Thursday, June 29, 2006

Encased meat diet

We awake the day of the Ghana game after an evening of relative calm. We've been in Nuremburg for 3 days and have proven that man can live on beers and bratwurst alone. This diet though does not come without some very real side effects, or more accurately "inside affects". But with Jenny Craig as my witness I could eat 2 of those tasty little meat veeners and 5 minutes later catch a whiff of the grill and fuck all I could eat 2 more right there. If I could carry 3 without worry of dropping one while I walked and ate, 3 would be the number! Mix those with some cold beer and I'm like a smack junkie getting a fix.
So day of game, we get up and begin to apply the war paint. Brett's friend Jason has joined us from Engerland, and we prepare. Should Italy beat Czech and we dispatch of Ghana, the 2nd round awaits! Unfortunately we have the early game so the US contingent is going to have to begin the festivities a little earlier in the day then some are probably used to.
O'Sheas is the rally point for this game. It turns out to be a very nice place that runs along the river. A great open air patio that welcomes us with cool weather and plenty of beer. We grab some pints and watch the square begin to fill. Game time 4pm, fan rally 11:30am. By 12:30 we are in full swing, the drums have arrived and we begin to sing. I am told that regardless of the hangover the magic beer is always the 3rd. All the pain and bitter taste disappear somewhere in the middle of the 3rd beer. I wonder to myself if the magic number is come to through some abstract mathematical formula that uses the number of days we're into the Cup, the body weight of the individual, and the concentration of Brat fat in the system. Either way O'Sheas is going to be happy to see this crowd. I find the magic midway through beer 2, granted they were big beers, and the songs became a bit more enjoyable. It is time...we begin our march to the train. Our mob has taken to the street, and we weave our way to the station. Drums still beating, flags aloft, the songs and chants fill the air. We enter the tunnel and the roar of sound parts the path, people stop to turn and stare. The sound is deafening...we march!
In '98, prior to the Cup we were in Amsterdam because we had heard that you could buy dirt cheap clogs, and we thought it would be memorable to see some really old windmills. As a bonus to all of this the Champions League Final was being played here as well. Juventus vs Real Madrid met at the brand new stadium. I went to the train station the morning of the match to call my Dad, and from somewhere in the belly of that station something stirred. I stood outside the doors as music began to quietly drift out from within. I remember vividly how the sound began to grow louder and louder with each step of the oncoming mob. They had not yet emerged but there was no doubt that they were coming. As they advanced to the door, the flags waving, drums beating; they sang songs I didn't understand, yet I yearned to join them, to feel the joy inside that was evident on the faces of this parade of fanatics. They poured out into the street, and I have never been the same.
Today I flashed back to that moment as we entered the darkness of the station and I felt so unbelievably proud to be among my countrymen, our flags waving around us and my own draped around me like a cape. Together we went, united in our cause, "Once more into the fray", we took the train by storm!

Wednesday, June 28, 2006

Just what we needed~Us vs Italia

The evening was not yet done. We took seats near the corner flag as the crowd dispersed. The final whistle long since blown. We discussed what was to be, what must happen for our boys to advance. We laughed at the site of the linesman receiving his beer shower as the cups from disgruntled fans rained down in disapproval of his decisions. Just a sliver of American Hooliganism. Myself, Brett, German and his brother Dani, Clint and some other boys from Ohio; skate and his girlfriend posed for pictures in their E.K. daredevil costumes; together we sat and took the moment in. When from out of the blue a lone figure slinked toward us, ducking behind the end line boards. Eddie Lewis... he popped up and we shared applause. He was thanking us for our devotion. We were all just yanks abroad but we were together in our cause. He began to jog back towards the tunnel when just then, an overzealous member of the stadium security force took notice of someone running across the width of the field. He charged, full sprint towards our man. I watched with anticipation as Eddie had not yet seen the the young bull charging his flank. Other guards took notice and began an intercept mission of their own. Just as I thought we were about to see something truly spectacular... Eddie raised his right hand without breaking stride and said something to the guards at his front. They stopped and immediately looked at the still charging, orange jacketed, saver of the day; arms outstretched with wagging hands the yelled something to him that was inaudible to us. Though I am quite sure it sounded something like trying to clear phlegm from the throat while caught in a fit of sneezing. SuperHerr pulled back on the throttle. Surely there was nothing more to see here, and we went to concessions to return our cups and collect our deposits. They'll sell us more beer?!?!?! Everyone gets 2 and we stand in the empty corridor. As we stood talking, two lone Italians begin to pass, and from the darkness behind me I hear, "There we go." A young American fan streaks out and throws himself at the unsuspecting Italian's feet. He grabs his leg in intense imaginary pain with his girlfriend right behind him, her arms outstretched "OH, OH, What was that? Card, where's the Card!?!?", she cried to an unseen referee! The Italians just walked away with complete bewilderment in their eyes. At this point the guy gets up off the floor, arms above his head,"It's Okay, I'm better now." That was just what we needed. We cleared our noses of beer, and headed out into the night.

