World Cup of Toronto : Where to Watch World Cup Toronto :: World Cup Bars Toronto

Azzuri Blue Gelato: The Frozen Spiral of Shame

2010-06-20T21:53:00.014-04:00

1 Italy-New Zealand 1

For Sunday morning, I'm a TTC pig: Bathurst streetcar, Bathurst bus, St Clair streetcar to Dufferin to check out the Corso for 10am versus New Zealand.

St Clair has a more mature crowd than College; fewer Gina Ciccolinas bouncing around enflaming the Cazzi Ragazzi. As a casual fan I take my time to stroll and consider the best spot for a patio Peroni, or maybe sausage on a bun from an unpermitted sidewalk BBQ. The St Clair Right of Way has narrowed the artery enough to limit the throughput of mutant Honda Civics, making conversation audible and the streetscape a delight in spite of unrelenting sun and 35C humidex.

The Azzurri are sloppy on defense and allow a quick New Zealand marker, but they make one up via officiating caprice when a New Zealand defender draws a penalty in his goal zone. Iaquinta buries the freebie and Italy are back from brink of elimination to typical teeth-grinding stalemate. By now the fans are queasy, contemplating Italy's possible early death with a second draw–we're beyond the excuses of 'they're just slow starters' to the doomsaying death spiral of 'blame the coach.'

At halftime I leave the Big Slice pizza to wander–past the bars, which are less youthful, more serious than College St yuppieterias; past chiesa St. Nicola di Bari and its thrice-daily Italian mass. I step into air-conditioned comfort at Tre Mari bakery, a Corso Italia mainstay that's landmark enough to rival Nino D'Aversa in North York. I try to order chocolate cannoli but the old man in front of me negotiates a drawn-out volume purchase of tiramisu and zeppoli from a bakery girl who insists on re-confirming his order status after loading each successive unit into the box. I give up and silently slide further west.

I stop past Lansdowne at La Paloma and enter for a gelato, cappuccino and empty chair. The capp is serviceable but the morning is much too hot. My gelato is mint chocolate plus a new fluorescent blue flavour, 'Forza Azzurri', that looks like Smurfette and tastes like blue freezee. The screen is small and the game tedious so I mow on ice cream and tweet.

It ends a draw. I keep heading west. Past Caledonia, beyond a community-decorated underpass, a dangerously loud Italy fan inside an unfortunate pub can be heard screaming for blocks away. The Jamaican vendor of flags near Old Weston Rd sees me approach in my Italy cap, shakes his head and looks away.

Getting Whipped with a Smile

2010-06-17T17:51:00.129-04:00

South Korea 1-4 Argentina

I bike up to Clinton's at Bloor and Clinton but it's literally packed to capacity: I am refused entry 15 minutes into the first half by the bouncer/bartender who claims city inspectors will shut him down if he lets more people in. KILLJOY. LAME. So I watch from the outside looking in with a dozen others. At the back of the bar I see and wave hi to a writer I know, Joel, who lived several years on the island of Jeju-do teaching English. A couple years ago I actually helped hook Joel up with his hilarious all-things-Korean blog for The Walrus–a definite must-read.

Perhaps Joel would disagree when I say South Korea has the best-natured, most adorable fans. Is that a glib, patronizing assessment? Probably. When home-team goals are scored there is no obnoxious shouting nor aggressive chest-thumping among the Koreatown faithful– just joyous high-pitched cheers. Compared to the hated vuvuzela even Korean thundersticks are cute.

Too bad Argentina, machismo incarnate, took these well-behaved peninsularians and gave them a brutal 4-1 lesson in Footballish. But I still had a good time. If you're going to lose big, do it with a really nice crowd like this.

A New Zeal and Zest

2010-06-15T17:46:00.060-04:00

New Zealand 1-1 Slovakia

Hemingway's in Yorkville pulls a Brazen Head and refuses to open for the 7:30 match. Although, I don't know how many Toronto Kiwis would make the trip to Cumberland this early: Even after years in TO they'd still be feeling that 18-hour jet lag.

Bounced at the bar, I head down to U of T's Hart House where in the Arbor Room's basement cafe a soccer sanctuary lies mostly undiscovered.

The massive screen, ample table room, surprisingly edible cafeteria food, slow-moving Hart House maintenance staff combined with U of T students and professors all make this a unique and unthreatening place to watch the Cup. Even that library-inhabiting species of U of T Aspergerati, who've made avoiding eye-contact and avoiding hellos a sort of Toronto art form– even they are out in force. This time it's to watch Slovakia dominate New Zealand, a World Cup 'minnow' if there ever was one.

