Soccer makes me happy. I'm not sure why or at what point this might have come to be. My earliest memories of the sport are from playing in the local Boys & Girls Club league in Chula Vista. I played in this amateurish indoor soccer league and never developed any real talent as a result. Nevertheless, I always enjoyed my time playing in that league and even practiced on my own time in the backyard of my house with my brother. I am surprised that the fence posts that I would kick the ball against were still in tact after all those years of being kicked against.
While playing a sport is always the most important factor in determining one's appreciation for it, I think that I was also able to establish an appreciation based solely on the spectator side as well. Growing up I vividly recall the soccer viewing parties that we would have with family and friends around the neighborhood. I remember the 1994 World Cup and thinking to myself how amazing it would be to go and cheer on one of my preferred teams at the stadiums. I remember everyone in the house going wild whenever that goal came, or didn't. I remember the camaraderie and solidarity amongst people from all over. I remembered how people from different parts of the world would care about a team from another part of the world, even if they normally wouldn't think twice about it. Soccer brings people together. It may sound trite to say that, but I firmly believe that this is true.
When I was in Mexico for the 1998 World Cup, I remember being completely caught up in the fervor once again. Nostalgia about the sport already pervaded my memories, but this time I was in a country with a culture that actually had a passion for it. I played soccer video games, played soccer in the streets, in the backyard, and when the time came for Mexico to play, I couldn't imagine a viewing party that could be more fun and passionate. This is probably why I love the Mexican national team.
Tomorrow "El Tri" takes on Uruguay. While I am not down in Mexico or with friends and family to enjoy what is sure to be an incredibly exciting match up, you can trust that I will wake up in the early morning to watch. Even by myself, whether I am watching the Red, White, and Blue or the Green, White, and Red, I am always brought back to those days in my child hood living room with friends and family screaming their lungs out for those very same colors.
Monday, June 21, 2010
Sunday, June 20, 2010
Monday, June 14, 2010
El ebanista
I climbed a mountain the other day. The path I followed was long and arduous, but the sights at the top made the journey entirely worth it.
I decided to go along this trek with a man who I am almost certain has a mental disorder which I cannot determine. I first met him at the workers shelter that I had been staying at and initiated a conversation with him in Spanish which was very promptly overpowered by his disposition to incessant chatter. He seemed knowledgeable about a plethora of subjects, but primarily talked about fish. Since I was interested in learning about the fishing industry, I heard him out as long as I could but finally had to excuse myself. At this time I was convinced he had severe ADHD.
My second encounter with this guy was again at the shelter. This time, the conversation did begin normally but again became a scatterbrained barrage about fishing, canneries, and whatever else was on this guy's mind throughout the day. At one point in the conversation he started going through various different trigonometric formulas and applications of the formulas. He was completely unable to read the very obvious non-verbal messages that I was sending regarding my complete lack of interest in what he was talking about. I reevaluated my previous assessment and began thinking that he might actually have Asberger syndrome.
Last Sunday I ran into the man at church. I smelled a faint hint of alcohol around me and assumed that it was the old Filipino man in front of me. I´m not sure why I made that assumption but it was unfounded since it turned out to be the dude I know. I could not for the life of me, figure out why someone would drink a couple of beers before coming to church. He told me this was the only time he could drink beer because it was his only day off and he only drank in the mornings. He never takes communion as a result.
I walked back with him that day, and was invited to a lunch consisting of real Mexican mole and tortillas. His apartment was a bit untidy but uncluttered. I noticed a few papers, magazines, and a textbook on contemporary American literature. I also noticed that there were at least 6 pairs of Xtra Tuffs scattered all over the apartment.
I mentioned my intent to climb Pillar mountain (the mountain adjacent to Kodiak) that day and he proceeded to invite himself along. I didn´t mind. It was nice to have someone to talk to on the long walk, even if it was a two way conversation with no real back and forth.
The man lives frugally. I learned that he came to Alaska some 20 odd years ago. He has not been back to Mexico and very rarely goes to the lower 48. He drinks beer every once in a while, but lives a relatively austere lifestyle otherwise. I know that he has money in the bank, but I don't think he spends very much of it. Somehow he has a significant body of knowledge, but none of it connects into a coherent line of inquiry. Except for the fish. All I know is that he is single, has a niece that he would leave his life insurance policy to, and has been working in the canneries for a very long time. He appreciates education but has no ability to ever apply any of the academic knowledge that he has acquired over the years.
This man lives to work. He has somehow come all the way across the globe from the bustling metropolis of Guadalajara to the remote and mundane world of the Alaskan canneries. This man, who can recall Pi to the hundred thousandth, and talk for hours about trigonometric formulas, compounding interest rates, the price of fish, the tides, and Mexican soccer, at the end of this day is a very lonely man. I am glad I went on a walk with him that day.
I decided to go along this trek with a man who I am almost certain has a mental disorder which I cannot determine. I first met him at the workers shelter that I had been staying at and initiated a conversation with him in Spanish which was very promptly overpowered by his disposition to incessant chatter. He seemed knowledgeable about a plethora of subjects, but primarily talked about fish. Since I was interested in learning about the fishing industry, I heard him out as long as I could but finally had to excuse myself. At this time I was convinced he had severe ADHD.
My second encounter with this guy was again at the shelter. This time, the conversation did begin normally but again became a scatterbrained barrage about fishing, canneries, and whatever else was on this guy's mind throughout the day. At one point in the conversation he started going through various different trigonometric formulas and applications of the formulas. He was completely unable to read the very obvious non-verbal messages that I was sending regarding my complete lack of interest in what he was talking about. I reevaluated my previous assessment and began thinking that he might actually have Asberger syndrome.
Last Sunday I ran into the man at church. I smelled a faint hint of alcohol around me and assumed that it was the old Filipino man in front of me. I´m not sure why I made that assumption but it was unfounded since it turned out to be the dude I know. I could not for the life of me, figure out why someone would drink a couple of beers before coming to church. He told me this was the only time he could drink beer because it was his only day off and he only drank in the mornings. He never takes communion as a result.
I walked back with him that day, and was invited to a lunch consisting of real Mexican mole and tortillas. His apartment was a bit untidy but uncluttered. I noticed a few papers, magazines, and a textbook on contemporary American literature. I also noticed that there were at least 6 pairs of Xtra Tuffs scattered all over the apartment.
I mentioned my intent to climb Pillar mountain (the mountain adjacent to Kodiak) that day and he proceeded to invite himself along. I didn´t mind. It was nice to have someone to talk to on the long walk, even if it was a two way conversation with no real back and forth.
The man lives frugally. I learned that he came to Alaska some 20 odd years ago. He has not been back to Mexico and very rarely goes to the lower 48. He drinks beer every once in a while, but lives a relatively austere lifestyle otherwise. I know that he has money in the bank, but I don't think he spends very much of it. Somehow he has a significant body of knowledge, but none of it connects into a coherent line of inquiry. Except for the fish. All I know is that he is single, has a niece that he would leave his life insurance policy to, and has been working in the canneries for a very long time. He appreciates education but has no ability to ever apply any of the academic knowledge that he has acquired over the years.
This man lives to work. He has somehow come all the way across the globe from the bustling metropolis of Guadalajara to the remote and mundane world of the Alaskan canneries. This man, who can recall Pi to the hundred thousandth, and talk for hours about trigonometric formulas, compounding interest rates, the price of fish, the tides, and Mexican soccer, at the end of this day is a very lonely man. I am glad I went on a walk with him that day.
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