The trip from Seattle to Salvador was not without its challenges.  To be fair getting from Seattle to Miami was more or less uneventful.  Our trip from Seattle to Salvador, Brazil was to go through Dallas first, then Miami and on to Brazil.  We began the day leaving Seattle at 12:00.  Liftoff was on schedule.  Predictably, as the day of travel wore on and the compounding of a little problem here and less than 100% efficiency there lead to us leave Dallas about thirty minutes behind schedule.  Not a big deal unless you have a one hour layover in Miami to make your flight to Salvador.  The flight that you'd been planning the last year and a half.  The flight that holds the keys to the promised land!!  Not surprisingly airlines are, and continue to be, oblivious to the fact that travelers rely on their schedule to make plans.  For example if you tell me I am going to be in Salvador by 9:00 in the morning June, 28th, I plan on having my first beer there by noon.  That beer is the culmination of all my expectation and planning and the beginning of what the vacation will be.  That beer has heavy meaning.  Far reaching implications that represent a pay off to myself and my son for all the emotional, and economic spending we have been undertaking.

     If you sense a build up you'd be correct.  Before leaving Miami the gate agent announced that we would be stopping in San Juan, Puerto Rico to take on fuel to make sure we would make it to Salvador.  This seemed a bit odd but I was happy to hear that someone was watching the fuel needle.  Being thankful that the tardiness of our departure from Dallas hadn't caused us to miss our flight in Miami I didn't really give this much thought.  The group happily boarded unaware of the fate that was upon us.

   We landed in San Juan to take on fuel.  Taxied to the gate?  Then all hell broke loose.  First, someone in the front of the plane passed out and by all reports turned blue.  I did not witness this with my own eyes, but an alarming event.  Flight attendants took action.  Oxygen was administered.  EMTs arrived to assist.  Date with death averted, date with destiny for remaining passenger sealed.  After all the commotion a flight attendant announced on the overhead that she was sorry but we would be spending the night in Puerto Rico.  Now, did I mention the beer in Salvador.  There comes a point in any crisis where you realize with startling abruptness that your plans where not in harmony with those of the fates.  Everyone on the plane was standing on this precipice.

     There is an old saying, "nothing bonds like a common enemy".  Imagine the focus that roughly two hundred people now had on that enemy.  From a bystanders point of view I cannot imagine how the seen must have appeared.  Being to close to it emotionally my perspective is a bit warped.  Sort of like how a theoretical physicist might explain that the closer you get to a black hole the more you can't take rational relative physical foundations for granted anymore.  Chaos ensued.  Realty as we new it was slipping away.  The passengers turned on anything that represented American Airlines and the full emotional accounting of what had happened was met by the flight attendants on the plane and then immediately visited upon the gate agents that this travesty was put upon.  Both parties couldn't have been more ill equipped to deal with it.  The band of multi lingual, angry and entitled passengers hell bent on getting to Salvador completely resistant to the fact that they were not going to be enjoying that beer at noon.  I was a bit embarrassed for humanity, to be honest.  The anger is understandable, the lack of responsibility by the airlines is inexcusable and the coming together of these two things over the next twelve hours caused me to lose a little faith in the base line nature of my common man.  The compounding of multiple mistakes and mistruths, in all likelihood, had caused this to happen to the unsuspecting passengers.  Passengers who had invested a great deal in the happenings on the other end of the pipeline that was this flight.  Seemingly, most of the passengers were not willing to let go of this and to counter that, no one at the airlines seemed to care.  The band of gypsies had bonded for their fight against "the man"!

     As passengers it had been communicated to us that we would have a room to stay in that would be paid for by a voucher we would receive provided to us by the gate agent in Puerto Rico.  The same gate agents that didn't know anything about said voucher only minutes before we landed in San Juan.  To say they were ill prepared for our arrival would be the understatement of the decade.  The line quickly formed for vouchers and it became immediately apparent that it was not going anywhere.  Many of the passengers would rather argue with the gate agent about their circumstances than accept their voucher.  Long story short I spent the night on the lobby floor of the hotel at the airport only to be kicked out at 7:30 in the morning after about two hours of sleep.  Most of the families in my group got a room.  I am thankful that the Chongs took Connor with them to let him sleep on the floor in their room.  A room that had one bed for the four of them.  This seemed to be the norm.  Confirmed by the Vandams who had an even smaller room with one bed.

     This entire exercise confirmed one thing for me.  Anger is a deconstructive emotion to which there is no end.  You can poor your energy into it and it will give you nothing back except more anger.  I feel for the passengers.  In this case the airlines had thrown them into a pitch blend of anger that would have unsettled even the most patient person.  They should be ashamed of the waste of energy they visited upon us, yet I really don't think they give a rip about it.  More corporate soul sucking without anybody taking responsibility. 

