveling band of American fans); they were crammed in the upper deck in one corner with armed police officers flanking both aisles. Fans tossed drinks, batteries and rocks at them, then berated them in Spanish, which wasn't a surprise because this was "Throw Drinks, Batteries and Rocks at American Fans and Berate Them in Spanish" Day. According to one account by a photographer who attended the game, Sam's Army was advised to flee the premises immediately after the final whistle. You know, just to be safe.
Of course, I thought about sitting with Sam's Army before remembering, "Wait, I have two kids; that's an absolutely horrible idea!" I landed in a modified suite with a few ESPN bosses, a few more U.S. Soccer higher-ups and my buddy Hopper (the biggest soccer fan I know; I had to bring him). In adjoining suites, Mexican fans were eyeballing us the same way a drunk college football player would stare down someone hitting on his ex-girlfriend. Drinks would crash down on our roof like golf-ball-sized pieces of hail.
Did I love it? Of course! Why do you think I wanted to go in the first place? Have you ever gone on a trip where your wife said to you beforehand, "I think you should make a will"? Have you ever been told in explicit terms, "Do not leave your hotel and walk around at night?" Have you ever had someone tell you in all seriousness, "We don't want to sit in the stands, we would get hit by bags of urine"? Ever mention wanting to wear your team's jersey into another team's stadium and have someone answer without a trace of humor, "You should just wear a jersey that says 'KILL ME'"?
III. I have attended all kinds of sporting events: Never have I heard a crowd more stunned than the Mexican crowd after Davies' goal. All traces of sound vanished from the stadium. Like someone pointed a remote control at Azteca and pressed "mute." It was one of those sports moments when you wish they could have stopped the proceedings right there for 20 minutes, just so we could soak in what happened and dream about all the possibilities.
That's not what I will remember. I will remember the reaction afterward: Complete and utter delirium. Everyone just threw whatever drink they had as far as they could. It was like watching a new Pixar movie called "A Snowstorm of Drinks" crossed with a full-fledged prison riot. Then and only then did we realize exactly how much that game meant to the Mexicans. As Hopper said right after the final whistle (Mexico 2, USA 1), "I guess the upside is that we're going to live."
IV. The good news for U.S. fans? Our boys hung for two hours in Mexico without disgracing themselves. As for the Mexicans, they averted a national disaster and reignited their Cup chances. On the way back to our hotel, driving in our bulletproof car, we passed under a bridge on the highway and noticed one lone Mexican man happily swinging a flag back and forth. He had to have been 45 minutes from the stadium. There was nobody around him. He just kept swinging that flag with a joyous grin on his face. I remember thinking to myself, "Nobody in America will ever care about a sport that much." And we won't.
Bill Simmons, ESPN