After our discussions with Alex, we got a quick lunch at the Refectory and then headed out to see Sally Mann's photo exhibition of her family and also the series "What Remains". This version of "modern art" was a medium, photography, that I at least agree is art but just some of the pictures Mann displayed were really horrific. The "What Remains" series centers around the decomposition of a corpse and the images were truly gruesome. However, I was interested in Jon's comment that art doesn't necessarily have to be beautiful but, rather, it can be provocative and insightful. At the same time, however, while I understand Mann's aim in this project, I found it really off putting and left the exhibit as quickly as I could.
A fairly large group of us then wandered out to Bodean's BBQ in Soho. This was recommended by Time Out Magazine as the best place for American's to watch the World Cup and since the US-Algeria and England-Slovenia games were at the same time, we were worried that most other pubs simply wouldn't broadcast the US game. I'm really glad we decided to go to Bodean's. We marked out our corner and then watched as the restaurant began filling up with Americans ready to cheer on the boys in red, white and blue.
The game itself was the most exciting soccer (in the United States we call it Soccer) game I have ever seen. The US got hosed again by the somehow still employed FIFA officials but this time it was a rogue linesman with a baseless offside call that robbed Clint Dempsey of his second score in the tourney and denied the US the early lead. The team continued to dominate play as the game wound on and shook of early defensive woes to give keeper Tim Howard a fairly easy day at the pitch though he was still spot on when he needed to be to earn his first clean sheet of the tournament. Dempsey would've been the sickest man in America because later he hit the post and then shanked the rebound off into Lesotho.
With the game a minute into stoppage time, and knowing that England was about to beat Slovenia, I must admit that the crowd, led by Christ, Steve and me, were getting worried. I had that awful feeling in my chest that this was going to be one of those games that your team would dominate, miss chances, and then lose (or tie). Algeria advanced but Tim Howard blocked the shot and then smartly rolled it forward to the players in the field. The 200 or so Americans in the small, crowded pub looked longingly at the screen with one more breath of hope, for the team had made a similar rush many, many times before with no result. This time, though, was different because Algeria had sent many more attackers in Howard's direction. In a surprise move, Tim Howard, after making the strong save, bombed the Jabulani ball up to Landon Donovan near midfield who then flipped it to Jozy Altidore as he rushed inside of the box on the right flank. Altidore chipped the ball to Dempsey who powered it to the Algerian keeper who couldn't handle the rebound. At this moment, the pub fell a bit quieter as we all saw, right in front of us, Landon Donovan, who had stayed back after his first pass, swoop in toward the ball coming out from the keeper's midsection. Landon stepped in with his right foot and lined the black and white ball deep into the back of the next. When the ball crossed the line and the goal mesh violently swayed, the pub and the Americans ERUPTED in celebration.
Chris, Steve, Caroline, Chrissy and I had found the victory formation. Steve and I were superstitious and kept shifting our standing positions until we decided to put me at the right, Chrissy to my left, Steve in the middle, Caroline at his left and Chris on the end. As Donovan buried the winner we all screamed out and started another "USA! USA! USA!" cheer. We jumped up and down madly and high-fived everyone around us. I jumped wildly for several seconds then high-fived Steve and Chris and then the couple behind us and then the lone American bartender working the restaurant. (Earlier she had found us and declared us her favorite section of Americans.) We then continued jumping up and down and embraced and a big victory huddle while screaming out in joy and wreaking havoc on our vocal chords. We continued jumping and then catching our breath as the seconds of stoppage time ticked upward and as the Algerians earned a red card. The Americans finally got that final throw in and as the referee blew his whistle and then pointed to the center of the pitch we started jumping around madly again. We then led the crowd in a rendition of "God Bless America", woefully off key, and then joined in to the loudest and most spirited rendition of The National Anthem that I've ever heard and/or been a part of. I proudly waved the American Flag that I borrowed from Steve, while Chris, in his American Flag running shorts, stood on a table behind the TV and posed while the crowd took pictures of his patriotic running attire. The best part of this whole description is that it was acted out by almost every other patron of the bar!
Chris at right (shorts unseen but definitely present), Steve in the middle rocking the Jozy Altidore jersey (which he sweat all over), and me on the left looking delirious and overjoyed.
When we finally sang our voices hoarse and decided to head back to Regent's, we danced out of the pub to "Ole Ole Ole" and ran out to celebrate in the streets with excited Londoners who breathed a sigh of relief that England was going through to the next round as well.
I've seen the St. Louis Rams win a Superbowl and the St. Louis Cardinals win a World Series but nothing in my life has compared to watching the US win Group C in this dramatic fashion in this pub with this group of friends. A perfect day in London!
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After the World Cup madness which I'm still giddy about (Bring on Ghana!) we went back to Regent's, got dinner, changed (believe me... we needed to change) and then went out to Chelsea to see the play "Sucker Punch". If we'd seen it on any other day I'd have written a lot more about it because it really was excellent. The stage was a boxing ring and, presumably, the inside of a boxing gym. There was 360 degree seating around the stage so the ring was really in the center. The show was about the story of a black boxer in England in the 1980s as he made his way through the amateur and pro ranks. Much deeper than that, however, the play examined boxing culture and power/ownership dynamics, loyalty, and most importantly, racism in England in the 1980s. Roy Sullivan wrote a truly fantastic play that took a simple stage, a simple set and a relatively straightforward story and gave it so much more depth until in the end everyone knows who won the fight, but no one knows whether the title fight even accomplished anything or whether it was even the right fight to have.
Now, I am back at Regent's, exhausted with glee and ready for bed. But, oh, Mrs. Dalloway awaits.
Cheers! USA! USA! USA!
-Simon
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