A Cross-Section of Feverish Fans

There may be no better place to meet people than the Berlin Fan Fest. But let me just tell you now that the muscular, cyborg security guards who wear all black and look like the bad guys from Rambo’s I-III are grumpy and won’t talk to you. This may be because their heads are both ubiquitously shaved and ubiquitously sunburned.

But Miwako and Kumiko Doguchi are very friendly. They’re sister’s dressed in Inamoto and Tamada jerseys and they call Kashiwa, Japan home. This is their second World Cup and they’ve got tickets to some marquee games. Mostly though, they talk about their home city and how Japan will probably never beat Brazil because there are only five fields in the city for kids to play on.

Miwako works in an art-frame shop and teaches English part time. Kumiko is a calligrapher. While they answer questions, Kumiko’s video camera focuses on the notebook in front of her and self-consciousness nearly ends the interview. She’s a calligrapher; she’s going to judge the handwriting she’s recording and the country it came from. No one in the U.S. wants that.

Serving as better ambassadors are Americans Stevan, Cliff and Cody. Stevan and Cliff are brothers, both having played college soccer until each blew out their knee. Cody is a family friend. Home is near San Francisco, California. They’ve been planning this trip since 1994 and they’re all lifers, soccer purists who embrace the elegance and subtleties of a 0-0 tie.

They also embrace the elegance of traveling through Germany on a World Cup vacation, doing pretty much the same thing every day. “When you walk into a town it’s like ‘What are we going to do today?’” Cody says. “Well, there’s the fan fest, we can drink and watch football.”

Their bucket (literally) of Sangria is attracting a swarm of Swedish fans tonight. Some are complete strangers, hovering with three feet long straws, sucking on the fruity drink. The Americans invite everyone to share, encouraging others to take more as they talk about how they haven’t encountered the anti-Americanism they were expecting.

Instead, they’ve found that their shaky German has gotten them free drinks and “about 6,000 people singing, ‘Take Me Home, Country Road in the bars,” Cody says. “I wish American sports had more songs.”

Stevan shares a lesson he learned when they were visiting Germany in 1994, saying that the three components to happiness in Bavarian culture are sports, beer-and-pretzels, and singing. “Why watch this at home when you could be watching this in the town-square and singing along with everyone?” he says, pointing up at the giant screen. “We instantly have something in common with everyone here.”

The Swedes interrupt, they’re teaching everyone a song that translates roughly to, “Put a pole in their nuts! Put a pole in their nuts!” and everyone around the table is singing along as loud as they can.

One of the Swedes is Daniel, an athletic looking blond kid with his arm in a sling made out of what looks to be a bathrobe belt. Home for him is Stockhom and he’s still excited about being the cover photograph of a Stockholm newspaper and being interviewed on live Japanese TV at the opening game. The sling looks deserving of some heroic story, but he popped it out of socket this time while lying in the sun two days before his trip to Germany. Yes he’s in pain, “But this is the medicine!” he says, dipping his straw back into the Sangria.

After the Australia vs. Brazil game there is Dwayne, who has lived in London for the past six months but goes home to Australia. He and a friend are trying to get a girl to take off her shirt by offering their own in trade. Waiting at the bus stop, she agrees and sports only her bra for a moment as the exchange takes place. Dwayne’s friend starts the trade and, relaxed attitudes towards nudity or not, as soon as her shirt comes off Dwayne starts jumping in the air singing “I’m Aussie till I DIE, I’m Aussie till I DIE!”

The two pose for pictures and then trade back as her shirt is so tight on him that his arms are pinned down at his sides. On the bus, her face stays flushed for much of the ride, betraying her humility. “I don’t normally do things like that,” she giggles.

It must be the fever going around.

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