And so the story continues with silence. Saturday morning saw the two heavyweights of the competition battle it out, Greece and South Korea. My plan was to wake up and watch the game in bed, lovely. Once turning on the TV was met not with the sound of a thousand vuzuvela’s but the sound of silence. My cable provider had decided that the start of my World Cup adventure was a good time to fuck about with sound testing.
I rang technical support and was directed to an answerphone message where I yelled profanities that would have made Wayne Rooney blush to the automated machine. Ten minutes later the sound reappeared, thank you very much.
I won’t lie to you I may or may have dropped off a little for a schluf during the game, it was 7:30 am here after all. As my father so eloquently put it though ‘it’s hard to sleep with those horns’ quite.
A quick breakfast was followed by sitting down to watch Argentina v Nigeria and Diego Maradonna look like her just came from a funeral. I won’t talk about the game just that I watched it infront of my TV.
Katlin and I then went out for lunch. I refused to speak to her or hold her hand as I didn’t want to fraternize with the enemy, the word ‘unimpressed’ should probably be used to describe her mood.
I had invited a few people round to mine to watch the game and a couple had asked to bring mates along, no problem. I stocked the fridge with beers and filled side dishes with dips and snacks creating a spread that my Mother would have been proud of.
As the game got going slowly but surely the numbers grew and so did the amount of beer. By the end of the game my living room had 40 people in it and there wasn’t enough room in the fridge for any more beers.
After the game I needed to unwind so saw this as an oppertunity to drink the leftover beer with a few stragglers on the rooftop, needless to say by 8 I was shitfaced.
A quick deviation from my story to bring you the story of New York which was absolutely buzzing about the game. Ladies and gents, I think the Yanks just fell in love with football. The streets were full of England and USA fans singing, bars were packed out and our BBQ restaurant was the fullest it has ever been. Busier than the Superbowl, busier than the Kentucky Derby and busier than the Stanley Cup. Clint Dempsey adorns the front page of every single newspaper as their new hero.
That was Saturday, Sunday was my first World Cup day at work. I had to be there for 6:45 am as they showed the big one live, Algeria v Slovenia. I predicted that it wouldn’t be a big draw for the public, hell even I didn’t want to watch it. So the game kicked off and the TV’s blared out the pictures to an empty restaurant which I slowly set up. Half time still no goals, still no customers. At 9 the next waiter came in, but still no guests. The game finished without a soul in the restaurant.
Suddenly a flurry of activity..... guests!? No, other servers turning up for their shift. A couple of people then sat at the bar for Serbia V Ghana, I just watched the game with Mamadou our Senegalese line cook.
And so the clock ticked over to 12 and the regular brunch shift started, I had served not a soul for the football. A decision was made to send me home if no one turned up for the Aussie’s v Krauts. The omens were good as the books were low. My section sat empty until 10 minutes before the game when Americans, with a new found love for the game, decided that they had had such a good time watching yesterday at the restaurant that they would come back for more. I was sat 8 tables at once and walked out of their 11 hours after starting and having watched those fucking Germans score 4 times. Americans with a new found love of ‘soccer’...... fuck you Rob Green!
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