Cornelius and a strange game of ball

For those of you that know the rambler, you will know that soocer has been an integral part of my lifeforce for a long time. Maybe not as much now as it used to be, but, still it plays a big part. Ever since i can rememebr i`ve been kicking a ball. I have 25 years plus football pumping in my vains, i have played with many teams, in many countries, and in many cities. I`ve competed in myriad leagaues and cups , in almost every position on the pitch and in almost every weather condition. At this stage i must have played thousands and thousands of games. So many it`s impossible to count... I want to tell you about a game of football i played that was nothing like i`ve ever experienced, or come close to experiencing in my life of football ever before!

The story starts when I met a group of blokes last weekend, friends of friends. We exchanged handshakes and salutations, and as you do, then got speaking over a few beers on a variety of topics: Cornelius as usual got an appearence, and i got slagged again for the 10,000nt time, if there still was a war in Ireland, how Bush is such a prick, and then, pleasantly we drifted onto a conversation on soccer. We discussed the finer details of the Spanish league, we argued about the demise of the Italian and French national teams and we clonked glasses on how great it would be if Ireland could play Brasil in one of the opening games of the next world cup in Germany (with the man of the moment down here Cornelius making an appearence in the middle of the park with Keano). At the end of the conversation one of the guys said that they played every Wednesday at midnight on an astro turf pitch, with electronic scoreboards, usually 5 a-side. To their credit, as i`m becoming accustomed to down here, they immediately stuck out the hand of friendship and asked me did i want a game. It has been a few months since i played a proper 5 a-side game and if i was to be honest would have to admit that i was a little suspicious that my new found friends were about to vent the fury and built up anger of a nation towards the Irish and Cornelius by subjecting me to a barrage of dirty tackles and a healthy portion elbows for the duration of the game. But, i`m used to that so after a fleeting moment of thought and a quick mouthful of beer I accepted. IT WAS COMPLETELY NUTS for various different reasons that i couldn`t have expected and will never forget.

My nameless friend picked me up in his car at 10.30 with his girlfriend and dropped her off, winked at me, and headed for the pitch. When we got there it was actually a complex with about 4 similar pitches, each roughly half the size of a standard pitch, with big nets and a small dug out. The complex had a club house that served food and drink. Straight away i was brought to meet the players in the bar and we all had 2 or 3 beers before the game kicked off. Strange preperation i thought to myself! At ten to twelve we went to the pitch with about 10 people from the bar who acted as a semi interested crowd. Just before we kicked off, one of the guys in the stand lit up the first of many joints and half the players took huge mouthfuls of the drug into their system in what i can only guess was a substitute for a warm up çause none was done. That is with the exception of a rather large goal keeper on the oppositions team that shook his head around twice, and scratched his eyes as if he had just woke up after 2 days of non stop sleep.

The game of ball was nothing like i had, in error, prepared myself for. I thought it would be a little rough and tumble with a healthy proportion of traditional Brasilian flare and dexterity. It turned out to be all flare and dexterity and no rough and tumble. Pure football. All passing and movement. It was great. I relaxed took up a role in the middle of the park and in a 19-14 titantic battle played my part in slaying a disgruntled and highly excited opposition. But that`s not where this game ended as some of the players explained to me over a few final-whistle handshakes. The real game was about to begin. After a quick shower i sat down on some steps beside the bar with the other players. My driver and talented centre half duely collected 2.50 euros from us all and went into the bar and came back with a black dustin full of ice and beer. Then, as if on q, every week, a big fat japanese dude pulled up in a dusty beaten down car and handed over a big bag of favala cocaine to our goal keeper. After a few bottles of beer each, half the team started rolling joints and the others started taking their turn going back towards the pitch to take a line of coke. So there i was in the middle of a beer soccer sandwich with a group of brasilians clapping me on my back congratulating me on my soccer performance, saying that Cornelius was actually alright, and probably had his own problems that no one knew about, and that their marathon runner should be thankful as he is now world famous and a Brasilian TV channel are already talking about making a film of his life, and seemingly all the girls now think he`s really handsome and want to bed him. For the next hour and a half I dug into the bottle of beers and the boys dug into a variety of other substances. The subject varied from what type of drugs there is in Ireland, are all the women tall, with blond hair, blue eyes, long legs and can drink 10 pints of Guinness, to, how Brasil has been corrupted by the politicians and how that someday they wished that it could grow and flourish and change from a 3rd world country full of economic and social disparities to a 1st world with a more balanced culture and economy that bridges the gap between poor and rich.

The debates were lively, interesting, intelligent and often elegantly and cogently discussed. It was a strange game of footall. And as i laid in bed at night pondering on what happened i couldn`t help but think once again how football (or any team sport for that matter) had been such a wonderfully weird teacher of life. To the boys, of last night, who i may never see again, to the nameless soccer warriors i will probably never cross shins and elbows with, drink a beer with or discuss life again... the vagabond salutes you.

Chillin'

Last few weeks have been all about hangin' out in Sao Paulo and chillin' after the last few hectic weeks of traveling. I needed it after 15 plane flights and 2 months on the road. Back in SP, I've been brushing up on my Portuguese, doing a lot of reading and writing, hangin' out in Angelica Grill stuffing delicious picanha and cheese bread into my gob, watching the mighty Corinthians soar up the football table, and have been learning how to dance Forro with the beautiful Dany (I've already hit her an elbow and stood on her toes at least three times)!

With a tear in my eye I'll be leaving Sao Paulo at the end of the month. Que Pena! But, on the upside will be two-foot tackling, my first Argentian stop, the sophisticated, cultured and intriguing capital of Buenos Aires. I hope to spend five weeks in total in Argentina. So far I'm thinking of spending a week in the capital and after that I'm undecided? Brutos wants to head straight down south ( on an over-night bus), to Tierra del Fuego, via a quick stop in the beaxh resort of Mar-Del-Plata. Eusebius wants to kick off our rambling by heading for the north to sample the tasty criolla chica and cereza grapes in Mendoza, San Juan, La Rioja and Salta . He's more interested in educating his mid pallete then getting rough and tumble with a few fiords, rolling mountain chains and active volcanoes in the Lake District. We've all aggreed that a quick visit to, Punta Arenas, a quick hike through The Frency Valley and Lake Grey to check out the impressive scarped peakes of the Torres del Paine (or Towers of Pain) is a must.

Next, being hotly debated is in which order to prioritise other areas to ramble to? So far the list is looking like, in first place the massive, gorgantuian, mountain:

Aconcagua
2. a visit to Cortoba
3. an extended stay back in the capital if it proves to be a hit and
4. a cheeky two day trop to neignbouring Uruguay and Montevideo which is only a one-hour boat trop away from Buenos, before flying onwards to Santiago.

Some strategic and tactical decisions will have to be made very soon. Anyone out there in cyber-space got any advice or recommendations or even contacts I could use, drop a dog a bone.the

i.r.v, eus & bru