A California Yankee in Kaiser Wilhelm’s Court

The hours I have left in Berlin are now in the double digits.  Which also means that I am now somehow a senior.  I’m not quite sure how this happened.

I’ve also come to the conclusion that whoever decided finals had to coincide with my last week in Germany needs to be dragged behind the chemical shed and shot.  Unrelated.

More related (okay, tangentially so) is what I’ve been up to the last couple of weeks.  I checked out a bunch of Berlin museums, blah blah blah site seeing, and then the World Cup started.  Which is what this post is really about.

The great thing about the Weltmeister (for some reason “die Welt-Tasse” just doesn’t have the same ring) is that it’s actually cared about here.  There’s nothing like watching soccer in a country that cares about it.  And it’s even better when said country proceeds to kick the shit out of Australia.

I can’t think of anything like this in the United States — imagine the entire country unilaterally supporting one eleven-man team.  It’s unheard of.  That being said, about eleven Stanford kids and I made sure we were sure as hell supporting our team when we played England a couple of days ago.  We filled the front half of a bar, sang “The Star Spangled Banner,” and generally made a goddamn patriotic ruckus, ’cause we’re ‘Merican, that’s why.  Also the US team managed not to lose horribly, which was nice considering we were all wearing more red-white-and-blue than those guys dressed up like Uncle Sam on stilts with the fifteen-foot bellbottoms on the Fourth of July.

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