wordsmithlind

Standing outside of a beer garden in Vienna (so I could bring my own beer and not pay for the overpriced beer garden beer) watching the Germany vs. Turkey semifinal match, the rain of the first half did not come close to matching the rain of the second half.  Without as much as a warning drop, sheets of rain blew in sideways as the giant umbrellas covering the picnic tables lifted off the ground.  I moved underneath the overhang of the nearest apartment building, still with a good view of the game, crowded amongst the others seeking what little shelter there was to offer.  For protection, the owner of the garden covered the large TV thus effectively ending the viewing with 25 minutes left to play in a tied match.  The rain blew harder, and then it blew harder.  Eventually my friend punched all the buttons on the outside panel in hopes that someone would let us in.  The door buzzed, the dam broke, and the soaked fans of Turkey and Germany flooded into the foyer, momentarily forgetting about the match.  The brave stood out under the canopy of the bar, watching the TV through the window.  We in the foyer watched the game via their reactions, others via cell phone updates.  A cheer went up outside, “Zwei, eins!”  The call echoed through the foyer for all to hear.  Just minutes later a hand outside slapped his owner’s forehead in frustration, “Zwei, zwei!”  Looking at my watch, the game must be drawing to a close soon.  A cheer goes up from the German fans on their cell phones in the back of the foyer, along with another cheer outside with celebratory hugs to go around, “Drei, zwei!” 

I watched the faces of the soaked German fans, their anxiety created waves of anxiety inside of me during the closing minutes.  Again frustrated arms flailed into the air, a look at my watch indicated that it must be extra time.  The German fans closed their eyes, it must be a corner or a free kick for Turkey, they opened them, a cheer of relief followed by the yell of victory, “JA!!!!”  The game was over, Germany won.  The German fans in the foyer cheered and danced while the Turkish fans looked on.  After the rain slowed down a bit, I peeked my head outside.  The beer garden was a disaster.  The temporary bar that had been set up was destroyed, along with an umbrella, and garbage filled the ground.  The streets were near empty except for the brave souls running to their destination.  Ducking our heads, we too joined the brave and ran to the nearest u-bahn station for the wet ride home.   

Europe is in a tight spot now on the eve of the Euro 2008 semifinals.  There is the possibility of two non-traditional European countries reaching the finals, along with Germany, which the general dislike for can only be compared to that baseball fans feel towards the New York Yankees.  The Russia vs. Spain game does not conjure up the same emotions as the Germany vs. Turkey game; Russia has always sort of been a European country.  Turkey on the other hand, well…

Germany and Turkey have an interwoven relationship similar to that of the United States and Mexico.  With a Turkish population just under 2 million, Germany has the greatest concentration of Turks, and people of Turkish descent, than any other nation outside of Turkey.  Turks emigrate to Germany for the same reasons as most immigrants, in hopes of finding jobs and an overall better life.  At the same time, again like many immigrants, they retain traditions from the home country, most importantly language and religion.  Many Germans (and other Europeans as there are Turks in other countries as well) feel resentment towards the Turks for their lack of assimilation into the host country, particularly the language, and European culture in general.  There are entire immigrant/non-native neighborhoods in cities where German is almost a secondary language (an example is the Kreuzberg district in Berlin), but this is not abnormal, almost every major city has immigrant districts.  It becomes a problem when there is a supposed cultural clash.  Now, many Europeans with certain prejudices have to make a decision, do they want Germany to lose at the cost of the non-traditional Turkey entering the final or do they want Turkey to lose at the cost of allowing the always powerful German football team into the final?

In Belgium, the leader of the extreme right party, a party once deemed illegal for racist (i.e. Fascist) leanings, Filip Dewinter, stated that a victory for Germany would be a symbolic victory for all of Europe.  Apparently the quantity of Turkish flags flying in Europe irritate him to the point where he asks “Do Europeans choose for a European Europe or for an Islamified Eurabia?”   