Better late than never? US vs Italia

...We set out for the stadium thinking we could walk right back towards the train station, and up to the gates... We were mistaken. We found that our section was actually on the opposite, elevated side. Now perhaps this is something I am overly sensitive to, but without car or bike, all roads seem to lead uphill. We climbed; someone would begin a chant which started strong, and ended mercifully. We made it into the stadium to find that it was much smaller than we had anticipated it to be. With this fact in mind, it is difficult to find a bad seat in a stadium like this. Ours were great; not to close, not to far away. The crowd was in great spirits as the teams warmed up. The US team was preparing on the opposite side of the field, and as a result the Italian squad was being engaged in full-on psychological warfare.
The pre-game ceremony began and the nervousness set in. We must get a result out of this game tonight, and everyone knew it. The Italian fans seemed aloof to the scene. Were they looking past us? Such a mistake would definitely be to our benefit.
The Star Spangled Banner began! I still get goose bumps, even as I write these words I feel the tingle. We sang our song. The tops of our lungs poured out the words. We showed the world the pride that we have in our country, we represent our team, and the players know by the volume that we sing, we are behind them.
It is difficult to know just how your sections sounds when in the middle of it. But on the occasions I quit cheering to listen, I was very impressed. The Italian contingent just sat there seemingly disinterested. Whats the point?
Kick-off, we erupt! "If this is the rate we are going to go boys, my voice is going to be gone by half-time!" 20 some minutes into the game and Italy is on the board. The sleeping blue sections have awoken, but only to be beaten back into there seats by our chants; the drum beats and clapping in unison~~US! The feelings of desperation in the US sections are so strong that the tension hangs like a cloud, thick in the air. This Cup is not going as planned. We were embarrassed by the Czechs, and now Italy has us by a goal.
A few minutes later and we win the corner that turns into an own goal, and the equalizer. Now I am not sure that anyone really expected the US fans to be as loud as we were, but when that ball crossed the line and the ref pointed to the circle, 2/3 of that stadium burst at the seams. We looked like we had just opened the front door to see Publishers Clearinghouse. The kind of excitement that makes people look like complete spastics. "Ooooooo, did that really just happen???!!! Oooooo slap hands, slap hands!!" We'd waited nearly a game and a half to see our team do what we knew they were capable of, compete! We were back in; our guys were making a fight out of it!
Now it is this moment; pure joy, excitement on a level nearly impossible to duplicate, that makes this sport so universally loved. Every chance, every shot, builds the tension. It escalates to a point that saturates your senses. When the ball hits the net in favor of your team, at the World Cup, the resulting release is euphoric, absolutely unbelievable!
McBride goes up for a header~ elbow~ red card Italy, and again our hopes were lifted higher. (The problem with elevated hopes, they have farther to fall.) What makes me nervous is that this referee has been all over the place with his calls. Has he never seen the Italian 10m platform routine before?! I understand "the dive", because it does have very real, strategic purposes at certain places on the field, but this is just sad! They seem to be falling at every challenge, and the ref is rewarding them for it! It goes on. Granted, we don't have the luxury of instant replay, as stadiums have taken the route of showing nothing "controversial". Our seats are fantastic in terms of watching things develop, but not in determining contact during challenges. But from where we are, this is looking bad. At this point I am in emotional turmoil. If we could just capitalize on the man advantage we might win this game! Though we would have to do so very delicately because it seems this ref is capable of anything... and the sides are even, Pablo's out! This roller coaster is making me sick, and the conductor has fallen into a cocktail induced coma! I JUST NEED SOME ORDER!!
Could this all be real? We search the faces of one another for insight, explanation; could we all be so mistaken, or is this ref crew doing so poor a job? We regroup, reevaluate, and determine that regardless of officiating we will be the fuel of our teams fire. The second half begins, and minutes later Pope receives his 2nd yellow, Eddie's out! Astonishment! I was speechless!I stood motionless with my hands on my head. I was not alone.
I have tried to figure out what was going through that referee's mind when he brought his hand to his pocket for that card. The foul was arguably a foul, but a yellow? A 2nd Yellow?? To make the entire second half a shadow of the game it COULD be, in a group that could be decided by a point, perhaps a goal? It is no wonder to me that he wasn't allowed to officiate the '02 WC; his "irregularities" have far reaching effects.
So now we have 8 and "The Keller". The guys still seem to find it in them to form attacks and we become rabid as they march forward. On the far end Beasley shoots, we see the net bulge and the stands went off like nothing I have ever seen before. We jumped and screamed, I lost my hat, and I hugged the stranger beside me. Then.... I saw the flag up. Offside! By this time we had grown to hate this ref crew so passionately that they could do no right. The frustration had built up call after call. The Italians were stalling; content, it seemed, with a tie. Faking injuries without being penalized. When I saw that our chance at victory had been taken away I unleashed the fury that had been boiling up inside of me.... and I think I broke something. My head began to ache. I felt helpless, hopeless. I write this nearly a week after the final whistle; I have not yet seen the game on film, but I know that I am not alone in thinking that a travesty was committed that day! I am however proud to have been there. We showed as fans, and as a team; outnumbered and outgunned that the passion this beautiful game is known for is no longer reserved for futbol's "Old Guard."
We are here, and we will not go away!

