Crashing the Quarterfinals on a Budget

For an unplanned odyssey into the underworld of scalping, the Hamburg quarterfinals were a dream come true. No, not the dream I had last night, where I’m at a waterskiing competition with Brazil’s starting XI and Ronaldhino and I are suddenly 12 years old again and we become best friends because neither of us ever had braces, (I’m not making any of this up. I had that extreme “just a dream” disappointment over my bowl of cornflakes this morning when I found that I did not actually have the best player in the world on speed dial) but it was close.

The scalpers were numerous in Hamburg for the Italy vs. Ukraine match and no one was buying. Enough people had stacks of tickets fanned out in a “pick a card, any card” formation that the thought that that some would have to start dealing quickly began to gain appeal in the back of my brain.

I decided I had 50 Euro’s that would have otherwise gone to souvenirs for friends and family that I could spend on the ticket. Sorry Mom. (Dad, I’ve already got your gift, see “Reeperbahn,” below.) 50 Euro’s is almost unthinkably low for a quarterfinal game, but after the Germany vs. Argentina penalty shoot-out, most of the locals seemed to have decided to spend the night drinking in the Reeperbahn, Hamburg’s famous nightclub, bar and red light district, instead of driving prices up at Italy vs. Ukraine.

The first guy I talked to wanted 200 for second level seating and wasn’t willing to give me a 75% discount just because I break my budget on a regular basis to buy take out Mexican food in Berlin.

Just around the bend in the path, however, there were a group of guys, each with an anxious look on their faces and a stack of tickets that must have been looking larger with each passing minute. I asked around for the best deal and finally agreed with a guy on a price that, through the magical negotiating technique of not speaking the same language, I thought was 25 Euro’s and he thought was 250. We cleared that up in a hurry and I saw a guy holding one ticket and sort of drifting toward the stadium like he wanted to get inside.

“How much?” I asked.
“Thirty,” he said.
“Thirty?” I was trying to avoid agreeing to pay the guy 300.
“Three… Zero…” He said. “And you sit next to me.”

30 euro’s, hell, after popcorn and parking, you’ve spent more than that on a first date, I thought to myself. And you don’t have to try and charm your way into another one later. (Although I did eventually give him an official World Cup Blog business card.)

There is an interesting dynamic to sitting with the person you’ve just robbed on the highway. You’ve got to be friendly, but you’ve got to let them be friendly first. With Roma, who sold me the ticket, it was easy as the first thing he did after selling me the ticket was give me a big hug.
It’s also a good idea to root for the same team. Roma, a Swiss guy who’d just watched Ukraine knock his team out in penalty kicks, was suddenly an Italy fan in this game. I had adopted Australia after the USA was eliminated, so rooting for Italy was about as appealing as a game of “Odds or Evens?” with eyebrow hairs it became a lot more appealing when I found I was sitting at the end of a row of Italy fans.

One of these fans employed an interesting method of cheering. It was a scream, half fear, half anger, all energy, as if she was trying to prevent the goals by popping the ball with the pitch of her voice. It’s a sound that ought to be made only when summoning a super hero because of mortal danger or to horrify children on Halloween. Even with a 3-0 Italy lead, my eardrums rang with the anxiety of an entire country. No combination of vowels can do it justice.

So I sucked it up and stood up when Italy scored and even feigned disappointment when the keeper stopped Ukraine’s chances. After the game I discovered the phenomenon of sticking around your seat just to dance in place to the music post game music. Ukrainians, Italians, Germans, all dancing while one gangly American is too self conscious to do much of anything in the company of complete strangers. Wow, basically it was a first date, but cheaper and I don’t have to embellish the ending.