The viewpoints of Dewinter are those of an extremist, on the fringes of the political spectrum, he does not represent the vast majority of Europeans or Belgians for that matter.  Most Europeans are most likely sitting back and waiting to see what happens, devoid of personal prejudice of either team or country as these semifinals can make for one of the most interesting finals in European Championship history.     

Source:

http://www.demorgen.be/dm/nl/989/Binnenland/article/detail/323692/2008/06/23/Dewinter-hoopt-op-verlies-Turkije-op-EK.dhtml#reactions

Photo by Wordsmithlind

With Spain’s victory over Italy on Sunday night, Vienna and the rest of Europe (myself included) is getting a well needed break from football until the semi-finals begin on Wednesday night.  The whole continent has been consumed by this tournament, and the break is a welcomed return to normalcy, though not entirely.  Sitting dormant on the road in front of the late 19^th Century gothic Rathaus (City Hall), the 100,000m² Fan Zone awaits the next match, still creating a need for alternate tram and bus routes, along with detours for commuters.  Its 10 giant televisions are silent and the gates are closed.  As with any major event (music, sporting, cultural, etc.), the fences are covered with the sponsors of the Euro 2008.  Cartoony football fans hold scarves with the names of the companies who brought this tournament to the people of Europe: McDonald’s, Coca-Cola, JVC, Canon, Hyundai/Kia, Adidas, Carlsberg, Continental, MasterCard, and Castrol.  In an event the organizers hope will bring money to the local host cities in Austria and Switzerland, the absence of local sponsorship lends a bit of less than surprising irony.  People from all over Europe have flocked to these cities to support their team, while experiencing local culture, only to be bombarded by multinational giants, of which, only four out of the ten are European companies, only two from a country with a represented team (Adidas and Continental are both based out of Germany) and none from the host countries.  Inside the Fan Zone, local vendors are charged 15,000 € to rent a concessions area in which they can sell food and beverages.  Of course, the beverages sold must be Coca-cola products and Carlsberg beer of Denmark (brewed in Switzerland and trucked to the various cities), at the set Fan Zone standard price.  (A beer costs 4.50 meaning that a vendor must sell 3,333.33 beers in order to break even on the price of rental.  Not an absurd amount of beer, but that does not include the added costs of labor, raw product, and the various other costs that go into running a concession stand.)  This lack of local sponsorship has not gone unnoticed; printed on the cans and bottles of Ottakringer Beer, a product of Vienna, it says “Inoffizielles Fanbier” (Unofficial Fan Beer).   

Photo by Wordsmithlind

Following Turkey’s quarterfinal come from behind overtime/penalty kick victory over Croatia in the European Championships on Saturday night, I found myself swept up in a torrent of red shirts, red faces, and red flags emblazoned with the white crescent moon and star on their way from the Fan Zone (a giant corporate sponsored public viewing area in the center of Vienna holding 70,000+) down Ottakringer Strasse towards the 16th district where most of Vienna’s Turkish residents live (which also happens to be the same district where Vienna’s Croatian population lives).  Calls of “Tur-kay-yuh, Tur-kay-yuh” echoed off the buildings in the mini canyon.  An impromptu parade complete with onlookers clapping, cheering, gawking and snapping pictures of the celebration, cumulating at an intersection just past the boundaries of the Turkish market where the singing and chanting continued.  Separate celebrations were happening all throughout Vienna; on the main streets of The Gürtel people hung out of their cars, waving flags, honking, some even stood on moving cars as others maneuvered on foot through the congested streets.  The celebration continued long after I left the area at 1 AM.  