A grand treat then, to witness the exploits of Kiwi Winston Reid.

A few minutes after preventing a goal against his side with a diving kick save, Reid wanders into the Slovakia zone with 10 seconds left in injury time and puts his header to good use, making New Zealanders all around the world very very happy.

In a Hollandaze; Italy's College St Walk and Gawk

2010-06-14T17:24:00.005-04:00

Netherlands 2-0 Denmark
School Bakery & Cafe has figured out their World Cup marketing strategy. Pick a team, tell everyone you're the Cup HQ for that team, deliver a huge patio, gourmet breakfast and big screens, and the media will follow. Does School have any obvious apparent ties to the Netherlands? None that I can see. In 2006 it was Betty's who claimed Dutch territory rights, and I saw a couple matches there. But I skip that King E watering hole and ride Mario to the urban-suburban blend of newly rebuilt Liberty Village, where gentrification has achieved nirvana.

The breakfast at School smells delicious, but I don't eat any. There's nowhere to sit down, so I snap a few pics of Dutch flags and head across the neighbourhood in search of Denmark. My intel says the Brazen Head pub is the place. Brazen Head sits in the Liberty Market Building plaza, beside the world's most gentrified smokestack. An Irish pub as Denmark HQ? Too bad Brazen Head forgot the key element in dubiously claiming an obscure country's fanbase: actually opening your doors for the match. Blargh, they're closed, so I give up and head to work. So much for my Hamlet sandwich. Note to pub owners: I know 7:30 is early but this is why the Dutch are kicking your ass! Here's to a 2-0 win and knowing how to market to bandwagon-jumpers like me.

Italy 1-1 Paraguay
Experts keep saying Paraguay has a chance to beat Italy, just like experts keep saying that you might catch swine flu, or that climate change could destroy all life on Earth. Whatever, it's not going to stop the party, nor stop Italy fans from swaggering. I head down from work on lunch to be among the family.

Toronto Italians have perfected the art of the World Cup Walk and Gawk: the televised match blends seamlessly into the streetscape. I don't even need to watch at any one bar; I watch at all of them. If you cruise along College, the bars, patios and flat screens follow you as you go.

I can't count the number of places with cheering fans: The Dip, Gato Nero, Marinella, Bar Azzurri , Coco Lezzone, Vivoli, Vecchoo Frak, Southside Louie's, John's Classic Italian, Bar Italia, CHIN radio, Riviera Bakery , and more. Fans lining up and down the sidewalk, spilling into side streets. Groups of men, young and old, literally standing and staring, like late stragglers at mass in back of the cathedral.

Italy are known for slow starts, and Paraguay is good indeed: the latter score first thanks to an effort by awesomely-named Antolin Alcaraz, and the rancorous Italy self-blaming begins. But Azzurri gets it back in the second half on a goalkeeper miscue that allows De Rossi to score, so end up with a queasy draw--already the fans lose a bit of shine from their swagger. Make no assumptions about Slovakia nor New Zealand, ragazzi!

Globe and Postcity offer two more useful 'where to watch' guides

2010-06-13T21:55:00.008-04:00

The media heavy hitters are great at telling you where to go before the games take place. It's all I can do to describe a bit of where I was and what it was actually like, from my glib perspective as fleeting footballphile and diehard neighbourhood nerd.

That said, here are a couple more good lists:

Globeandmail.com has not just a list but an interactive Google Maps mashup.
Postcity.com has a straight-up alphabetical-by-country list that quickly tells you where and why

Slovenia... Slovenia... you border on the Adriatic

2010-06-13T15:00:00.057-04:00

Slovenia 1-0 Algeria

Culinary tip: If you like a) Slovenia and b) donuts, don't bother stopping at Claudia's Donuts--right across from Slovenia Hall in south Etobicoke--for donuts. Inside the church/cultural centre hall you'll find the game blasting with big-screen projector, a pumped up crowd decked out in green-and-yellow jerseys, plus all the Slovenian donuts you can handle and more.

After a scoreless half, the TV feed in the hall cuts away from soccer-jock commentary to some advertisements promoting Slovenian culture in Toronto. Fun facts:

The Toronto Slovenian Youth Organization is 49 years youthful.
Slovenian folk dancing requires much dedication, but dancers get to wear rose-covered hats!
My wife, who's awake early to travel and watch with me, takes exception to my idea that we raise our future children to be Slovenian.

