As the whole world knows by now, Spain won the World Cup! My intrepid housemates and I decided to support Holland. Wearing orange in a Spanish city on final game day is tempting fate, but our commitment to the Orange was unflappable!
Soccer fans convened in restaurants and bars all over Sevilla to watch the long awaited match. So, we took to the streets wearing all manner of orange and Dutch flags. Most Spaniards were satisfied with innocent teasing. The more avaricious fans ordered us to stay out of their bars, brandishing vuvuzelas like shotguns. Eep!
All of our favorite game watching haunts were full to capacity and turning people away. Those lucky enough to secure seats inside had come a couple of hours beforehand. We tardy refugees ended up in the middle of the action in the city center, right by the Cathedral. Thousands of people clustered in the street jostling and craning for views of the few flatscreen televisions hung outside of the bars. With all eyes on the World Cup, the spirit was electric, even if we orange were very much in the minority. Everyone was drunk with sports mania, alcohol or both.
Throughout the game the crowd erupted in spontaneous chants. The favorite by far was "Yo soy espanol!!!", to which we would reply "yo soy hollandaise!!!!". Like I said, we were tempting fate.
With two incredibly talented teams, the first two quarters progressed with no goals.
Where's your orange, Carol? Didn't have the courage to truly step up to the Hollandaise plate? Or were you hiding the orange for a brandi chastain moment at the end if your team had won?
ReplyDeleteYou do realize there are no quarters in soccer? :) (btw love how white you managed to stay after 5 weeks in Sevilla in the summer!)
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