Milagre na Grama

So there we were on a typical Sunday afternoon in Brasil. A Brasilian wife, an American husband, a son's friend and three Brasimerican kids.Who would root for Brasil and who would root for the USA? This was undoubtedly the biggest game of the Cup. Two powerhouses playing each other with a lot of hype leading up to it. I have to be honest; I had no clue about who was playing for the US team. I only knew about a super player on Brasil named Marta.

Well, before the game started, Pedro, an eleven year old neighbor and soccer friend of James (Thiago - my middle boy) and I made a small wager. One Real was the bet. No points, no spread, just a simple, friendly bet. But that one Real sat like a piece of gold on the coffee table. Each of us eyeing it throughout the game.

So the game starts off with some excitement and a freak goal. We're all human, right? I could only imagine the nerves that the players were feeling as the crowd roared and the adrenaline rushed through their veins at 1000 heart beats per minute. With a one to zero score going into the second half, I kept wondering who was the better team. Brasil surely was knocking at the door throughout the game, but Hope Solo (she has to have an Agent with that kind of name) kept leaping high and denying the Brasileiras of any goals - until the controversial penalty call. When the red card was pulled, I said to my cheering wife, well now you have a great chance of tying the game, but watchout, we have an awesome goalie. The best female goal scorer against the best female goalie, in the best matchup in all of soccer. Even my wife commented that the female Brasilian team was more exciting than the Brasilian men's team, who has been playing sub-par lately.

With fingers crossed we watched anxiously and waited for the ref's whistle. With the blow of the whistle, the two warriors were set. I kept thinking about the goalie's part. It has to be a guessing game. Which side of the net will she pick? The left or the right? Pick one and pray that Marta picks the same side of the net. Bam! The kick is the right and Hope dives to the right. Incredible choice. Incredible result. The ecstatic moment is short lived as Hope starts to wave her hands in protest. "What is going on?" I asked the audience. My wife explained to me, her being a soccer expert from birth that someone jumped off of the line. Another chance for Marta. This isn't good I thought, staring at the gold doubloon on the coffee table. With another whistle the warriors were set again. The fans were truly getting some bang for their buck with these showdowns. Hope goes to her right and Marta stays with the same kick - to the right side of the net. Goallllllll!!!! It's yelled throughout the room and on the TV. Oh well. And there is Pedro, getting closer to the Real. "Not yet," I say to the rambunctious kid. "It's one to one," I say.

It's one to one. Let's get to overtime.

I have to admit, when it comes to the game of soccer, I can juggle a ball ok and kick it around, but when it comes to the rules, well, I'm a rookie. So it's now in overtime. The overtime process is explained to me by my soccer expert wife.

In the second minute of extra time, Marta lives up to her giant status by scoring a goal over the stretched out arms of Hope, giving her team a 2-1 lead. Pedro is hooting and my wife gives me one of those, "too bad for you" looks with a shrug of her shoulders. But I am surprised to hear her quickly say that there is still plenty of time left. I start to really worry now and I think about all of the disappointing Sunday afternoons watching my Chargers lose big, important games. I think that I could be outside exercising and doing something worthwhile instead of dying this slow death infront of the TV. So the game moves on as my thoughts swirl through my head.

Well into the second period of extra time I am starting to concede that the gold doubloon now belongs to Pedro, who is sporting a grin from ear to ear. But wait a minute. The US team is charging down the field. The girl with short blond hair is running uncontested down the left side of the field and lofts an aerial pass towards the net. What happens next is still a blur in my mind. I only see the net get pushed backwards and a ball dropping to the grass. The team is ecstatic and suddenly James is jumping into my arms. It's one of those rare moments of pure celebration. I remember similar moments, like the time in Jack Murphy Stadium in San Diego as the Chargers beat Miami on a missed field goal. That was an exciting game too. Pedro is turned around. His head is buried into the cushions of the sofa and James and I are spinning around in front of the TV. Lucas asks for his turn and I spin him around too. Better late than never. The fans really should be paying a lot for this game.

So my wife explains to me now that the game will go into a kick-off. Penalty kicks. She looks at me and then at Pedro and tells Pedro that Brasil's got its hands full with Solo in the goal. Again, it's part experience and part luck as the goalies pick their corners to protect. After all of the goals and the loan save, the US team is going nuts. And I'm suddenly feeling a bit of sorrow for a group of warriors from my new home country, Brasil. The win is bitter-sweet for me. Pedro is speechless and my wife is happy for her boys and her husband. What a Sunday. What a game. Now it was time to go outside and exercise. Pedro, James, Lucas, John and I head down to the Campo to kick around an old basketball as a winter day comes to a close. The sunset was spectacular and all was nice in a beautiful place.