This is a true story. No part has been exaggerated or distorted.
Some of you may remember that in 1994 we hosted the World Cup out here, and the US got to the second round (miracle of miracles).
Right after they got into the second round, I went overseas, to France to be precise. The US team lost.
Okay, so the final comes around, and I go and grab myself a fine meal. Afterwards I find a pub in Montparnasse and watch the game. I was the only non-Brazilian in the room.
I didn't think much of it at the time.
But in 1996, I was living in Paris during the European cup. The family came out and we went on holiday to Pisa, Italy. I passed some of those sweltering days in a caffe', watching the matches.
We went back to Paris after the semifinal.
I watched the final from the Paulaner haus in Munich.
Coincidence?
In 1998 I was living in Pisa during the World Cup. I was in Italy up until the critical Italy-France matchup in the second round. At the start of that match I boarded an Alitalia flight to Brussels. The plane crossed into French airspace right as France lined up for what was to be the winning penalty kick.
After landing in Belgium, I went to France and watched the matches, up until the finals. For the finals I was in Belgium. I watched the game with my girlfriend at the time (also at the time she was a French resident). Well, we watched part of it. Then we got in here French-plated car and drove to a French friend's apartment.
In 2000 I was living in Cyprus for most of the European cup. But at some point, we all have to come back to the United States, and my time was up. On the way, I wanted to see someone I cared about in Italy. The flight was on KLM (US Gov't required low-bid flights), and on the Sunday of the finals. The Dutch baggage handlers, perhaps angered at the results of the previous Wednesday's match, lost my bags.
By now I started to believe these were not coincidences. I arrived in Milan, confident that I would finally do something to repay the generosity the Italian governments had shown me in the past. No bags, no worries. I got on a train for Bologna, but on an impulse descended at Modena and got myself a hotel room.
Being a Sunday evening, I wasn't confident at finding food, so I asked the guy behind the desk where I might find a Pizzeria before the game. I couldn't find it and wound up being served some mediocre fish in some restaurant. They'd hauled the television into the dining area and everyone watched the match as we ate.
With about 8 minutes to go in the match, and Italy up 2-1, I decided my work was done, and I ordered the bill.
As sometimes happens, particularly to forestieri who speak Italian with the patate in bocca, the bill was an imaginative interpretation of what I had been served. The main dish was twice as expensive as anything on the menu, there was some side dish I'd never seen, they'd charged me for two covers, and so on.
I don't lose my cool.
I called the waiter over and expressed my concerns to him. He goes over to the proprietor (who's at the front, by the television), and has a heated conversation with him, which begins (in Italian):
"But what are you trying to do? This bill is full of wrong and erroneous items!"
The proprietor lowers his voice and says something.
Right afterwards -- I swear, not two seconds later -- France tied it.
Anyway, this joker comes over and explains to me that, indeed, the only oversight was the second cover charge, and the rest is correct, leaving me to call him a liar.
Pissed off, I pay, and wish the country male.
France wins before I make it back to the hotel.
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For this World Cup, for the duration, I'm stuck in Iowa, in the heart of the American Midwest. Will fate prevail? Or are the Germans just too good? Stay tuned.
