"He has nice teeth".

     "Give me the number 3", he said.

     "Is that the size of the needle or the thread", Peter asked? 

     This is a snippet of the conversation I found myself facing in the middle of the day, recounted from its original Portuguese, after a short scrimmage on the beach.  The morning began as just about any other would.  Breakfast with friends, then head up to the room to get all buttered up with sunscreen.  The requirement of a fair complexion inherited from my Swedish-Irish heritage.  Off to the beach by 12:30 for a 1:00 date with friends and a soccer ball.  Connor was amped up after the game yesterday and ready to exorcise the loss with some soccer therapy.  It was absolutely beautiful and the beach was busy when we met Molly and Cody there with Amy.  A quick dip in the ocean was all I needed to get ready for some beach soccer with our small group of about eight.  Short sided soccer is always good.  Then Cody's big toe introduced itself to the web of my foot between my big toe and second toe.  With force.  The gash left behind looked like someone took a knife and drove it straight from the front of my foot toward the back slicing the web of my foot wide open.  It was remarkably painless and alarming at the same time.  I cannot even begin to explain to you how I felt at the moment.  Scared.  Mad at myself. Disappointed.  Wanting the moment back to avoid the carelessness of the accidental situation I found myself facing.

     My handle on the language here is non existent with the exception of simple pleasantries.  The interchange with the life guard staff at the beach was just a lot of noise as far as I was concerned.  With the help of the Chongs we got the wound bound while somebody went to get Peter Stark off the beach.  I recall mentioning the faith I have in friends in one of my earlier posts.  Today that faith was reaffirmed yet again.  The responsibility my friends took to share this burden I was faced with now could not have been more welcome.  Peter knew the chances of me getting this dealt with at all were pretty grim and with him I headed back to the Pousada to get my passport and money.  I cleaned the wound out one more time.  Peter consulted with Joseph and it was determined that the best course would be to go to the public hospital.

     On the way to the public hospital Peter gave me fair warning to not expect the American hospital experience.  "The walls will be a bit scuffed up", he said "and it'll look a bit older than you're used to".  Nevertheless I was thankful for the company and a translator to see me through all this.  We arrived there in the taxi.  People were flowing out the doors of the Emergency room onto the sidewalk and small parking area.  Not a good start from my stand point.  Check in was smooth, though, and the wait was much shorter than the line would lead you to believe. 

     The doctor (as far as I was aware he was a doctor) was a middle aged guy with an even temperament wearing a wrinkled button up shirt and a swept back mop of hair.  His tone was even and friendly.  Peter and he had an exchange and Lucy the nurse arrived quietly.  "Sutura", was all he had to say to her.  Lucy was quiet and indifferent toward the gringo on her table as patients wandered in and out of the small office we occupied.  Patient privacy was not of primary concern here.  At least I was fully clothed.  The physician answered questions for several patients while he was waiting for Lucy to finish her prep work.  Patients continued coming and going.  The patient traffic stopped for a bit while he was actually stitching things up.  I appreciated the nice teeth comment.  It was probably all too apparent that I needed a bit of humor in my day.  Five stitches later Lucy escorted me down the hall for a shot of penicillin and we were on the way.  It all took less than a hour from start to finish.  The experience was priceless the cost of the experience was the damage to my foot.  No money exchanged hands nor would it.  Socialized medicine at its best.  I don't know what I would think about all this if I had cancer.  I might be less than enthusiastic about it then.  But for stitches and some penicillin you couldn't have done better, unless you were looking for the beautiful antiseptic setting of a private hospital.

     The whole experience has had a restorative effect on me.  To go from a huge gash on my foot to all stitched up in less than two and a half hours while in a foreign land was amazing to me.  Again, I find myself in debt to Peter for his help.  He is a good friend and never gave me even the hint that I was the pain in the ass that I clearly was.  I hate to be a burden on people.  My wife might argue that a bit, but infringing on another person's day is just not okay.  Everyone back at La Magna Rosa inquired about my well being and offered their help as well.  I guess no one likes to see a man down. 

     Life goes on in the morning.  With a bit of luck I'd like to be able to play soccer before we head home, but if not worse things have happened.  Signing off from Salvador, Brazil wishing you all a quiet evening with family and friends.  Know that you will always have more than you need and never have less than you want.