The Turkish celebration differed in many regards to those of other winning teams.  First off, there was a degree of sobriety to it.  The extreme drunkenness that is common in football (and baseball and hockey and basketball…) celebrations was not prevalent.  Yes there were drunken people present, but the majority of the crowd was not.  In addition, the celebration involved the entire family with every generation represented; the smallest children were dancing and singing from the streets and shoulders of their parents as elderly citizens hung out of windows clapping and waving flags.  The Turks celebrated winning, not the defeat of a rival.  The celebration was internal.  No pointing fingers, no laughter in the face of the defeated.  Near the Fan Zone a few Croatians attempted to rile up a Turk; he responded by staring at them, silently waving his flag.  Animosity towards the Croatians only arose after the Croatians began throwing bottles from their own neighborhood further down Ottakringer Strasse.  The police were prepared for this, dressed in full riot gear manning blockades at either end of the block.  In response to these attempts at violence, the Turks sang louder, banged their drums harder and danced with even more joy.  “We just want to celebrate; we don’t want trouble,” a Turkish man told me.  It did not matter who Turkey defeated, the celebration would have been the same—the Croatian team and fans no longer existed.    

Photo by Wordsmithlind

Hello, another short story.  More regular blogs coming some time in the future… 

He walked down the busy corridor on his way to the El.  He looked at all the people rushing around him.  He wondered if all of it was worth?  Of course not, the summer is almost over and he was yet to enjoy it.  The sky turned its dance of surreal light, but he was too low to enjoy it.  His spirit had long since left him.  What his spirit didn’t kill, the buildings did.  He could not see most of the dance, so what was the point.  To catch a glimpse was but a tease. 

            His memories of the recent past define his present.  He lives in continual disappoint as a result of his enjoyable past.  Is this part of getting old?  He wasn’t even that old, yet he had given up.  He was stuck.  He moved in circles and the weeks repeated the days that filled the year.  He here was.  Tomorrow he would be here.  Next week he would be here.  The fall would come.  He would be here.  Then the winter.  Always on time, always here.  He would always be here. 

            That was the worst part of it, being here.  Perpetual “hereness” he called it.  The Always.  The inevitable. The here.  Here.  Here.

            He walked onto the El, jam packed with the rest of those who were here.  Here they were.  Here was the girl he saw everyday, listening to her Ipod reading a celebrity magazine.  Here was the man with the mustache.  Here he saw the man’s hair grow grayer as the months went by.  Here was the lady who never thought she would be here.  Here she has been for 30 years.  Here she stepped one day and never left.  Here she was content. 

            He walked down the road towards his apartment.  Here is where he never wanted to end, but here he always did.  Here was the end.  Here was the beginning.  Here is where the middle never was. 

            A blues man on the river once told him that he was like the river, always on the move. 

            “I ha’n’t mov’d in 30 year’,” he said in a scratchy, whiskey strained voice.  “But I always keep movin’, always keep movin’.  My body’s old, my death’s near, but m’mind, m’mind keeps-a-goin’, keeps-a-rollin’, keeps-a-flowin’.  The riv’r ne’er sits, ne’ther m’mind, ne’ther m’mind.”

            Everyday he thought of this.  Everyday he thought of this as his mind dwindled down to nothingness. 

This is not really a blog in the sense of what a blog should be, but as the master of my own domain (www.wordsmithlind.today.com) (ha ha), I feel like the emperor of a small kingdom, so here I present for the peasants a short story that I have written. I wrote this some time back, but have recently rediscovered it and fixed it up a bit and now since it appears that some people are actually reading my blog, I might as well try to get some feedback on my fiction. So, please let me know if this strikes your fancy or if it is a fancy piece of poo. I am still in Vienna for a few more days and the Euros are still going on, so eventually there will be more thoughts on that, until then, fiction and prose for my bros (ha ha).

The fog didn’t bother him so much; though it made seeing difficult, it didn’t frighten him. Many people get spooked at not being able to see less than a foot in front of them. It was the mist that bothered him more than anything. The wetness that formed on his clothes grew into a thick coat before long. He did not like being wet, liked it even less when he was wearing his clothes.