Another intermission highlight: a TV public service announcement featuring dangerously incapacitated drunks getting severely injured as they fall down, keel over or bang their heads against very hard surfaces, with the voiceover cheering "I like drinking beer!'

Anyhow, the game: Algeria substitute Ghezzal (who along with several Slovenia players named 'Z'latko indulges my love of 'Z') rushes on field and immediately draws two yellow cards and so is sent off with a red, handicapping his side who had been playing elegantly. Slovenia capitalizes as Robert Koren deposits a tally following a series of slick passes. Slovenia Hall erupts into cheers that last a good ten minutes; it's thrilling to watch a match among the winning side finally!

Ghana 1-0 Serbia
After Slovenia we head to Fox and Fiddle on Dundas West in Etobicoke's Islington Village to meet friends for breakfast and Ghana-Serbia. F&F is neither Ghanaian nor Serbian territory, so not much to report blogwise, although the number of widescreens make this a good viewing spot for casual fans. As an aside, I'm glad Croatia's not in this tournament as I can't keep all the Balkan nations and their blue-white-and-red flags straight.

The game: Ghana beats Serbia 1-0. The hero is Asamoah Gyan, whose penalty after an inexplicably moronic hand-ball by defender Zdravko Kuzmanovic in the goal zone qualifies the poor Serbian as Cup Goat thus far--more goatlike even than that English goalkeeper. I hope to cheer with the West Africans at Mamma Pee's for Ghana's next match.

Get him to the Greektown

2010-06-12T19:20:00.018-04:00

Greece 0-2 South Korea

A trip to the Danforth requires I wear the sandals of a Spartan and eat the breakfast that made those warriors strong: goat's milk yogurt. Don't believe me? We... are... PROBIOTIC!

Between Logan and Pape are umpteen pubs, open-air cafes and patios: Fox and Fiddle has the most screens, but there's also Bar 521, Caffe Frappe (arguably the nerve centre) the Iliadic Kaffeteria and even a Mr. Greek--which is ironically the only patio with empty seats. It's already 1-0 for South Korea when I arrive at Cafe Frappe, which means the indigenous tribe is despondent. Overcast morning skies and spitting rain don't help.

Korean confederates are widely interspersed throughout Greek Nation, with the nucleus of Asian teenage hipsters chattering at the Euro Crepe Cafe, oblivious to the icy sentiments along this stretch of Danforth. A pair of Korean women jogging by Cafe Frappe stop to check the score, laugh cockily and quickly run away. There's another run-by Korean gloating after the half at Mr Greek, where, still 1-0, I park to enjoy spanakopita and shore up flagging Hellas. But Greece keeps being cut off at each attacking angle. Don't these guys know about trigonometry? They invented it! Disappointing, considering the Samian obsession with triangles.

S.K. makes it 2-0 on a beautiful charge by Park Ji-Sung after an Argive giveaway and that's my cue to exit. I hear rumours of a Nigerian picnic in the North York wilderness of Jane and Sheppard.

Nigeria 0-1 Argentina
The rumours are true! Unfortunately, the weather is foul. By the time I find Northwood park--off a driveway north of Sheppard between Jane and Keele--things are even soggier than Greektown. The Nigerian-Canadian Association has gone to admirable lengths for this party, including open-air tents, a roasted corn station, and mock trophies for the kids. CBC quizzes the crowd and spirits are high. I'm certainly the sole spectator with an Italy cap, yet I manage to avoid a heckling, as it's the Argentinians who are the target of wrath after a diving header goal by Gabriel Heinze in the sixth minute.

I leave at the half, as non-Cup errands put the blog out of commission for the rest of the day (including England-USA), so don't get a chance to try the corn. I hope the next Nigerian festa is a bit closer to downtown.

Bafanatics

2010-06-11T12:33:00.016-04:00

South Africa 1, Mexico 1
I had contacted the South African consulate for a good spot to watch the game; their dignitaries e-recommended the Samovar Room on Winchester St, north of Carlton off Parliament, ie Cabbagetown. Samovar is a Russian bar, but the owner's wife will be rooting for all the African teams. This second-floor pad glittering beneath gaudy chandeliers is sufficiently decked out in Bafana-colours to satisfy my hipster cravings for 'authenticity'. Did the old Soviet Union ever prop up the apartheid regime? I won't even bother to Wikipedia that; I'll just pretend that they did.