     In the morning I reconnected with the Chongs who let me shower in their room.  More good Karma for the Chongs.  We grabbed a bite to eat and headed for the line to get through security, then joining the rest of he families for a margarita before heading for the gate to finish the trip.  To add insult to injury we were delayed another hour.  Finally we were allowed to board and in the collective wisdom of the angry gypsy band someone decided they had to give us the intel they had on why we were forced to stay the night.  Perhaps they thought it would assuage some of the emotion we were feeling about the extra night's stay.  He was even invited by one of the attendants to give his accounting over the intercom.  Nearly the minute he picked up the intercom and started speaking he was invited to join the captain on the jetway for a conversation.  Needless to say the passenger quickly took his seat vibrating with unresolved anger and fear that he would not be allowed to travel on to Salvador.  He stayed seated for the rest of the flight.  Then the captain had his turn.

     There was some talk about the captain abandoning the flight at that moment.  My hope is that this is just rumor.  I want to have more faith in him than that.  Then he took to the intercom.  The man that had caused the entire turn of events was finally willing to tell us himself why we had been forced to stay the night in San Juan.  The simple message was that he and the crew had a very long and difficult day and in the interest of passenger safety he decided to stay in Puerto Rico for the night rather than risk flying tired.  The pilot was tired, and he didn't feel like flying any more.  That's why my beer came late.  That's why two hundred people were thrown into chaos.  That's why we were all angry.  There was no apology offered at this point but we were now going to head to Salvador including the passenger threatened by the captain.

     There is so much more that could go along with this story, but I fear I would lose your interest if I took it any further.  Needless to say I am happily writing you from La Manga Rosa in Salvador.  I quaffed my first beer with the Buley's while enjoying the friendship and camaraderie of an entire bar full of soccer fans watching the Holland Mexico match.  Harmony and balance have invited themselves into my life once again. 

     Know that you will always have more than you need and never have less than you want.  Signing off from Salvador, Brazil, wishing you peace and happiness. 

     It's the night before we head to Brazil and the butterflies are starting to flutter a bit.  There is a lot that goes into planning a trip like this and as I mentioned we had a lot of help.  In all of the organizing, planning, errand running and odds and ends that you take care of, sometimes you lose sight of the emotional "spending" a trip like this requires.  The good byes were hard today.  There is a sense of finality that comes with saying good bye to your wife and ten year old daughter when you are leaving for three weeks.  This good bye is much different than the good bye before leaving for a weekend of soccer with your son.  Frankly, I'm not very comfortable with it.  Surely the duration of the trip has something to do with it.  I haven't ever taken a three week vacation in my life, and now I find myself looking forward to just that with only half my family.  Although I am happy and thankful for the opportunity to see the United States play Belgium, I am saddened that Lisa and Sloan won't get to join us.  The fact is I love them so much that I can't believe this is going to happen without them.  If there is a next time around for a World Cup trip this wisdom will weigh more heavily in our decision making.

     After leaving home and picking up our traveling companions, Dave and Brody, we hit the road for Seattle.  Dave and I hadn't spent much time getting to know one and other and now we're thrown into a three week trip together with a number of other people that I can pretty much say the same thing about.  It was refreshing to hear that Dave was feeling bitter sweet about leaving his wife and their older son for some of the same reasons I was.  Dave grew up in Chicago and landed in Missoula when he and his wife moved back to her home town.  I always find it fascinating to find how people end up in Missoula.  Being born and raised there, I can't help learning about what twist of fate has brought people across my path.  Especially when I can't imagine leaving the place I was born.  Other than getting to know Dave quite a bit better and, finding yet again, the Ragsdale-Starks have a great group of friends, we spent two or more hours on an assignment we agreed to take on for Peter.  Finding USA men's world cup jerseys for six of his friends in Brazil.  It seems that the US men's team is a team of note this world cup.  Advancing from the group of death, beating Ghana and tying Portugal has gone a long way toward elevating our nation's soccer status in the eyes of Peter's Brazilian friends.  As Dave can attest it has also gone a long way toward raising the status of soccer in the eyes of Americans near and around Seattle, Washington.  In calls to three Dick's Sporting Goods stores, two Sports Authorities, and a half-dozen other stores we found that the only jerseys available in the greater Seattle area were at the Nike Town store in downtown Seattle. 