The sun shined in his face. Where the hell am I? The last thing he remembered was he was walking through a fog and now he is lying in a field, bruised and scratched. In each direction he looked, the endless field of green expanded. Resting on one elbow, he pressed against his eyes in hopes that he would wake from this moment. As he pressed and rubbed, the world turned black. Man oh man, what the hell is going on? Opening his eyes he was less than pleased to see that he was still in the forever expanding green field. Trying to recount his last steps, he couldn’t. There was nothing. Lying back down, defeated, he looked up to the clear blue sky. Not a cloud in sight. Not a single bird. Nothing. Nothing. So this is what nothing is like?

The black room grew denser as he moved. He could feel a pressure on his lungs. He felt as if his head would burst. He grew short on breath. What the hell is this? The pressure closed around him suffocating him, choking him. Every breath he took the pressure increased. Every gasp followed by a tightening. His eyeballs began to bulge out of his eyes. He breathed faster and deeper only to lose it.

The minutes turned to hours, or did the hours feel like minutes? He was unsure. All he knew was that he did not know where he was. The longer he walked the less he knew. In front of him it was the same, behind him it was the same, the left looked like the right and the right was a mirror of where he had been. The only relief from the endless, seamless green was up, which gave him the flawless blue sky. Directly ahead in any direction, 50% green, 50% blue, completely flat and infinite. How is this possible? There is nowhere on Earth that is this flat? Not knowing what to do, he walked. Without food and water, he figured he would not last long.

Walking onward, wet hair, wet shoes, wet clothes, wet everything. He figured he had about two hours to get out before darkness took over completely. That’s fine, I know the way. The ground below him grew increasingly damper and difficult to walk on. Stumbling, he nearly fell after losing his footing on a sudden dip in the path.

The darkness grew steady. The pressure ceased and he began to see. The blackness swam in a protozoan dance. He swore he saw light. He knew he didn’t. He could not move. His feet had long since frozen in place. He was unsure if they were stuck to the ground, in the ground, or if he was too scared to move.

The mist turned to rain as he walked. The sun had long since set. The last remaining bits of twilight filtered through the clouds and fog. Clueless as to where he was, he began to backtrack. Better safe than sorry. He remembered there was a clearing in the path about a mile back, if he could get back there he could camp out for the night. As long as he made it through the night he would be ok.

He walked on. The green never changing, the blue always blue, and ground flat as a plane. What is this? Hours or minutes later he decided to rest. Sitting down, he noticed the texture of the grass below him. Feels like the grass in southern California…The ocean crashed below him over the edge of the cliff. Next to him sat a girl, he did not know her name but he recognized her. She was still laughing at whatever he had just said. What a beautiful laugh. Her hair blew wildly in the wind. Following the flow of her hair off the cliff, he caught glimpse of the blue sky…He was surrounded once again by the blue and green; 50% blue, 50% green. I wonder if this is limbo.

The black swam with the light that was not there. The swimming morphed into a merging of non-existent color; the black crossed his path of lighted non-vision, the light pressed against his straining eyeballs. The non-existent colors impressed nothing on his unseeing eyes. Black and non-existent light. He turned his head. He felt as if his head had been ripped off of his body. He looked forward. Black and light. He turned his head, again it felt as if it was tearing off of his shoulders. The tendons in his neck popped the further he turned. Unable to take it any longer, he looked forward, black and light.

The ground slipped out from under him. He was lying in the path. It had become a mini-river. He was wet and an unadmitted loss. Staring at the black abyss of fog and rain above him, he closed his eyes and gave up.