I sit at the bar beside two eight-year-old schoolchildren who are clearly not in school. To appear un-creepy I order a diet cola. There's a real ethnic mosaic in the room, which is pleasantly uncrowded. The Jamaican girl beside me wears a South Africa jersey, and the Mexican boy beside her tells me he's cheering for England. My bartender is from Malawi and I get her to pose for me in her RSA jersey.

As the gun sounds an Asian newswoman for some Suburban-Smiley-FunTime TV channel arrives and interviews fans re who they support. Self-consciously sporting my Italy cap, I suddenly feel I'm disrepecting Mandiba's legacy of unity, peace and pride and-what-a-great-moment-for-the-nation blah blah blah so I put my hat away and cheer for South Africa.

To its credit, Samovar serves the only free roasted corn nuts I've ever tasted that were somewhat edible, but their diet coke is flat as soccer pitch. I cave ten minutes later and order gin and tonic. Hey, it's already 10:15am!

I watch for only 40 minutes before biking back to work, and so miss both teams' goals. The 1-1 FT is a definite victory for RSA. Befana means 'witch' in Italian but I can only guess Bafana means 'genie' in South Africa as those men pulled a small miracle out of the bottle.

Juche 99 belongs to glorious DPRK!

2010-06-11T12:26:00.000-04:00

Who is @DPRKSoccerTeam and will he allow UN inspectors to look at his team's balls?

North Korea is, no surprise, out for revenge in this tourney:

"The Juche 95 World Cup result was not legitimate, because FIFA excluded us on the basis of our world dominance of the armored train industry."

World Cup Hyper-Logic Omni-Cognate Super-Schedulizer

2010-06-09T08:41:00.003-04:00

Interact with this awesome beast on marca.com (Thanks to John in Montreal for the tip)

Well I found my Ghanaian restaurant

2010-06-08T15:46:00.008-04:00

Mama Pee's at Jane and Wilson - thanks to Daniel for the tip!

Also tracked down this 2006 list from toronto.com - some good choices there (albeit skewed toward downtown). Much better list from this 2006 National Post article. UPDATE: See this BlogTO post for 2010 selections.

Waving Flags Photo Exhibit

2010-06-08T15:19:00.023-04:00

K'naan, step aside - you're not alone in capturing the spirit of a flag-waving world.

During the June 2006 Cup, my high-school friend and now-photographer Joe Howarth traversed the GTA with his camera, much like I did with my pen. Unlike me, Joe did not stop until he got footage of fans from all 32 nations, snapping them as they celebrated their teams and countries. Four years later he is displaying his photos in an art exhibit titled Waving Flags, on at the Rivoli, with opening reception this Thursday, June 10.

Excellent work, Joe - you've set the bar high for this blog. Can't wait to visit; best wishes in 2010.

Caveat Spectator

2010-06-08T14:58:00.013-04:00

Take my advice, and think twice about the advice of http://www.wheretowatchtheworldcup.com/ - which for every single match in Toronto (click top right to toggle city) seems to list a bunch of British/North American sports pubs, not national hotspots. The site claims that French fans like to hang out at the Duke of Gloucester? C'mon.

This could be an excellent resource, but certainly needs more submissions. Perhaps their 'intel' will improve as the matches begin, but so far WTWTWC seems more like a transparent advertising ploy for selected venues.

South Africa v. Mexico - suggestions?

2010-06-08T10:03:00.007-04:00

Twitter and Facebook have revealed the genius of laziness, ie asking more knowledgeable friends and strangers to do all the research. And even though this is a World Cup blog, I am the first to confess my football ignorance.

I'd like to cheer with the host nation for the first match. For South Africa venues in Toronto, chowhound.com says http://www.nandoscanada.com may be South African.

Also, Toronto Life has recommendations for African restaurants but these may be wide of the mark.

So far, I've only seen NOW magazine provide a T.O. Cup-viewing primer and I can't even find it online.

A thread on tripadvisor.com has asked similar questions for the 'not-so-famous' teams.

The next few days will require some research!

World Cup Sked

2010-06-07T13:28:00.012-04:00

Click to enlarge. Or see fifa.com

Reporting every single game will be impossible, as I have a day job. The plan is to attend every 7:30am match and take appropriate lunch breaks for one of the mid-morning or afternoon games. I'll make up for it on weekends; by pacing myself I hope to avoid last Cup's blog burnout.