Friday, June 23, 2006

Worth a 1000 words

Well I guess this sums it up, found on Rueters. Thats Brett in the foreground, for those that don't already know the guy. Our 3rd World Cup on foreign soil, and as of yet, no trophy. But, if and when the US wins the Cup, you can bet we'll be there!
I'll keep putting the journal entries on the blog, even though the team is out. Still have a couple of games to talk about. Savings account # WC2010-48MOS is about to start seeing funds. Hopefully I am not completely broke when I get done with this one!

Thursday, June 22, 2006

Old news

6/18 on train to Nuremburg:

Last nights game is the reason for our mixed emotions. We are still in the hunt, though some cards have to fall in our favor. Regardless, we must win big against Ghana. We took the SBhan from Heidelburg to K-town early for a 9 pm game and it turned out to be a good thing we did. The train filled fast and continued to do so the rest of the day. Pulling into the station we could see that the stadium was right across the tracks, very nice! What we found next I imagine being similar to Mardi Gras. I have never been fortunate enough to attend the festival, though what we saw in the streets this day was surely like it, but with a distinct "international" flavor. I don't know exactly how large the downtown area of K-town is but the whole damn place was shutdown to accommodate foot traffic, and it was full! A sea of painted faces, flags, horns, and a booze fueled air of carelessness. Actually we did have a couple of cares; which beer line was shortest, who's winning the Czech/Ghana game, where's the WC, and did anyone else just see that chick!?!?! Dear lord!
We stood outside the Brauhaus Am Markdt, the rally point for US fans, and took in the scene. A river of people flowed by, never ending. The Stars and Stripes, Azzuri, the occasional Germans, and all the rest like a rainbow of colors to make the picture complete. We drank & we joked; made new friends, and found old ones. The WC crew seems to stay pretty consistent. The game was still a couple of hours away but the experience was timeless. We had set up a stronghold on a patch of ground opposite the Brauhaus; 2 beer tents within steps, the WC's around the corner, and shade - lovely, energy saving shade! Another group of US fans stood opposite on the patio of the bar; the throngs of people passing between us and them. Someone would begin a chant and the volume would raise. Drums beating out the rhythm of our songs. Occasionally 4 or 5 Azzuri fans, full of patented Italian bravado, would approach our front line and attempt to "show us what they've got", only to be engulfed by the sounds of "Oh Azzuri" to the tune of "Oh My Darlin Clementine"; "Oh Azurri, Oh Azurri, you can't buy a referee. Not in Deutchland, not in Deutchland, you can't buy a referee." Perhaps we were wrong?
So there we stood, on our patch of German sidewalk. Behind us there was a large partition creating an area between it and 2 walls that could not be seen by the passers-by. A short, bald Italian guy comes darting past us and behind the partition. His crew seeing the necessity to continue, walked on. Moments later the German Police come strolling through, and the opportunity was more than one in our group could stand to pass up. "Theres an Italian pissing back there!" he points. "Public urination! German building being pissed an Italian.... right back there!" he points again. The Police smile, wave and continue walking. Just moments again. Our new Italian buddy comes darting back out from behind the partition, "Scuzi, scuzi...Ha ha ha, you guys, very funny, scuzi, scuzi!" We howled with laughter as he disappeared back into the river.

