El Tri and the game that kickstarted our adventure

This piece was actually written last summer during my time in the Colorado Writer's Project, shortly after the Gold Cup game in Denver between Mexico and Martinique.  [FYI-the "language" in it is authentic.]  While Amy and I had talked about going to the World Cup and knew we would need to start planning soon, attending this game solidified in our minds that we were going to follow through with it.

Los fanaticos dEl tri

            It was as if I had been transported to an entirely new place. The volume of the crowd buzz was steadily growing; the seats were rapidly filling with green bodies, wide-brimmed sombreros and a seemingly endless stream of Chicharitos. My adrenaline spiked back to where it was upon entrance. This is what it was supposed to be!

Only moments before, the first game of the day had ended in a meaningless, anticlimactic 0-0 draw. During that first match I had been stunned that I could actually make out the various calls and cheers from individual Canadian and Panamanian fans, and even the spoken instructions the players were giving each other on the field.  When I had first entered the stadium, I was filled with energy, anticipating the high level Gold Cup soccer and especially its fans. But that excitement quickly waned as we approached our seats.  I became deflated, disappointed not just at how few people were in the stands such a short time before kickoff, but in the almost complete silence throughout the match.  Even a big play garnered only a heightened murmur.   The basically boring game ended without fanfare of any kind.

That was when I noticed the change.  It was as if I was actually in Mexico.

My section was suddenly filled with elated faces and voices. I had to speak up for my out of place English to be heard by my friends and family. And it was as if everyone was indeed friends and family there, all in support of El Tri.

            The crowd erupted when the Mexican National Team took the field alongside underdog Martinique.  It seemed like the whole state burst into song with the Mexican National Anthem.  As Martinique put the ball into play the entire stadium exploded into a cacophony of cheers.   Now, instead of individual voices blaring out over the quiet now and then, there was a constant hum that crescendoed with every challenged 50/50 ball or downfield Mexican pass. Any call in favor of the opponent (no matter how correctly warranted) was met with a fervor of boos, hisses, whistles and a few “Chingate”s. Even on the opposing goal kicks the entire crowd would wave their arms in the air cheering, louder and louder (similar to an American football kickoff), until it climaxed on the goalkeeper’s contact with the ball with a deafening “Puuuuuuuu-tOOOOOOOO!!!!”  This is what I expected, wanted, craved, total passion. With a shot on the poor Islander goalie the roar of 25,000, the stadium only a third full, was so deafening I doubted it could be any louder.

            That was until Marco Fabian broke the ice with a looping offbalance rebound that bounced into the back of the net.  OH   MY   GOD!!! Total and utter elation.  The entire stadium shook like thunder with everyone jumping up and down screaming, even my usually reserved wife and her sister.  It felt like being on the dance floor of a gigantic club at midnight on New Year’s Eve, everyone dancing and celebrating to the fullest of their ability.  Most tried to imitate Andres Castor’s infamous “Gooooooooooooooooooooooooooolllllllllllll!!!!!!” for as long as they could before taking another breath.  Yes, this was exactly what I had sought.

            When Martinique earned a penalty kick to gain the tie minutes later, I feared for the life of the referee.  Even mothers and children were screaming things that would make a Marine drill sergeant blush as I learned some new Spanish.  The stunned crowd then grew ominously quiet.

Quickly, though, a rocket from way outside by Luis Montes gave the adopted home team the lead back, and the stadium again exploded in fiesta “MEH-HEE-CO! MEH-HEE-CO!”  The jubilation and excitement maintained throughout halftime.

 The roar grew yet again as the second half kicked off.  The match remained 2-1 and the crowd visibly and audibly stressed throughout the rest of the half.  With each successive play or change of possession, the crowd “OOOOOHHH!”ed and “AAAAAAAAH”ed in accordance. The tension mounted.  The collective sigh of relief exhaled with a Martinique miss created a stiff breeze.  While a narrowly missed a shot by Mexico brought a ridiculous, “AAAAAAAAAWWW” as if 25,000 people had had their own lifeblood drawn out of them.

I was hot, thirsty, hungry and had to pee, but there was no way I was missing even one second of action.  We were all literally on the edge of our seats, desperately begging for another goal to seal it.  When it finally came, Miguel to Miguel, a beautiful cross by the young speedster Layun and finished strong by the substitute striker Ponce, the post-game celebration had begun.  An electrical hum buzzed the air, everyone singing, whooping and Ole-ing, as we exited the stadium in a rhythmic Conga crowd, the sensation lasting all the way home.

            Even though this was only Mexico’s “B” squad in a mid-level tournament, we all felt like we had personally won the World Cup. I vowed to never miss another Mexico game played in Colorado.