It's been a while

2010-04-21T22:39:00.001-04:00

Coming in June. We resume!

The Hunt for the Golden Lion; plus Zanta comes to town, AND the only Tunisian restaurant in the city!

2006-06-14T10:27:00.000-04:00

I bike all through the west end looking for the Ukraine game. I pass young men on the sidewalk looking for the same "We don't want any old bar - we want something Ukrainian."

It takes directions from the Ukrainian Social Service Agency at Jane and Bloor to point me toward the Golden Lion, a banquet hall in south Etobicoke. I'm riding all along the Queensway hoping for a sign; police officers, construction workers can't tell me where to find the game (they do happily recommend the Lancaster strip club however).

Finally I hit paydirt at Canmotor road just past Royal York: it's the Golden Lion, and yellowy blue is waving.

Ukraine is destroyed 4-0 by an incredible Spanish attack. The perogies (only $5 for about 15) make up for it.

It takes 24 subway stops to get from Royal York to Coxwell, for Tunisia v Saudi Arabia. Every station on the Bloor Line looks identical. Not much fun. Until Zanta hops on at Runnymede and tells me how famous he is. I nod in agreement and delightedly take photos. But he's off again at Keele and leaves me chuckling and the rest of the staid T-dot commuters barely stifling their smiles.

Djerba la Douce is owned by Abdul, who has been on CBC a lot recently - first he opened the only Tunisian restaurant in the city (although he proudly points out that Djerba is an island off the coast, so he's not a mainlander), and now his countrymen take on the football world. At first I'm the only one watching, but curious reporters begin trickling in, followed by a half-dozen actual fans. The CBC capture me pouring a mint tea as though I were dyed in the wool Djerbescu.

Tunisia plays well before the half, but the Saudis turn it on in the final 45 and take a 2-1 lead. It looks bleak, but with minutes left Abdul rejoices as his boys tie it up and the match ends 2-2. Abdul shakes his head - Tunisia got lucky.

I finally make it inside the Goethe Institute, where 'The Wall' has crumbled and the match shows to all on the beautiful big screen. I only watch 10 minutes before the half ends, and then I'm off to SportChek to buy my brother an Italy jersey for his birthday (Happy 30th, CJT!). Germany wins 1-0 over Poland but I don't care - I've already been alienated.

France don't dance like Brazil

2006-06-13T09:13:00.000-04:00

Korea 2, Togo 1
I miss Korea-Togo because I'm too busy writing on this blog. Dangit. I gotta keep these summaries brief. Don't worry Koreatown, I'll catch up.

France 0, Switzerland 0
Next I'm at Zazou bar on King W at halftime of the noon game, where France-Switzerland is on the big screen. I love the France jerseys but don't care for this year's team. Zinedine Zidane is the man but that smarmy keeper Barthez turns me off.

Zazou is surrounded by touristy French restaurants, and I'm hungry, but pommes frites won't cut it for an anglo dog like me. I can imagine Charles de Gaulle yelling "vive le Quebec libre!" as I opt for Timmy Horton's.

France can't score; they haven't scored since 1998. The game ends a draw. I meet a pissed-off Algerian in the bathroom whose friend lost a chance at $10,000 because France didn't win ("He was gonna be 16 out of 16! The coach is an idiot - why did he leave out Trezeguet?"). I hold off telling him that gambling is for suckers, but I feel bad nonetheless.

Brazil 1, Croatia 0
Portugal fans are scary - but Brazil fans are fun. The matches take place in the same Portuguese telecasts in the exact same bars along College, so the fan behaviour's an interesting contrast. Expect street craziness and traffic snarls for both.

I try El Bola (College west of Dufferin) before halftime, but it's steam and sweat inside as they're stuffed beyond capacity, so head east past Ossington to one of my reliable 'old-man bars' - Carlo'S nack Bar (that's what's written on the sign).

Brazil wins but don't play their best game. The fans don't care - they won. It's drumming and dancing in the streets - right as rush hour hits College. 100 police officers on bikes attempt to control the mess. Hotshots cruise down Dufferin to add to the chaos. Brazil is so fun.

Forza Italia (+ Australia + Czech)!

2006-06-12T21:33:00.000-04:00

Australia 3, Japan 1
I never knew Hemingway's in Yorkville was an Aussie bar. But sure enough the owner has an accent. For once I arrive on time for the 9am start (credit 7:30am Pilates for getting me out of bed). First thing I notice about this matchup: the Australian players have some pretty ugly yellow jerseys.