Stuck in my head

I am tired.
We leave Heidelberg with mixed emotions. But, I have my own seat on the train, which is golden for those not familiar with train travel. To share foot space AND arm space can make a long ride all the longer. To top it all off, seems as though I've picked a space near the Iranian Poveratti. I do not know the words he sings but it seems as though he doesn`t know the whole song because he sounds like a skipping record. Now then, in his defense he could very well have caught chant fever. It seems to have taken residence in my brain again. After a while all thoughts are processed in rhyme and cadence. I wake in the morning and it's "Coffee, coffee...Coffee, coffee...Coffee, coffee, coffeeee, nah na nah na...nah na nah na...nah na nah na na, Coffee!" Like some sick form of Turret's syndrome. The brain just involuntarily takes random, everyday thoughts and puts them to the songs that have filled the air for days. "Oh where's the water closet? Oh where's the water closet? It costs a buck... to take a pee... I think I'll just find a fuckin tree." "Oh where's the..." Over and over again, until that one is replaced by the next. Maddening!

Monday, June 19, 2006

Some old photos

This is Skate and I after the 1/4 final loss to Germany.

Skate and I again outside a stadium in Korea. Brett, German, and I outside another stadium in Korea.

When we start getting some pics downloaded from this trip I will post them.

Met a reporter from the Ventura County Star after the Czech match. He didn't have the greatest grammer or spelling, nor did he quote me exact, but I made it into the paper. I said, "If you are going to watch your team lose, it might as well be 6000 miles from home, and surrounded by friends!",1375,VCS_256_4770825,00.html

I will try to get the next post up soon, so much to see around here!

Saturday, June 17, 2006

Wake the Giant!

Today we walk headlong into our fate. We enter into this evening as fans with questions on our minds. Which team will show up tonight? The team that, as of late, has been vey strong regardless of the competion, or the team that we saw play the opening game of the World Cup? I can only hope it is not the latter. We came this far from home with the knowledge that with a group like ours we could theorectically be swept, and I thought that I had prepared myself for such a result. But after watching the game against the Czechs I can only say that I was so very disappointed. We played with no fight, no grit, no guts, no attitude! The opponents in our group deserve respect, no doubt. But we must mix equal parts; the acknowledgement of their ability, and the demanding of respect of our own. We demanded nothing against the Czechs, and that is exactly what we received. However, certainly we can trust that the necessary adjustments have been made! Motivation should not be a factor, this is the World Cup! But wipe the night from your eyes sleeping giant! We will follow you to the four corners; where you lead us we will gladly go, and with us we will bring song and spirit, heart and hope. We will be the beat that you march to but for the sake of all things greater than us, FIGHT! If we lose, fine. To truly appreciate victory we must know defeat, but charge the field with defiant fists in the air!!
We head for the stadium at noon.