The use of the first person when speaking of sports teams I find to be perturbing.  “We won!” when speaking of the White Sox or Germany.  This illusion of a personal connection to a team is what is most mind boggling.  No, we did not win, they won, and they have nothing to do with us.  I brought this up to a friend of mine once, and he replied, “Have you ever heard of the twelfth man?”  “Yes, but the twelfth man only has real impact in the stadium.  You screaming at your TV does nothing.”  The same use of these possessives are thrown around carelessly when speaking of politics, using “your” when talking of the government of an individual’s country of birth/residence, or “my” when speaking of their own. 
What connection does the individual have to the larger entity—the local team, the national team, or the government?  Very little, if any.  The team is something to be cheered for as entertainment (lets be realistic, all professional sports are nothing but entertainment).  The individual is nothing more than a consumer of this entertainment, whether purchasing a hat, an advertised beer, or a ticket for game, the individual consumes the sport; the sport (as a profession) only survives as long as the market for it exists.  As long as support can be garnered for a team, be it the Giants or the Russian national team, the sport will continue.  As long as money is pumped into it, the corporate like atmosphere of professional sports will continue.  Would anyone really use the term “We won” when speaking of a team after the fog is lifted and realized?  Similar to the negative effects of smoking, everybody knows just how much professional athletes are paid.  The economic disparity between the players and the fans is enough to sicken even the most ardent anti-Marxist.  Only when the corpus callosum is activated does this realization have any effect.   

One’s culture has a much larger impact on the individual, but not to the point of justifying the use of we and us, you and yours.  It is well known (or at least should be) that the actions and desires of a government do not directly represent the actions and desires of the people.  If this was the case, then many of the absurd actions of the United States government would never have taken place.  The government of any country has its own interests in mind before those the people.  The people always come second (and in many cases, third, fourth or fifth).  Associating the possessive pronoun to anyone’s country is absurd.  It is merely the place where their passport was issued.  Granted, the country and culture where one is raised does have a great impact on their ideology and worldview, but this does not necessary mean there is any personal connection between citizen and state.  There are plenty of immigrants and people of descent living in one country that identify more with their country of birth than the current one they reside in.  The children of immigrants often identify with more than one country, and many people do not identify with the country they live in at all, but a sub-group, or ethnic group, living within another culture.  To use the possessive when speaking of a nation-state is an outdated form of speak that never had any real relevance.  To think of the World Wars, the Germans vs. whomever, there was never any pure Germans, British, or Americans.  They were (and are) all fragmentations of many different types put together to create an illusionary whole.

The fact that there is a need for a nationalistic vent through football speaks volumes.  The use of football is simply a cover for the larger problem.  Being here in Vienna during the European Championships has exhibited numerous examples of individuals wanting to express pride and/or love for their country.  These individuals climbing on monuments hanging their country’s flag (yesterday I saw Germans doing the same as the Croatians), yelling their country’s name, or, in the case of the Austrians, rising from their seats for their national anthem at outside public viewings, they are examples of a larger group want and need for nationalism.  The power of the nation state is said to be in decline with such supra-national entities as the European Union growing in strength, and more local, ethnic based movements growing as well.  How can it be that the nation-state is weakening, yet at the same time the need for nationalism appears not to be disappearing, but almost increasing (It wasn’t until the 2006 World Cup in Germany was it socially acceptable to wave German flags in public; now, as evidenced in Vienna, it seems as if that faux pax never existed).  Are these international tournaments a microcosm of what to expect in the future?  Will the suppression of nationalism over the past 60 years result in a backlash of extreme nationalism?

Recently I was told that my opinion in football does not matter because I am an American, and this came from a highly educated person.  If the informed, intelligent citizens of the world cannot see past where someone’s passport is issued, what can be expected when the uninformed masses are involved?

Something that I found profoundly interesting yesterday is that in the build up to the Austria vs. Germany game, the German fans were nearly as boisterous as the Austrian fans.  After the 1-0 German victory, the Germans walked in silence, yet the Austrians kept singing.  The German fans who were so adamant about the game all of a sudden seemed to be ashamed of winning.  This I can only attribute to the realization that the German team is not really that good and that an imminent loss to Portugal is next, thus removal from the tournament. 

In addition, this is just an intro for the next blog, the use of the first-person possessive is largely prevalent in sports, (i.e. we are going to beat them), as it is also popular to use the second-person possessive when speaking of sports and politics (i.e. you bombed Iraq).  I would like to address this topic as it has always driven me crazy, whether it is international football matches or baseball within in the United States, but also its connections to nationalism.