At the bar I sit and order an Aussie croissant, an Aussie fruit cup, then down an Aussie coffee (just kidding - none of these things are Australian). Helen, the newly minted bartender, is serving her first ever shift in Canada. She's from Sydney or Melbourne or Perth, one of those round-the-world-live-in-Toronto-for six-months-then-Vancouver-for-six kind o' Sheilas. And much like a beleaguered Australian goalie, Helen has to fend off offensive forays from the Japan fan beside me, a drunken Japanese-Canadian (drunk at 9am, yes) who once lived in Australia himself and who since it's Japan v. Australia considers himself The Most Interesting Man In The Bar.

Anyway, the game: the Japanese team fell victim to heat stroke under the afternoon sun, because after scoring first and defending well for 80 minutes, their discipline dissolves completely, and Australia hammers hard with three explosive goals in the final 10 minutes. A comeback in stunning fashion. Helen has the last laugh over Tokyo-Jack Daniels, and the Socceroos carry the morning, vile jerseys and all.

Czech Republic 3, USA 0
I drive out to Etobicoke, the undervisited Kiping-Lakeshore area, for Czech Republic v. USA. There's a whole other Toronto tucked away past Mimico, past Alderwood into 'New Toronto', an area long populated by Eastern-European immigrants. Downtowners can discover this waterfront area by taking the 501 Queen Streetcar right to the end of the line.

Google research tell me the Woodhouse Pub is Czech soccer headquarters. But when I get there it's actually closed! The internet has lied to me again; now the game's almost over, and I don't even get to sample any pork + dumplings.

Miffed about my poor intelligence, I head to Di + Gabby's, the nearest hole in the wall with tv screen. It's already 3-0 for the Czechs. There's three other Czech fans, nonagenarian-alcoholic types, borderline comatose. Nothing to do but drink at this time of day, in this part of the city. I think about ordering a massive Slovakia-sized can of beer, but then I think about the drive home, and order a Coke instead. I'm a party animal.

Forza Italia! (2-0 over Ghana)

"I bet a lot of people called in sick today, with a case of Ghanarrhea." ~bad pun by bad football punster, made over the telephone

As I may have indicated, I'm Italian in origin (cupcake in inclination). I cheer for Italy when the opportunity arises (once every four years). In '94 and '98 I lived and died with Roberto Baggio's exploits and embarrassments, when he had short hair, when he had long hair, when he missed that goddamn penalty kick against Brazil. What's more, I actually live in the vicinity of Little Italy. What's super-more - I actually got Paolo Rossi's autograph back in January of this year.

Does that make me a knowledgeable, hardcore fan of gli Azzurri?

Not in the least.

I can name the following Italian players off the top of my head: Totti, Del Piero, Nesta, Zambrotta, Cannavaro, Buffon, Toni ... that's about it.
.
I am joined by my friend the lovely Tricia who also boasts il sangue italiano and more importantly, had the day off to watch ragazzi nostri take on the newbie Ghanaians (and I'll keep using parole italiane - Italian words - until it gets really annoying). Little Italy runs along College from Shaw to Euclid; all the Italian-themed bars are packed with Italian-themed fans (I say 'themed' b/c as we all know the real Italian bars are up in North York and the 905) . Tricia and I take refuge in Southside Louie's, opposite Bar Italia and the Big Dip (with its mammoth patio and dozens of outdoor flat-screens, the Diplomatico crowd gathered round prohibits civilized viewing) - but if anybody asks I was at Gatto Nero from start to finish.

Southside offers no Peroni, Moretti or Mennabrea so I drink Moosehead instead and order deep-fried onion rings. Somewhere Garibaldi is spinning violently in his grave. Anyhow we watch the game: Ghana hustles, but talented Italy is too much. Iaquinta scores on a Ghana giveaway to make it 2-0 ("he's Ghana pay for that") and set off the tricolour celebration.

Garibaldi rejoices. As do the fans along College, with their horns honking and drapeau bravado. It's no Portuguese beer-bottle brawl - but it's good loud fun. I can only imagine what things were like on the St. Clair Corso or at Nino D'Aversa's at Keele and Finch. Bravo!

Dutch Betty's, La Mexicana, Portuguese madness

2006-06-11T09:24:00.000-04:00

Holland 1, Serbia 0

Sunday morning is gorgeous, the streets empty. I'm riding my bike Mario with anticipation.