     The day had finally arrived for us to go see our first game.  When we applied for our tickets through FIFA (soccer's world governing body) we had no idea who would be playing in today's game.  Since our tickets were for elimination games after the group stage and the results from those stages weren't in yet things were a bit up in the air.  The USA drew into the "Group of Death", which made it unlikely that we would qualify for the elimination rounds.  The fact that they did with solid play and good tactical decision making by the coach, in my opinion, lead them to play in today's match.  I feel like there was a touch of destiny in the match today, so I went in with high hopes.  The Belgian team would be a tough opponent, who the US would not have stood a chance to win against four years ago.  With a much stronger team at this cup we could walk into the stadium with pride knowing that we belonged on the dance floor in the company of teams who regularly played "Joga Bonito".  The beautiful game.  Although I can't say our game is beautiful it is not without its moments of inspiration and quality.

     The group plan was to take the bus to the Pelourinho neighborhood we visited yesterday to catch the first match of the day between Argentina and Switzerland, then walk to Arena Fonte Nova to see USA vs Belgium.  In our wanderings through the Pelourinho we found a great place to watch the game.  It was cool and the refreshments were cold, and they had the game in high definition.  We could quickly see that our necessities were met.  Or group of roughly fourteen settled in quickly.  Followed by a group of boisterous Belgium supporters.  One of the welcome truths about the soccer fans I know is that there is no animosity between fans.  You hear a lot about soccer hooligans in other parts of the world, but I have not witnessed it personally.  Our counterparts turned out to be great guys, and one of them was a car guy.  He owned a Jeep, Fiat, and Lancia dealership in the town he was from and turned out to be a prince of a guy.  If you could measure people from Belgium by this group you'd say they knew how to have fun, didn't lack for a sense of humor and really liked beer.  They liked their beer a lot.  Turns out they also know how to sing.  Rough chants to cheer on their team.  Loud.  Before they left Belgium they took the time to have shirts made that had World Cup 2014 screened on them and their Brazilian name.  For example Nicholas translated to Nico, Philip translated to Filipo, and so on.  As a soccer fan you have friends in every corner of the world.  Today was no exception.  We had a smash up time with them and it never got out of hand, mostly because they could hold their drink.  Argentina beat the Swiss, which I was hardly aware of because of my conversation with Nicholas "Nico" the car guy from Belgium.

     The walk to Arena Fonte Nova only took ten minutes from where we were.  I cannot say that Salvador is a beautiful city.  There is rubbish everywhere.  Things are not clean.  Stray dogs roam all over the place aimlessly.  In spite of all of this the spirit of the place couldn't be any more opposite.  People are helpful, friendly and cordial, and my god do they like to have a party.  Brazil will go down as a great host nation for the cup, not because the stadiums were beautiful and the streets were clean, but because in Brazil they want you to have a good time at their dinner table.  They want to see you enjoying yourself.  It might be about the money exchanged but it doesn't feel like its about the money.  There is profit to be made, of course, but there will be enough for everyone and I haven't felt like a number while I've been a guest here.  They really do give a rip.  American Airlines take note.

     The confirmation that our seats were two rows from the field was a relief.  There had been a voice in my head that this whole thing could be a hoax.  After all how could our tickets really be this good when more than a million people applied.  From the first whistle the US played pretty well.  The game was back and forth with opportunities on both sides of the ball.  The skill was good.  Not amazing, but good.  The physicality was more than I was used to.  The pace the athletes played with was truly mind blowing.  Yedlin, ended up playing wing back on our side of the field the first half.  He is a short statured kid who plays for the Seattle Sounders.  He covers ground with alarming speed.  Eden Hazard, for Belgium, is small but as quick as your eyes can see, and powerful.  Clint Dempsey is smooth and strong.  Tim Howard had the game of his life.  We witnessed the record for saves in a game for a world cup.  Timmy Howard you are, heroic.  Sixteen well earn saves.  Without Tim we would've lost the game by more than three goals.  Vincent Kompany was solid in defense for the Belgians.  Figuring into the game prominently, his huge presence on the back line kept the Americans at bay for most of the game.  The Belgian team was a strike force.  They had a few decent chances in the first half but so did the US.  No longer laydowns on the soccer pitch for European powerhouses to over run.  The team was resolute in play.  Patient without relenting.  I could see a confidence we had on the field that hasn't been present in past World Cups.  I wish I could say the second half went as well as the first.  Belgium pounced on us and began to put their stamp of authority on the game at the whistle for the second half.  The tide was turning and Tim Howard was fighting it back.  We did have a chance to win the game with a few minutes in regulation on a cross from the right side (by my recollection) but the ball sailed over the goal from less than eight yards out.  Extra time was upon us.  The US had the first significant opportunity in extra time.  Nearly scoring in the first few minutes with a solid build up.  Alas, it was not meant to be today.  Lukaku came on for Belgium and the complexion of things changed.  With fresh legs up front the Belgian strike force had new life and they scored twice, before the US put one in the back of the net.  Julian Green had the loan goal for the US.  At nineteen years of age we may see more of him in the future.  To be fair he was fresh and the defense on both sides of the ball was spent.  At the final whistle, Belgium 2 US 1.  Heartbreaking.