A slight tangent from Football, tomorrow more thoughts on Football and Nationalism in light of the Germany vs. Austria game…

 The idea of space and distance in reference to the metric system — why has no one questioned this notion? (maybe they have, if so I would like to read it) What is heard most often in reference to distance, weight, and volume is that the United States (and Myanmar) do not play along when it comes to the metric system, yet at the same time, terms such as Americanization, McDonaldization, and globalization are thrown around (now) without any thought behind them.  The fact that a French, thus European view of weight and distance dominates the world (and thus their world view) is hardly, if ever, questioned.  Does not the way one views distance play part in their worldview and thus their ideology?  Does not the notion of distance help to define the individual’s perception of distance?  Proponents of the metric system would never admit to the shaping of ideologies just as American corporations would never admit to the theft of local culture.  In reality, what is the difference?  If a local business in Tanzania is put out by a multi-national, how does that differ from an entire view of space and distance erased by a one-world system such as the metric system?  Convenience is an answer often given.  By that same rational, McDonaldization is a good thing, as McDonaldization is the complete rationality of any system.  By that same rational, all cultures and countries should be speaking the same language as that would be the most convenient.  Language plays just as an important role in cultural creation as space and distance.  The notion of time was eliminated by the standardization of the clock and the (though imperfect) calendar long ago; space and distance is still not completely rationalized.  Just as learning a second language helps an individual to learn his/her own language better, it also helps one’s worldview and the way one views other cultures.  This same logic can be applied to the learning of a second system of distance and space.  It does not hurt anyone, and at the same time it can help to understand the other’s view of the world.  To have one dominate system is never a good thing, and very few will disagree with this, then why is it accepted, and often encouraged, for the world to have one view on space and distance?

After Croatia’s defeat of Germany yesterday, scenes reminiscent of a conquered territory could only be more similar.  Upwards of 50 Croatians climbed onto a monument/statue in celebration, flags flying with even more Croatians cheering, waving flags, and brandish the national colors before them on street level.  During the match, at an outside viewing at a bar, Austrian fans chanted for their team in preparation for their upcoming match against Poland.  Near the end of the Germany/Croatia match, close to 100 marching Austrian fans, a sea of red and white with flags flying, lead by a man with his head painted red, chest white, and stomach red, yelling through a blow horn, “Österreich! Österreich!” on their way to the Fanzone.  An unsuspecting tourist who happened into Vienna at this time would be sure to think that an all out war was about to breakout.  Instead, it is the circus that international football tournaments have become.  The actions of the Austrians marching and the Croatians climbing onto monuments brings many questions into factor— the obvious being that of Nationalism.  As this topic is much too large for me to discuss at this moment (Italy is about to face-off against Romania followed by The Netherlands vs. France), I will touch upon it briefly.  Why is this sort of nationalism accepted and even encouraged?  One possible answer is that it is an outlet similar to fighting in hockey.  If national based emotions are allowed to vent and spillover once or twice a year, a build-up will be prevented, thus the scenes of the two World Wars will not be repeated.  In addition, why is this sort of nationalism accepted only with certain countries?  If Germans had been climbing on monuments all sorts of World War II references would be made, and if Americans were parading down the street with flags waving, thoughts of “that’s typical” and cultural imperialism would be brought up.  Football nationalism differs from “normal” nationalism, yet at the same time the formula is identical and football nationalism makes for a good case study of how quickly national movements are developed.  To see the normally mild-mannered Viennese erupt into a national frenzy overnight is scary at the least.  I do not imply that football fans are the beginning of larger nationalistic movements, but it does imply the ease in which nationalistic movements can grab a hold of an individual.  I will continue on this subject over the course of the next few days, and I still want to discuss the Fanzone which I was unable to get into for the Austrian/Poland game.  Before the game had begun, the Fanzone was filled to capacity (74,000).  At this point they stopped allowing people in; there were people climbing the fences and a near stampede to find other televisions to watch the game on.  This is a good formula for riot, fence in a bunch of hyped-up football fans in a corporate sponsored “zone,” overcharge for beer, and then lock the doors…