What Dutch presence there will be at Betty's (240 King East @ Sherbourne); what kind of Dutch name is Betty? Three blocks north still reeks of crack-whore but King E is gentrifying, loft-ifying and renovating: a lovely neighbourhood.

I get there late as usual, 10:30 am and Holland-Serbia is almost over.
Order a coffee and scope out the fans, whose garb burns a hole in my retina. The colour of Netherlands is bright orange - it's oh so citrus and I pine for a smoothie.

Holland wins 1-0, their fans are polite but glowing (orange) with pride. I think about my Dutch friend Claire and wonder if she's happy (in fact if I ever open a Dutch bar it will be called Claire's).

I wander for 30 minutes on Mario, accidentally running into Woofstock, a massive outdoor fair for dogs and another sign our civilization has lost its marbles. Most dog owners scare me; treating animals better than humans is a perverse fetish (yes yes, bring on the hatemail - I'm ready for you people).

Mexico 3, Iran 1

La Mexicana's north of Bloor on Yonge, boutique ethnic in South Rosedale - not exactly Latino central, but blessed with multiple screens. If Mexico makes it out of round-robin I'll hit the bars in Kensington that should have me hopping till manana.

I enter a fiesta of 80 Mexicans; the room is built for 20. I'm practically the only Gringo in the place; they tell me "There's space for you in the back room." A most welcome segregation - it's stuffy inside but sunny and cool on the patio.

The owner of La Mexicana, a not very Mexican looking Mr. Wong, is arranging umbrellas above his tv to minimize glare from the sun. Suddenly everyone on the patio is a professional set decorator; I even start suggesting ways to cut down the glare. "The sun's coming from the east!" I keep shouting. This is oh so important.

I order Corona from a slow-witted waitress who won't bring anyone their beer and wants to feed me an entire platter of tacos. "I can't eat that much," I explain, and she's annoyed at me. She's not actually a waitress, just somebody's sister. I successfully negotiate a burrito and sit facing the tiny glare-ridden screen.

The game is ok. The Mexican football announcers - to their credit - scream 'goooolllll!' just as loudly and lustily when Iran scores as when does Mexico (they each tally a goal before the half). I hadn't expected such impartiality.

After 45 minutes I'm fed up with glare and done with my beer; I don't speak Spanish so I sheepishly hit the exit. Next time I'll take the mountain to Mohammed and do Iran at Yonge and Steeles.

Portuguese madness!

I bike home to prepare for Portugal-Angola. Life in Portugal Village ain't easy during football (or during Portugal Week, during Portugal Month or during any number of religious processions). Portugual followers in Toronto are notoriously proud. They love being Portuguese more than any other country loves being itself. They love their flag more than any other nation loves their colours. They love putting those plastic mini-drapeaus on the windows of their cars. I'm an Italy fan myself (and we're supposedly a patriotic lot) and I'm in awe: it is scary to witness the full flower of Portuguese nationalism. World Cup action in the College -Dufferin-Dundas-Ossington rectangle is a kind of dream-nightmare hybrid. Just don't try driving for groceries anytime after a match (that includes Brazil).

I watch from one of the nondescript old-man bars on the north side of College near Ossington, where Little Italy ends its yuppy charade and becomes 'Little Azores' for real. The crowd is loud and cranky. I'm drinking Heineken (is there Portuguese beer?). Pauleta scores an early marker, and the chaos by now is predictable. The drapeaued cars begin barrelling east-west with the horns shrieking staccato; funnelling down from St. Clair and up from Dovercourt. Portugal wins 1-0 over their former colony Angola (who btw have the best jerseys of the tournament - deadly black and red) and the streets are soaked with green red gold - and traffic-jam exhaust fumes - for the next 3-4 hours. Good thing for Mario.

Sidebar - there is a 40-man brawl at Dundas and Ossington long after the match is ended - front-page of The Sun kind of stuff. It was an argument between Portugal fans, probably over who loves Portugal the most. Apparently it necessitated several mouthfuls of broken glass to decide the matter, but in the end nobody wins.... Go Portugallll!

Trinidad wins the World Cup

2006-06-10T11:24:00.000-04:00

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.

2-0 Ecuador; 1-0 Goethe Library

2006-06-09T17:46:00.000-04:00

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.

Tomorrow - it begins!

2006-06-08T22:46:00.000-04:00

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!