     There are a number of observations I feel like we can take away from this.  We left our hearts on the field as fans and as a team.  Connor was devastated and mad.  The players were laying on the field spent from effort.  In spite of the result I was proud to be associated with such an effort.  We orchestrated a beautiful compelling game of soccer.  Against a respected opponent.  I was on the edge of my seat for much of the game.  Wrung out at its conclusion.  There is no doubt in my mind that the world is going to have to take US soccer more seriously as a result of this cup.  We made a quiet announcement to the world that we are coming to the game and you'd better pay attention because if you don't we are going to beat you down.  Winners stay.  I look forward to the future with a renewed sense of hope for American soccer on the world stage.

    Walking back from the game to the Pelourinho was not the same walk I was looking forward to before the game.  One thing that did strike me, however, is that the culture of this sport is changing in the US.  We have a seat at the table now.  The opportunities for me to play soccer in Montana as a young man were limited.  There wasn't a domestic league when I was growing up.  There were no resources  for soccer in high-school.  My high-school soccer team was sponsored by the local YMCA not sanctioned by the school.  In my first post I mentioned that soccer is a birth right in Brazil.  Passed on from one generation to the next, woven into the cultural fabric.  It is one of the things that makes Brazil, Brazil.  We are not there yet, but as I walked back from the game we were two generations of players with a domestic league that is well attended and my son will play high school soccer.  If he has children they will know all about soccer.  They'll probably like watching the sounders and be fans of Liverpool.  They will talk about World Cup 2014 and the time we met the Belgians in Salvador before the US game.  Yedlin's name might enter the conversation.  The noteworthy characters of this cup and world soccer deified in our memory for us to pass down from one generation to the next.  The heart of my favorite game is pounding at home in the US and I partly have the current men's team to thank for that.  I am in debt to them for propping open the door to the Church of the Beautiful game for the United States to finally step across the threshold.  The embrace of the world is waiting for us.  I can finally take a breath. 

     Signing off form Salvador, Brazil.  Know that you will always have more than you need and never have less than you want.

     There have been a few places in the world that I have described to my friends as adult Disneyland.  Old Town Salvador is one of those places with a bit of magic about it.  Maybe its because as Americans the concept of history is fairly short.  At least in so far as Montanas only have roughly two hundred years perspective on the world they regularly visit every day.  In Old Town Salvador your perspective is stretched out many hundreds of years more than that.  If you ever make it there take your time.  Be sure to get a look at the church of San Francisco De Assisi.  Pay the fee to see the ornate gold alter pieces and carved façade.  It is beautiful and inspiring.  It left me marveling at what people accomplish in the name of God.  In this case leaving us a beautiful church over three hundred years old.  The cobble stone streets were fun to see.  They were very rough.  I have a hard time imagining a horse and cart getting down them without falling to pieces.  The buildings were touching side by side painted in bright colors with the trim painted white.  The walls were probably stucco covered brick and most were pretty cool inside.  It was much cooler in the old town all together.  The combination of the old buildings shading the streets and the cool cobbles seems to keep things about ten to fifteen degrees cooler.  This was welcome respite from the heat.  The shops were all local with the shop owners pitching their wares.  There was a pleasant hum about the place and you could've stolen the shorts right off my body while I was gawking around.  A fun place with lots of nooks and crannies to seek out. 

     Candomble' was our next date.  After rushing through dinner we dressed in our travelers best and loaded onto the bus to head for a ritualistic dance called Candomble'.  Candomble' originated in Salvador and means "dance in honor of the gods".  Originally brought to Brazil by slaves who wanted to practice their religion, candomble' represents a number of African religions with some Catholicism woven in.  The ritual revolves around rhythmic drumming, singing and dancing that eventually sends some of the participants into a trance.  Our guide did his best to explain the different gods and goddesses to us, what they represented and how we could tell their representations in the dance apart from one and other.  Evidently millions of people practice this worship ritual in South America.  At first it was difficult to understand what was going on, and personally I felt like an interloper into the private worship of these people.  I felt awkward at first.  It took about twenty minutes to adjust to the idea that we were welcome and to begin to understand what was going on.  The drumming and singing were loud.  The singing had an edge to it.  The drumming was very African.  There were two priest guides and probably fourteen dancers before the night ended.  The movement was repetitive and rhythmic.  Almost meditative.  Between the singing, drumming, dancing and meditation the idea was that the dancer could slip into a trance.  We did see a number of people go into trance.  To witness this was very strange.  The value of going into trance I'm not sure of.  Some of them went quietly others went violently.  As spectators there was no guarantee of safety as Rich, Dave Oberbillig, and his son Ian can attest.  Nothing like being crashed into by a two hundred pound man spinning like a dervish to keep your attention.  The ritual lasted about an hour and a half in a room that I would guess was a hundred degrees.  No exaggeration.  The whole experience was eye opening, sweat inducing and, for me probably misunderstood a bit.  On the other hand it was a thinker.  For a dance fan it was fascinating to see people worship through their movement.  The combination of their dance and movement as meditative worship is a new idea to me.  I do find watching dance can be very spiritual but I have never thought of it as my path to spirituality.  As a westerner with my feet on the ground and much of my education founded in science it was a reach for me to believe what I was seeing, but I'm sure the worshippers would have a very different interpretation.

