Author: matt.kelemen

On the plane ride to Rio, I asked everyone in the family what they were most looking forward to. Jeannette said she was eager to see travel through the eyes of our kids. Dylan selected the USA v Germany game, with the particular expectation that Jozy Altidore would score the winner and come to our section to celebrate. Adela opted for the turtles of Ihla Fernando de Noronha. For me, the answer was simple: watch Brazil play with a group of Brazilians. After all, I’ve been in stadiums in South Africa and the States with Brazil playing and they’ve been among the best fans: high energy, positive, knowledgeable. And I’ve seen how host countries revel in the success of their teams. In Italy in 1990, a victory by the Azzurri was followed by cars honking and speeding down the street with flags waving out the window. In France, I saw fans in the cafes go from indifferent to exultant as Les Blues outperformed expectations. And in South Africa, the hopes and dreams of a nation seemed truly to rest on the performance of Bafana Bafana each time they played. So, I expected the most from Brazilians watching the Selecao.

After Game One, I have to say I’m disappointed. Our group of 16 Americans is staying in a beach house up the coast from Salvador do Bahia. On the recommendation of our driver, we sat down at an open air restaurant with two giant screens and tables full of yell0w-clad fans. All looked right. But then the game started and the fans seems downright passive. No singing, no cheering for the good plays (except for the goals, of course). Some even left at halftime! Our table, mostly rooting for Brazil out of a mix of genuine support for the Selecao and a desire to stay on everyone’s good side, showed the most passion in the place by a country mile. Indeed, the only thing that reminded me that we were among Brazilian partisans was their firm belief that Fred’s dive in the box was a penalty.

Luckily, we have two more chances to watch with the Brazilians. Maybe we’ll get lucky and find ourselves among the die-hards. Not this time, though.

On the streets of Copacabana, fans from all nations are sporting their jerseys. Lots of Colombians in bright yellow, Chileans sporting their red jerseys, the sky blue stripes of Argentina, Mexican green, the German tricolor, a trickling of Aussie yellow, and, of course, the ever present gold and green of Brasil. You get the feeling that many of these folks brought along just one shirt in their suitcase, to be worn from now until their team is eliminated.

So, today, I got in the spirit and pulled out our US kits. I had been saving them for the game, but it’s hard to start up chants of USA when you’re donning a plain brown t-shirt. So, I went down to breakfast in the B&B where we’re staying, proudly wearing my vintage 1994 US jersey (for those in the know, it’s red and white wavy stripes shirt, which is slightly less hideous than the blue and white faux denim stars jersey from the same year). In the kitchen, I found Milton, the 5-year-old son of the cook, quiely enjoying a morning bun. I greeted him, only to be told that Milton is “moite timido,” very shy. Undeterred, I asked him if he liked football. A nod of the head. The Selecao, I asked. A more vigorous nod. And how about this one, I asked, pointing to my shirt.

Now, there are a few reactions I expected as possibilities, ranging from an encouraging nod to an uncomprehending shrug. But I never expected what followed. Milton took in my words and rolled his eyes. That’s right, my suggestion of victory for the US of A earned an eye-roll from a Brazilian pre-schooler.

It seems the US has an uphill climb, but I will be cheering and waving the flag nonetheless. Viva la Copa.

I speak decent Spanish, which takes you a fair distance when trying to communicate with someone in Brazilian Portuguese… but not the whole distance. I think, in the end, that my “Portanyol” (speaking Spanish, tossing in some Portuguese words, and adopting the sing-song tones of the language here) leaves me comprehending about 70% of what I hear. Not bad, but it does leave some significant room for error. I say all of that as an explanation for what I’m about to say: Taxi drivers say some interesting things.

You see, in Rio, where the traffic is terrible, you can spend a lot of time in taxis. And taxi drivers who spend a lot of time in traffic often have a lot to say. So, here’s what I’ve learned so far from cabbies in Rio.

1. Brazil is “quente” (pronounced “KEHN-chuh”). Quente means hot. And sure, I knew that it would be hot here. But there’s something about the word quente when spoken by a Carioca that seems to better communicate the quality of the heat. It sticks to you much the same way the humidity does.

2. There are 11 women for every man in Rio. Or was it the other way around. Like I said, I’m only comprehending about 70%. But one taxi driver had a rather lengthy explanation about this supposed imbalance, so it must be true (though, oddly enough, I can’t seem to verify the claim from any of my trusted internet sources).

3. Brazilians are Catholic until 6 pm. This is my personal favorite and speaks to the unbounded joy with which so many Brazilians seem to approach life.

4. The Selecao will undoubtedly win the World Cup. Even if I can only understand 70%, they are 100% sure.