For me, being 3 mins walking from the Hauptbahnhof was brilliant, and every morning if I was coming from somewhere different, I was proud to drape myself in the Trinidad flag and colours from my shoes and clothes. I dont think I ever felt this proud and loved to be a Trini and maybe cause I am a Trini in exile in Toronto, I feel it a bit more and I know it has been written about by men, much more eloquent than myself, but he is right, when he says South Africa wont be the same... I hope it is, but I dont think it will be.
Inside, I cried in our last match, not cause we lost, but because I had to go back to reality and the life of corporate slave, the following day! Like I said, I dont know why this article brought out some melodramatic moment in me, but for 2 weeks, I walked that Hauptbahnhof and it was AMAZING being a Trini!http://www.thestar.com/NASApp/cs/ContentServer?pagename=thestar/Layout/Article_Type1&c=Article&cid=1151878207976&call_pageid=968332188492Cup party a moveable feast
Only Europe could throw one like this
Jul. 3, 2006. 07:24 AM
CHRIS YOUNG
FRANKFURT, Germany - For the past month, Frankfurt's vast Hauptbahnhof has served as the place to take the World Cup's pulse and temperature.
It began with the English taking over O'Reilly's Irish pub across the street and extending down the Kaiserstrasse, the main drag leading away from the railway station. Every day from there, no one needed a program to know flavour of the day, from Mexico to Japan to Côte d'Ivoire and all points between. And by Saturday afternoon, it was positively turning over with Brazil fans in yellow, a smattering of Les Bleus blues, and haggard, hollow-eyed men holding up signs that read Suche Karten — I need tickets. It was last call for a place the locals refer to as Bankfurt or Mainhattan for its main industry and its skyline, the World Cup leaving town after one last night of soccer out at the Waldstadion.
But besides all those people wrapped up in flags and fever, heading out of this hub town on the train for their daily fix, there was another army on the move at this World Cup. Hold one of these tournaments in Europe, and there's a whole continent nearby that will drop in, sometimes on a moment's notice. Perhaps they have lots of money, and can afford four-figures in euros for a decent ticket from the touts, with their cellphones around their necks on a lanyard, working the same platforms they arrive on. Or perhaps not.
About a week in here, I talked to a guy named Andre at the stand-up Italian café where I went for café latte most every morning. He was from Amsterdam, he said, arriving via the international ICE train and looking to see a game. He had no tickets, and no intention of getting one, he said, preferring the officially licensed anarchy of the Fanfest area down by the River Main. Or even just a bar, where he could stand and watch the German TV broadcast, drinking German beer, surrounded by like-minded maniacs.
"I just thought, I'd like to go to the World Cup today," he said.
Imagine waking up in Toronto and deciding you were going to go to the Stanley Cup today, or the Grey Cup. It wasn't like this in Korea or Japan four years ago. It won't be like this in South Africa four years from now.
I met a lot of other Andres on the trains. It's this kind of closeness to the game, and this kind of forgiving geography and unforgiving historical rivalries — not to mention those fast, fast trains — that makes a top-class soccer event so much more buzzy when it's held in Europe. At least on that level, no one should be surprised that after three weeks of kicking it around, we're left with a continental final four. Nor should there be any great sense of disbelief at the ouster of defending champions Brazil and their fellow South Americans from Argentina, and the usual England exit. South America hasn't won in Europe since 1958, when Brazil prevailed in Sweden, and England have replayed the same record so many times since their lone title in 1966 the grooves have worn out.
Now it's down to a quartet in which each appear to be carrying some momentum. Germany may be on the most irresistible roll of all, but that's Italy up next in Berlin on Tuesday, with the most immovable defence in the tournament all along, and a suddenly potent attack that put three by Ukraine in their quarter-final. Over on the other side, France slayed Brazil through the resurgent Zidane and late-to-the-ball princess Henry. Portugal survived on penalties to get to this spot, coach Luis Felipe Scolari extending his World Cup finals record to 12 wins on the trot. The French look like the favourites for that Wednesday night date in Munich, but General Filipao against Domenech gives Portugal great hope.
All that is for later, and somewhere else. Yesterday morning, the Hauptbahnhof was the quietest and most hushed it's been since early June. Instead of the sound of horns and cries of Aleoleoleole, the loudest sound around the periphery came from ringing church bells and the streets were almost empty.
The World Cup has left town, and Sunday morning was back. But in a few weeks, millionaire clubs like Chelsea, Barcelona and others will renew the Champions League, the unofficial professional championship of the world, and the trains will again be running football specials.
It's Europe. It's the beating heart of the game.
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