GOL! GOL! GOL!

My weekend plans just jumped from “decent” to “pretty fucking spectacular”

Who has tickets to the 2009 U.S. vs Panama CONCACAF gold cup quarter finals at Lincoln Financial Field this weekend?

THIS GIRL DOES!!!

I’ll be the first to admit – I like soccer and all, but I’m not an adamant soccer fan. However, I most definitely AM a fan of drunken frenzied soccer fans and perhaps a good old-fashioned soccer riot.

The only other pro soccer game I’ve ever attended was an Italy vs. Ecuador game at the Meadowlands when I was first married to the Ex. In fact, it’s one of the few good memories I have of the time period between saying “I do” and serving him with a restraining order.

And not to get off topic, I came across his profile on Facebook the other day and HOLYSHIT there is seriously something wrong with him.

Let’s review.

There’s me:

And there’s him:

Any wonder why the marriage didn’t work out?
Jesus Christ that guy would freak the shit out of Mike Meyers. He's like the fucking Lord of Darkness.

But clearly I’ve digressed…

So, back to the Meadowlands. The day is steaming hot and the Ex and I have just arrived with a couple we were friends with. We had parked and were enjoying some tailgating refreshments and soggy Wawa hoagies when this van pulls up next to us holding, literally, 12 Ecuadorians, including one VERY PREGNANT woman who was practically falling out of the rear window.

I’m not trying to support stereotypes or anything but it’s the God’s honest truth.

So they pull up next to us, pile out like clowns from a clown car, and have a grill up and going within 30 seconds. A few minutes later, the smell of delicious pork is wafting towards us, which was making our soggy hoagies look even more unappealing. Well, we must have been making “19th century street urchin” eyes at their spread, because out of the blue, this Ecuadorian walks over to me, slaps a giant plate of meat on my lap, and walks away without a word.

SWOON
I would have married that guy instantly had I not already been spoken for. He obviously knew the way to my heart.

So, using the universal language of meat we befriended the Ecuadorians. They gave us coronitas. We gave them gin (which they had never had before, and after one shot were clearly never going to have again. Oh, the faces!). So we drank and ate and drank and ate some more.

And that’s my last lucid memory of the soccer game.

I remember playing some futbol in the parking lot with the Ecuadorian wearing the straw cowboy hat.

I remember being in the stadium with the fans screaming so loud that I felt like I was in a gladiator arena.

I remember giving the Italian sign for “fuck you” to a group of Italian guys, which almost caused a fight.

I remember the sky opening up in the middle of the game and soaking us to the skin.

I slightly remember drinking more coronitas with them once we got back to the parking lot.

The next cohesive memory I have is waking up in the car after the Ex drove us home, wearing an Ecuadorian jersey that one of the guys gave to me before we parted ways, and having completely lost my voice.

In a word, epic.

And here’s the best part.
A few weeks later, I get this call from a number I didn't recognize. I pick up, and after a few minutes of confusion, I realize Holy Crap It’s the Equadorians!!!!!!!!

Apparently I had exchanged numbers with one of the guys and made him swear to me on his mother’s grave that he would call us the next time they were all going to a game.

Sad to say, we weren’t able to take him up on the invitation, and he never called again. To this day, I truly regret passing up on this serendipitous opportunity to become close friends with a random group of guys (and one pregnant lady) from Ecuador.

Also sad to say that my Ex commandeered the jersey and I haven’t seen it since I moved out of our apartment.

What a D-bag.

But at any rate, I’m sure that more ridiculous memories will be made this weekend. I’m determined to befriend at least one Panamanian (Panamaniac?) so I can convince them to give me their jersey.

And if they offer me meat?
Well....