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I remember World Cup 1994.

Now that it's 2014 and the World Cup is here again, I realize that 1994 is no short time ago.

I remember this team. The wild-looking #22 in the back is Alexei Lalas. He is now a commentator. The little Black guy, #13, was Cobi Jones, who amazed us by his sprinting ability in those days. #18 is Brad Friedel, who is still playing today in the English Premier League, at age 43. I saw him on the BBC as a commentator when watching a game with my friend J.H. We were confused by his accent. Half of his sentences sounded British, half American. #1 was Tony Meola, the starting goalie, whose name I thought was very cool. Looking back on this team, there is only one player who is obviously Mestizo in ancestral origin, #7. Only two players are Black, and both are very light-skinned. This strikes me about how I perceive that the USA has changed. If this team were fielded in 2014, my feeling is that the coach and so on would be accused of racism!

This team performed the best, by far, of any U.S. national team ever up to that point.

There was no Internet in 1994. This probably meant life was more authentic. I played soccer in those days, too. I was in school but June and July, World Cup time, are vacation. I was so excited that I hardly knew what to do with myself.

The World Cup was not only going on, you see, but in my own backyard. I think some of the games were played at RFK Stadium in Washington, D.C. and there I was living quite nearby. I went to a game. I am almost sure I did. I have no idea who played, other than two minor teams. Exasperatingly, I am not 100% sure if this is a true memory. I remember seeing a bunch of attention-seekers dressed in bright red-white-and-blue costumes and making a lot of noise at the stadium. Is it possible I saw it on TV? No, it can't be. A memory of TV cannot be so vivid. Is it possible the memory was of the 1996 Olympic soccer and I went to that instead?

I remember being alone in a car with my friend and then-classmate Pedro, listening on the radio to the USA vs. Brazil game. As it was radio, our clarity of understanding was less than optimal. I remember our huge celebration when the USA scored a goal. Imagine the deflating feeling when we realized that it was actually Brazil that scored! The USA lost.

I wrote the following to my (one and only) Singaporean friend, A.L., yesterday:

How might I describe my mornings these past two weeks? A drowsy haze of soccer punctuated by frustrated sleep and confusion. You see, the games are shown from 1 AM to 8 AM. "Life is too short to sleep through the World Cup", is my feeling. I don't follow soccer whatsoever otherwise, so this may not be my most rational decision.

This Sunday/Monday, I got to sleep at 12:30 AM and woke up at 3:00 AM, shaved/showered, packed up my things, and walked over to my friend J.H.'s home to watch the Korea game and then the USA vs. Portgual game. Korea had a terrible first half in which they conceded four goals and lost. They are probably out. As for the USA game, I had to leave before the second half began to go to our class' last day. The USA and Portugal tied due to a last-second Portugal goal, which I thus missed.

Political Influences on World Cup Results; Speculative
The appeal of the World Cup is definitely "political'" in the sense of it being all about national pride. Within Europe, I cannot help but think of the political situation since the 2008 Economic Crisis.

Southern Europeans
The European "PIIGS", who fast approach a decade of unending economic unpleasantness and pessimism, did remarkably poorly in the Group Stage:

           Spain: Out. Two losses.
           Italy: Out. Two losses.
           Greece: Out. Two losses.
           Porutgal: Probably Out. Nearly two losses (tied USA at last second).

Now, consider that Spain, Portugal, Italy, Greece respectively rank #1, #4, #9, #12 in the world!

"On paper", as they say, each of these teams should be in the final 16, i.e., the second round in the World Cup. Three are out for sure and one teeters on the brink. What, then, is the statistical chance, in a 32-team tournament, that the #1, #4, #9, and #12 ranked teams are all eliminated before going onto the second round of 16 teams? The odds have to be very low, in which case we can speculate about a general explanation. Here is mine: As the contest is heavily influenced by national pride, teams from politically-pessimistic societies do more poorly than they should.

Vis-a-vis the "PIIGS", who are more politically optimistic?

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A fictitious classmate named Mincheol invited me to go on a fictitious trip to Jeju (an island which is entirely non-fictitious). My task was to decline and give reasons why. Picture here and translation below.

[My Korean original, after corrections by Teacher Lee]
민철 씨, 제주도에 가지 마세요. 우리는 바쁘니까 여행은 좋지 않은 생각이에요. 시험도 있고 가족하고 약속도 있으니까 인천에 있을 거예요. 저는 여행을 못 가요. 가고 싶지 않아요. 글쎄요, 같이 가고 싶은데 못 가요. 다음 주말에 어때요? 다음 주말이 더 좋아요. 시간이 있으니까 다음 주말에 갈까요? 다음 주말에 가면, 아주 행복할 거예요. [Signed]

[English Translation]
Dear Mincheol,
Don't go to Jeju Island. As we are so busy, going on a trip is a bad idea. We have an exam coming up, and we have obligations to our families, so we need to (here: "will") stay in Incheon. I can't go. I don't want to go. Well, actually I do want to go with you, but I can't. How about next week? Next week is better. If you have time, why don't we go next week instead? If we go next week, I will be very happy. [Signed]
_________________________________________________
And the rest of the story: My attempt to sternly warn the fictitious Mincheol of his obligations to his studies and to his family failed; backfired. What do I mean, "backfired"? I mean this:

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Now, I don't think I'd believe this story if I heard it from someone else, but I trust my own ears well enough. I was there. It was late 2011.

This was it, more or less:
Picture a long table, at the back of a reasonably-priced meat restaurant, in a nice and cozy corner of the Seoul Megalopolis. Beef and pork are on grills built into the tables, cooking, in the Korean style. The grill emanates comfortable heat. Eight or so White Westerners are sitting at this table, eating and talking. Most are coworkers, teachers at the same English language institute (hagwon). Among them is me.

Next to me sits C.H. from California (who is now in China). Others present included J.H., B.L., M.G., E.R., and finally A.S. All these people were born in the mid-1980s (except for C.H. who is a bit older), so are in their mid-20s at the time (2011), Everyone around the table holds a university degree.

A.S., from England, with his close-cropped red hair, is the focal point of my memory here. He was a big fan of one of the soccer teams in England.

It so happens that C.H. is a graduate of a Lutheran college in the USA. At our dinner, as the meat sizzles and all the "accoutrements" are nearby at the ready -- lettuce, garlic, peppers (of which we stayed well clear), sauces, kimchi, and who knows what else -- I begin to ask C.H. about his thoughts on the Lutheran church(es) in America and so on. He knows much more than I do about it. He was even in a Lutheran seminary for a short time.

Our English friend, A.S., listens in. He chimes in:

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