Friday, June 16, 2006

The Rainbow Duo

It is but hours now. The begining of the cup for us is tonight. We will face a very good Czech team, and I would imagine that with our opponents being so close to home they will have the majority of support from the stands. However the underdog status will be nothing new to our boys, and nor will it be new to us in the seats. We will once again adorne ourselves with our battle regalia and push our squad with the passion that springs from such an event.
~~~Brrrrr A ha ha....O da lay eee whoo~~~
The Rainbow Duo! What a musical pair these two make!
We attended a German wine festival yestereday in the village of Alzenau which is jsut a few Km outside of Hanau, the birthplace of the Brothers Grimm. It was a warm day with plenty of sun so our hosts Peter and Gloria chose a very fine bottle of chilled Reisling. MMMMM When it touches the lips, its sooooo good! And to think we had a really nice afternnon planned ;) Instead we sipped Reisling and listened to the smooooth sounds of "The Rainbow Duo." DAMN I forgot my camera!Keyboard, powder blue guitar and 2 of the rockin'est polka singers I have ever had the pleasure of being witness to. 1st they found a lucky little lady from the crowd to sing a few back-up "No,No,No's" and "Yea, Yea,Yea's." I think she's done this before! She digs her feet in, stands up straight, shoulders back, allow for full diaphram extension it comes...wait for it..."Yea,Yea,Yea." Like a bird in a tree. Beautiful! Now our star, the man on the mic Gunther, not to be outdone really lets it go! *3rd verse, same as the 1st* 15 verses later our German canary is set again..."No,No,No." OH Yes,Yes,Yes Frau, a star is born! The crowd is now in a grape induced lather and we order another bottle. This could be the best German wine fest EVER! The newly discovered German Idol, now realizing her moment in the spotlight has come to an end returns to her picnic bench thrown to a rather rambunctious applause, and I find that my own two hands are offering her deserved praise. Hearing this, "the Band" sets up and begins to deliver a song I have heard before but NEVER thought I would hear now. "Keeping us on our toes boys..NICE!" Wait, this song has a Latin feel! Aye, Aye, Aye, Aye. Buh dada, Buh dada, Buh dada. This is classic! Duh dada, duh dada, duh dada. This could be a Sociologist's dream, cross cultural musical sampling, and the madness incured from the songs being stuck in the brain during the walk home. However, when Hanz leaned into the mic as his nimble fingers danced melody on the ivory, and he gave us a heartfelt attempt at the distinctive Mariachi "Brrrrr A ha ha" that seemed to end in an "Oh da lay heee whoo" I knew then that this was indeed a special day! So Hanz...Gunther... Yo da Lah ha ha to you to!!

Friday, June 09, 2006


Unfortunately our time here in Denmark runs short. The Cup begins today and as a result we depart for Germany in the morning. The experience here has been wonderful and as excited as I am about begining the next leg of the journey I am also very sad to say goodbye once again. Walking through the town I knew as as younger man has brought back so many fond memories. Shane and I had such an adventure here. Two 18 year old boys set loose upon an unsuspecting village! I remember the night we went downtown for a Jazz festival, and after one too many beers, okay maybe two, Shane pushed me home in a shopping cart, but not before stopping to buy porn from a street side vending machine. We thought that was sooooo cool! ~~The day we we took the bus to Aarhus to find what else, another music festival! We bought a bag of beers and found ourselves completely lost. We were so naive, and yet charging ahead full steam, curious as to what we were to find around the next corner. What we found that fateful night will remain between Shane and I as a sly grin and a wink. I will only reference "Dylan and The Dead" and remember it forever! We called for our ride as planned, and the only directions I could summon were, "I am at a telephone in a round-about, there's a pharmacy on one corner and a bank on another." How they found us I'll never truly know.~~Our soccer team won the league and found promotion to the next Serie; we didn't make it our of the locker room for 2 hours. After beers, champagne, Gamle Dansk and a very entertaining bike ride home the number shall be 3! Not 4 nor 5! The number shant be 2, but 3! Shane, they no longer have our bikes, but I dare to guess that you still have your scars from that bike ride home. They remember that day well around here and the story still brings a laugh.
So one of the things that always brings me joy is interesting uses of language; and here, as I am sure it can be found anywhere a persons native tongue is not 1st, I can find humor at every corner.
I yell with reckless abandon! Perhaps it could be my call to battle! I leave my home, my safety net, and venture out into the world. GERONIMO upon my lips. Show me world, what you have to see!
After last nights training session we sat stretching while Ole gave his post session talk. Our boys face the #1 team in the Serie this weekend. I listen to the words, imagine their meaning and take note that should the managers instructions be followed, victory is certain. As we ascend the hill that leads us away from the pitch we come to the lot in which everyone has parked their cars. Micheal, a striker for our club FC Cimbria, has found a bicycle, and yet another hill! He sits atop his steed at the summit, eyes wide, his ears are covered by the corners of his grin. As his feet hit the peddles his knuckles whiten. He throws caution to the wind and descends. His declaration, alive with passion~~GUANTANAMO!!! I nearly fell over! I love 3rd languages.

Wednesday, June 07, 2006

Tullamore Dew

...and these Irish eyes are no longer smiling. Recovery seems slower these days. I guess thats a good reason to stay off the sauce. Except for special occasions of course. Now to convince myself that this whole damn trip isn't occasion itself. Sure seems special! Good beer here though. Randers has it's own brewery and get this, the bars on the main strip have the beer sent to the tap via direct piping. No kegs necessary. Not entirely sure of the specifics, but no born on dates here folks. "Excuse me doctor, could I get a Thor please.. awwwwe it's a beer, and what lovely gold eyes it has!"
