Friday Newsletter: Opening Up My World Cup Archives
Plus I answer your Mailbag questions
Look at this guy. He’s 24. From Kansas. It’s the second trip of his life to Europe. And he’s going to cover the 1998 World Cup. For Sports Illustrated! What a world. He has no idea what’s about to hit him. That a group of eight kilt-wearing Scottish fans will each buy him a beer at a French pub early in the tournament, only for his editor to call him from New York after Beer No. 8.
That he’ll have dinner with fellow SI scribe Ian Thomsen, who takes him to a restaurant that specializes in raw oysters. “Have you had oysters before?” Thomsen will ask him. “Oh, yeah,” the 24-year-old will lie as he promptly dunks his oyster … into the finger bowl.
That he’ll be in Lyon as the U.S. self-immolates out of the World Cup in a 2-1 loss to Iran. Or that he’ll get the worst flu of his life that still gives him nightmares about restrooms at the Lyon airport. Or that somehow he’ll end up writing the big magazine story on France’s triumph in the final and become SI’s soccer writer for good after that.
On Sunday, I leave for Qatar to cover my eighth men’s World Cup. I still count 1994, when I was a college student attending Argentina games in the old Foxboro Stadium and wrote stories for a campus publication about the experience. I had some fun on Friday by digging into the storage unit of our apartment building and tracking down some personal mementoes from my previous World Cups. Let’s break it down:
World Cup 2002: South Korea/Japan
For some reason, the only World Cup credential that I don’t still have is from 2002. But I still have lots of memories from the high-water mark of the USMNT in the modern era, its run to the quarterfinals. My favorite story from that tournament? I shared it on my Instagram the other night:
After 35 days in South Korea, I wrote a short ode to the people of Seoul for SI.com. I didn’t think much of it at first, but I wanted to say thanks for their friendliness. I mentioned the older Korean man who, when I was taking my laundry to the cleaner in the rain, held an umbrella over my head as I crossed the street. And I mentioned how everyone welcomed us during our time there.
What happened next was remarkable. The biggest Korean newspaper translated my piece, and I got invited onto the Korean version of Oprah. I said the six words of Korean I knew, and smiled, and they gave me a standing ovation. A few weeks later, after I’d returned home, I got an email saying a famous monk had watched and wanted to give me a gift on behalf of the Korean people. I reluctantly gave them my address, and two weeks later this vase arrived from Seol Bong Monk. It’s front and center in our living room, and it makes me smile to this day.