     The Nike Town experience on the phone was less than expected.  Through some strange twist the retail minds at Nike had identified US Men's soccer jerseys as some sort of mana from heaven.  After spending better than twenty minutes verifying said merchandise was actually in the store, I was yet again transferred to another "Athlete" for checkout.  Take notice, regular clerks need not apply to Nike Town for a job.  Unless they happen to bring their "Athlete" identification card.   Mere clerks will not do working for the Greek goddess Nike who is now a retail giant in most major cities across the United States.  Upon offering a credit card to my "athlete" over the phone to pay for the jerseys I was told they do not hold merchandise and would not accept pre-payment in order to hold them.  She was resolute about this, as crazy as that sounds, so I hung up and we headed for Nike Town.  With urgency.  After all these were the last six US jerseys in Seattle.  

     When we arrived the experience improved.  Everyone was very helpful and at the checkout counter they were, thankfully, happy to take payment for the merchandise.  We didn't even have to show our "athlete" cards.  Believe me, I was thankful for that because in my months of planning and numerous conversations with traveling mates, it never came up that I should pack my "athlete" card, so I left it at home.  Seriously!  Pardon the digression.  Turns out the particular "athlete" that was assisting me was from Montana. Manhattan, Montana.  She looked athletic and she was by far the oldest athlete/clerk in the store.  She may have been older than I am.  The first sign that universal harmony had returned was when she happened to mentioned that after she would finish her morning runs in Manhattan she would have a cigarette.  She immediately had my respect.  Thank god for this moment of balance.  While Dave was paying for his goods the man assisting him asked if he was going to be wearing his jersey this coming Tuesday while watching the game.  Dave then told him he was going to be at the game, we all had a "No Shit" moment and left for dinner. 

     Its refreshing to know that a person can find entertainment anywhere.  Never a dull moment.  Signing off, wishing you all find happiness in life through peace and harmony.  Know that you'll always have more than you need and never have less than you want.

The World Cup is the highest example of international soccer I can think of.  In Brazil soccer indoctrination begins before birth, as children are born into families that can have generations of supporters for their home club.   Allegiances aside children are raised in and around some of the most intense soccer mania on the planet.  Continue this mania from one generation to the next and throw in iconic Demi-gods like Pele', Ronaldo, and more recently Neymar, to worship and you have an intoxicating mix of soccer.  Great soccer played with balance, skill, speed, power, mind bending athleticism, and a flair for the stylish side of the game.  Teams are followed by passionate fans who live for the game.  They call it, "Joga Bonito", the beautiful game, a phrase commonly attributed to Pele'.  The world will bear witness to this combination of competition and culture beginning in June and my son and I will be there.

On the 26th of June, Connor and I head to Brazil for the World Cup.  He and I represent the sum total of soccer worshipping crazies at the Flanagan homestead, in the upper Rattlesnake neighborhood where we make our home.  This will be the trip of a lifetime for he and I.  I hope one of many more to come.  The steady build up of planning, entering the lottery for and getting tickets, renewing passports and applying for visas has made this trip seem more tangible than most of our vacations.  Our game tickets arrived about three weeks ago.  The realization that we had seats two and three rows from the field between the end touch line and the eighteen sent us into a frenzy.  The Fates had smiled on us and the wait for departure suddenly took on a bit of an edge for Connor and to a lesser degree me.  Connor's school days became just a bit longer.  Fortunately he has a club team he plays for to help exorcise some of the emotion he is finding himself dealing with.  Ironically, soccer is his outlet.  Imagine that.

Like so many great things in life I have a number of people to thank for this opportunity, not the least of which is my wife Lisa and our daughter Sloan, who both decided to stay behind.  They keep life in perspective and have not elevated soccer to the level of religion.  Yet.  There is hope that they will turn the corner for us to welcome them into the cathedral of world futbol, but if I had to hold my breath I would surely be dead before they crossed the threshold.  Since neither of them speak Portuguese and they don't want to be harassed as heretics by legions of futbol worshipping fans, the choice to stay home may have been a wise one.  Lisa's comments lead me to believe that she takes no joy in watching Connor and I behave like perfect idiots.  Regardless of my idiot status and their heresy, I will miss them and by the time three weeks role by I'll be ready to be home.  Also, there is the Stark-Ragsdale clan in charge of logistics.  Peter threw out this idea over a year ago and I enthusiastically, and forcefully, invited myself and family along.  Peter is one of the "Old Boys", a group of over-forty men that play pick up soccer in the Rattlesnake neighborhood we live in.  Without the energy both Peter and Amy, his wife, have put into this trip it is likely that Connor and I would not be going.  To me they represent safety and give me the confidence to travel in a foreign country, alone with my son, where we do not speak the language.  They along with our group, have lightened the planning load to a point of non-existence.  Finally, I want to thank my soccer playing friends who through the years have helped me scratch the soccer itch and supported me with their friendship and camaraderie.  Thank you all.

I hope you enjoy this thread.  There will be more to come.