Turk-E-A

No we are not to Istanbul yet. During our last day in Geneva, we found ourselves presented with a great opportunity. Thousands of Turkish and Czech fans funneled into the viewing fanzone in downtown Geneva. It was here that we would experience all that European culture has to offer, distilled into a two hour span.

European soccer is the greatest invention since the polio vaccine or Saved By The Bell re-runs. Each fan lives and dies by his or her team, a trait that American sports fans don't usually possess. Since the four of us did not have a team playing that evening, we decided to root with the first mob of fans we ran into.

The mighty Turks were the obvious choice, given their stands were right by the entrance (We probably would not have stuck out so badly if we stood with the Czechs though). We stepped right into the thick of the Turkish horde, finding one man inparticular who spoke fantastic English. At this point I would like to sell out Alex because he tried to pass us off as Canadian. We quickly retracted the statement and said we were great Turkish soccer fans from the US.

This man then proceeded to teach us all of the chants so we not look like idiots everytime there was a shot on goal (which apparently is cheer-worthy). At first we were timid, but, after a few pints of Swiss beer, we stopped hesitating and were not only joining, but starting cheers. Anyone who knows Drew understands that his inability to control the volume of his voice only gets worse when he drinks. Fortunately, this is exactly what the Turks were looking for.

The game started out poorly for our new motherland, going down 2-0 by the beginning of the second half. Many Turkish fans began leaving, and our new friend admitted that the Turks could not win the day. I assured him that if anyone could pull it out, it was our boys. Late in the second half they narrowed the margin to 1. This gave new life to the crowd and its small American contingent. Garrett begged us to go over to the check side to celebrate the victory, but we held fast.

With 5 minutes left, the boys in Red tied it up with one of the prettiest goals ever scored by humans. A massive Turkish flag unravelled and was waved opening up a big area in the crowd. At three corners, Alex, Drew, and I waved the colors proudly...and underneath it Garrett danced with an overweight Turkish woman. We were so busy celebrating the tie...that we did not see the last second go ahead victory as time expired.

Fans from our side heckled the exiting Czech fans and then poured into the streets, chanting in unison TURK-E-A, TURK-E-A. Now, I have celebrated sports wins before, but what we experienced in the streets of downtown Geneva was the closest I have ever come to being part of a riot. Alex banged on bus windows taunting the dejected Czech fans while the rest of us stood waving the flag...

Alex congrulated all of our countrymen in perfect French and we all followed suit. As the wave of Turkish fans moved towards the pubs, a large brawny Turkish man grabbed Alex by the nape of the neck. Before we had enough time to be nervous, the man pressed his forehead against Alex's...looked straight into his eyes...and in the gentlest voice I have ever heard said..."How much do you love Turkey?" No response was needed...we all understood.

We stumbled over to the Turkish kebab shop near the train station, still cheering as if the game had just ended. After polishing off our food, we parted ways with our momentary countrymen and caught the bus home. Simon and Micky could not believe our stories, and we could not believe that this was only day two.