Playing the field

"Spoiler" alert: I did make it to the game.

In previous posts, I alluded to the upcoming Argentina v. Nigeria game and my high hopes for somehow wrangling an opportunity to host the Argentinian players (there can't be that many Spanish speakers here, right?). That failed.  But, my friend Tawsif invited me to come watch the game with him and I jumped at the opportunity.  Having been in Bangladesh for "onek din" (many days), I decided to hold off on oiling my metaphorical mustache until I actually GOT to the game and tasted the jackfruit.  But, when Tawsif picked me up from work and I saw the ticket, I got ahead of myself and sent another friend an sms: SEE THE TICKETS!  I AM GOING TO THE GAME!

Actually, what I saw was the ticket.  Singular.  Tawsif's two tickets from the bank had turned into one.  Not that I had time to ask questions because we were cutting through the cantonment area where bideshis (foreigners) are forbidden and I needed to hide.  We got to a friend's house and picked up another ticket.  In another section, but same general area.  Then Tawsif got a call from someone at BFF (best acronym ever--Bangladesh Football Federation), so we turned around and went back through the cantonment area (I hid again) to the Westin, which is where the Nigerian team was staying.  We get two VVIP tickets (VERY VERY important people we are), which put us right behind the goal.  It might have been a closer view than what I got watching my cousins at Broughton high school, in fact.  Close enough to appreciate how easy these guys make the game look, how hard Messi got fouled a few times, how powerful the shots were.  Just one section over there were over one hundred Nigerian fans, who played music and danced the entire game.  Even during the prayer call, which evidently is a big no-no (It took a long time for anyone to tell them to quiet down, which I found pretty interesting.  Right to bust a move?).  The rhythms and fun kind of made me want to go to Africa (or just the Nigerian fan section!).  During halftime they played Waka waka, Waving Flag, Ricky Martin, all the standard World Cup numbers.  For a cricket crazy country,  Bangladesh can get pretty into soccer--everyone seems to cheer for either Argentina or Brazil (Brazil fans cheered for Nigeria on this day).

Hard to Handel: the Messi, ah.

Sooooooo many cameras........it was a flashy night.

After the game we wanted for what seemed like ages for the teams to come back out and watch them walk out of the stadium.  By the time the Argentinian superstar came by, it was full on a can of sardines (most of whom were seriously in need of some deodorant!).  I was getting crushed and couldn't see, so I did what all the guys were doing and grabbed onto the folks around me with a death grip to keep from falling down the stairs.  Luckily the allure of Messi had them all so distracted that it wasn't until I hopped down that they realized that a white chick had been grabbing their shoulder so forcefully.

We walked around the field afterwards and I was interviewed about the game (from what I've gathered, what they finally aired of my long, eloquent, profound statement was "Messi! Messi! Messi!").  I have suggested that one of the local stations just give me a 10 minute daily segment so that I can update my fans about my latest adventures.  We'll see if I can pull that off.  In the meantime, whenever the guards at BRAC see me, they start laughing and say, "Messi, Messi, Messi!"  At least that's what I hear, maybe they think I look like a slob and are saying "messy, messy, messy."  Who knows.

Needed a break from the papparazzi

After the game, we found Tawsif's brother and their friend and went out for some food.  It was almost 11PM at this point and I was starving!  So hungry I ate a full plate of biryani and then a half plate of kitchuri. Mmmmmm, kitchuri.

More pictures.