     When we were done with our bus trip back to La Magna Rosa, we hit the restaurant and closed the place down.  Learning more about people is a privilege I look forward to.  I can learn more from one person's life than I could from any book.  The shared wisdom and friendships more valuable than most real knowledge is, to me.  I'm not much of a worshipper, but I will put my faith in a good friend any day.  This faith was affirmed over for me tonight.  Signing off from Salvador, Brazil wishing you peace with yourself and goodwill to your fellow man.  Know that you will always have more than you need and never have less than you want.

     The arrival in Salvador was mercifully swift.  Though the airlines managed to lose the customs forms they normally hand out before you land at your foreign destination, all else went without a hitch.  Baggage made it, no one was stopped for any additional questions or searches in customs, smooth sailing. As a matter of fact the non-declare line was essentially a hallway to the sidewalk where Peter was waiting for us to catch the bus without hassle and head into town for some much needed sleep. 

     The first morning in Salvador was spent catching up with friends who had already arrived, and making plans for the day and roughing out how thing generally work here.  This is where having Peter and Amy and the Buleys here has been so invaluable.  It would've taken me two or three days to get as far as we got in a thirty minute meeting as a group.  Getting your arms around how the most basic things work in such a short period of time was a gift. 

     After the Holland Mexico match we wandered a bit and the boys went to the beach to play some soccer and swim. This is where I caught up with them.  After watching them work on a sand castle the size of a small house we headed for the apartment to get ready for dinner and our fateful meeting with Joseph Santini.  Joseph has been, and continues to be, our most valuable resource on the ground in Salvador.  From plane tickets to lodging and food and help with game tickets he has been unbelievable.  He is a short man with a round and tanned physique, a great smile who has the eyes of a story teller.  The reincarnation of an Irishman in a Brazilian.  Comfortable in the company of strangers immediately putting you at ease.  He is an enigma with a varied background.  A Phd. in biochemistry, I'm told, who lives in Berkley some of the time and Salvador the rest, running a travel agency, the Magna Rosa Pousada, and the two restaurants on the premises.  Since Joseph is Brazilian soccer is his the backdrop he uses to measure the events in his life.  Each World Cup providing landmarks used as reference for other significant happenings is his life.  The variety of topics he can address in one evening can make your head spin a bit.  Whether you want to talk about vinho, or discuss the goings on in the soccer world, or the history of Salvador and Brazil he is your man.  Needless to say he has gravitas.  There is a bit of sadness in my heart realizing that Joseph is a character that, in all likelihood, I will lose contact with after we leave Salvador.  The short friendship with a firm handshake and bear hug who will be a landmark for me to use as a reference for the goings on in my life. 

     Dinner was great.  Connor and the boys demolished three pizzas and helped the adults clean up what was left of their dishes.  I think Carson ate his body weight.  Then we hit the streets for some barefoot soccer.  Being the lone adult in the group with the boys had me concerned at first.  I didn't want to get in the way of any fun they were having.  It soon became clear that after a short spell of organization into three groups of three with games to two winners stay, I was just one of the boys.  From Jayden Chong, who is ten years old, and myself at forty-four we had the beginnings of five generations covered.  We were all equals on the street in Salvador.  Some with quicker feet better skills and more acrobatic than others.  All having a great time.  Man of the match has to go to Jayden who held his own for the evening and scored four goals.  The smiles and chatter made the extra night's stay in San Juan fade just a bit.  Its' stain on my life washing away in the therapy of the game.  We were eventually joined by Donato.  I don't know where he came from and can't tell you anything that he was saying but we welcomed him into the fold, a perfect stranger, with a contribution in the recipe of play. 

     We wrapped up around 10:15 and turned in exhausted.  At least speaking for myself.  A good day with friends and strangers alike.  Happy days.  Signing off from Salvador wishing you fortune in friends and wisdom in life.  Know that you will always have more than you need and never have less than you want.  

     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.