I sleep in and only catch the last five minutes of England v. Paraguay. The Fox & Fiddle (a chain pub, meh) on Bloor is quiet, and I sneak out without ordering from the unappealing brunch menu. Beckie's Boys take it 1-0, from all accounts an uninspiring match. Me shirking my duties by showing up late but hey it's England - not too many cultural surprises - and like I said it was early. I'll catch some English action later at the Duke of Gloucester in Yorkville - that's soccer HQ for the Brits - but only if it's past the group of 16.
Things get crazy as I head up Dufferin in my car to Eglinton West aka the 'International Market.' Roti King has a great room, and the fans are wired for Trinidad & Tobago versus the mighty Swedes. The RK is jammed with Islanders and the odd bandwagonner like me: reporters scribble on pads while a ditzy blonde newswoman who looks absurdly out of place polls TNTers for emotion. It's Trinidad's first ever appearance at the big show, and as the smallest nation in Cup history the Soca Warriors are sentimental favourites.
The game is riveting. The crowd lives and dies with each Swedish rush and each Trini save. Everybody is on their mobile to get friends to come down to the party of the year there at RK. I am so riveted I don't move from my spot to order beer, roti, or even take a leak. Against the odds, with their top goalie injured, down 10 men to 11 (after Dwight Yorke is tossed early in the second half - followed by accusations of a 'Scandinavian conspiracy' in the bar), backup keeper Hislop comes out of nowhere to work miracles; he throws up the wall. Score is locked at 0-0. Trinidad ties (defeats) Sweden and gains the respect of the world.
Next time I order the roti.
I unrivet myself and head to Sky Ranch, landmark Argentine restaurant on Dufferin at Roselawn (still in the 'International Market'). The fried calamari is superb, the Patagonians go down easy, the screens wide and the waitress speaks no English: a perfect spot to think and watch a game. The Argentine fans there are numerous; I am asked to move from my table (as a lone patron). Feeling a bit squeezed I stay only for the first half, especially as Argentina pounces on Cote D'Ivoire 2-0, and the match becomes predictable. After Trini it's a letdown anyway (a title for a song?) . I can't wait for Thursday against England.
After getting out the door late due to a Punshine shoot, I cycled to King and University to catch the tail-end of Germany-Costa Rica.
Alas, I couldn't even get into that fancy-looking Goethe Insititute Library. The scheisskopf at the door says the match is a 'private viewing only', and kicks me outta there rather schnell. Hmph, a bit rude. It's the freakin' World Cup, global celebration of competition and sportsmanship - why throw the Berlin Wall at me? (their own website says 'watch the games with us!'). Poor showing for the host Germans, but I don't argue - I know I'll get revenge for these Gestapo tactics on my blog.
Detouring to Pura Vida on Lansdowne to bask in Costa Rican sapore was unrealistic - it's too far and Game 1's almost over (Germany beat Costa Rica 4-2). I discount my opening-game failure to experience, and scope out tiny El Penco restaurant for warmer Ecuadorian hospitality before Game 2. But the shop owner doesn't have his television out yet for the tournament; King St's turning up goose-eggs. So I make brief smalltalk with the patrons, inhale a delicious bean burrito (only $2.39) and hop on Mario toward Polishtown.
I cruise the lovely strip separating High Park from Parkdale; the neighbourhood's remarkably quiet despite World Cup madness. Game 1 is still early, granted, but it's way happenin' on College Street and Portugal isn't even playing yet. I bypass a dozen or so local bakeries and cafes (in varying degrees of DePolishization and ReYuppification) and alight at the most Polish venue on Roncesvalles.
At Old Poland Restaurant are gathered all kinds of local TV persons, radio and photographers who - like me - hope for a nationalistic spectacle. The crowd wasn't huge but with the media turning heads the place is stirring. I enter with a smile and order a large Zubr (beer) from the grandmotherly taverness, then plop down for my first taste of the action. Cute blonde women in red-white flag-dresses are being interviewed by CTV and the FAN 590 AM, and a well-coiffed Scotsman loudly holds court on Polish football beside his well-dressed Persian girlfriend. As the gun goes I think twice about ordering borscht from the hand-written relic of a menu; I sip my beer and gaze at the wood-panel television in the corner.
It is a good game, with a surprise winner. Poland outworks Ecuador in the first half but the Ecuadorian forwards Tenorio and Delgado are too talented, scoring a pair of magical goals (the first by Tenorio off a twin-header following a throw-in). The Polish team fought hard and had their chances late but they couldn't get lucky, and as injury time runs out the South Americans rejoice.The red-and-white crowd sighs and disperses along Roncesvalles. Looks like an early World Cup exit for the Poles.
Match 1): Germany v. Costa Rica
Look for me here:
1 pm @ The Goethe Institute - 163 King West (Financial District).
Free Germanvision on the big screen at TGI - I'll be sure to catch as much of the Achtung as possible. For a Costa Rican bar try Pura Vida, 685 Lansdowne at Bloor. Aye'll carumba up there if Germania just ain't jive.
Match 2): Poland v. Ecuador
Look for me here:
3pm @ El Penco - 573 King West, at Portland. Hopefully this Ecuadorian resto has a big screen, else I head down to Cafe Polonez, 195 Roncesvalles in the heart of Polishtown.
I'll bring my digicam and my English-Polish dictionary!
The game is riveting. The crowd lives and dies with each Swedish rush and each Trini save. Everybody is on their mobile to get friends to come down to the party of the year there at RK. I am so riveted I don't move from my spot to order beer, roti, or even take a leak. Against the odds, with their top goalie injured, down 10 men to 11 (after Dwight Yorke is tossed early in the second half - followed by accusations of a 'Scandinavian conspiracy' in the bar), backup keeper Hislop comes out of nowhere to work miracles; he throws up the wall. Score is locked at 0-0. Trinidad ties (defeats) Sweden and gains the respect of the world.
Next time I order the roti.