I need to find a good World Cup preperation mag, so's I can keep up with the conversations that are sure to pick up pace! 2 days from now the world goes on hold, get your shopping done early!
Trip to Copenhagen cancelled due to start of World Cup, will I ever forgive myself? I imagine sooner or later, but if Costa Rica beats Germany in the opener and I miss that while in a car en route to the worlds second largest ball of twine I will have much greater internal issues to deal with.
We get closer to the day and I can actaully feel my eyes starting to cloud over, and my hearing is getting worse on top of that. "You need me to do what? The games on! What's that? Who are you? I'm sorry this barstool has gum or something on it and I am forced to wait till half time!"

It's that time again

As I sit here on this fine Danish morning, I type with a very real sense of excitement and anticipation. I have chosen to return to Denmark to visit the family that so graciously took me in when I came to play for a local club so many years ago. They have all done very well for themselves, and I can easily say that our stay has thus far been fantastic. Anders, the little brother I never had, has opened the only pool hall in town, genius! I have still not beaten him, and by the looks of it I might not. But being the sporting man he is, he keeps a smile on my face with beers from the tap, and then soundly trounces me once again.

 The kick-off of the World Cup is only a few days away, the US involvement exactly one week, and here I sit just North of the preparations trying to contain the feelings that are beginning to percolate up to the surface. I think it is the coming of the worlds most beautiful sporting spectacle, then again maybe it is just this tar I have been drinking as a coffee substitute. They hand out spoons with every cup here for a reason. I thought at first it would be to scrape out the last few drops from the bottom of the cup. I later realized the spoon served a dual purpose. It's primary function was simple, to be used as a miniature shovel in the sugar dish, and the second, though not as clearly stated, is to indicate to your welcoming host that you would indeed like another cup. This is accomplished when the spoon is held at the end of a caffeine induced, epileptic hand and placed near or inside the freshly emptied cup, the result is very much like ringing a bell, "I am interested in another cup please! I think that my current level of vibration is nearly sufficient to obtain levitation!" Tak!

So many of you I might not have spoken to in weeks, months, or years. Some of you probably haven't heard from me since Korea, but the time is here again that I find it necessary to perhaps bore, maybe inform, and hopefully, at least entertain you with my notes from the field. Should you decide you care for none of it, please feel free to delete immediately. Should you take my invitation please remember that this is a month of long days, longer nights, and at times the thoughts that make it into these writings might not be all that PC. I promise myself prior to every trip I make outside the borders that have been my home for much of my life, I will be a good ambassador. So with that in mind we begin:

~India Air! The very name rouses thoughts of chickens and goats in the isles, and what we found was not far off. India Air was chosen for its bottom line prices (beer's expensive) and it lived up to every slashed penny. We were given the option of two mid-cabin seats in a row of three, in which the tickets had already been printed. Or, two solitary seats at the very back of the plane. I say "We'll take the back." WAIT! "Is it loud back there?" The woman behind the counter this a bluff? Does she play on line poker?? Are these seats still available because they are indeed the shittiest seats on the plane and everyone knows this but me? DAMN YOU INDIA AIR!!

I say "What we have is fine", and as I reach for the tickets my companion clears her throat. Perhaps she knows that these tickets will involve her sitting in the middle, between me and any one of the other people preparing to board this 8 hour flight. Most of whom do not look as though they have Old Spice in their toiletry bag. Though "old spice" might not be all that far off after such an amount of time. Our attendant searches for my response. Behind those steely eyes she is waiting; coolly, breathlessly waiting, to see how I navigate these tumultuous waters . "We'll take the rear!" I've grown tired of standing in line, and this back and forth seat selection might never end. If it's loud I won't be able to her myself nor Lindsay complain. Besides the drinks are going to be free, and after a few Bourbons neat I'll just entertain myself by finding the pitch of the engines and humming out loud in perfect unison. The other passengers will be enthralled by my abilities I'm quite sure!
The nice lady reprints our tickets and as she hands them to me.... wait... is that an "I know something you don't know" twinkle in your eye?!? DAMN YOU INDIA AIR!
The seats are fine, but what comes next I doubt you will ever find on United. Our stewardess comes rolling up and poses me with this vexing question; "Would you like curry'd mmphilshhoner, or chicken?" I look to Lindsay for a glimpse of recognition, "what did she say?" "Chicken!" I think to myself "I am on an adventure, traveling to far away lands, broadening my horizons. If I get an intestinal infection from the India Air chicken that forces me to fashion a field diaper out of duct tape and cocktail napkins I will be very disappointed! So I ask my patient servant, "What was that curry dish again?" Her indiscernible response came back the same as before, "Curry'd slllmnickblner" "Mmmmm, that sounds good, I'll have that!!"
I should have asked for pretzels.~