Z and I have been following the Arsenal, an English football team for two seasons now. While I really dig it, it feels kind of funny to put a lot of energy into something so distant (we actually got satellite JUST to watch football!) I was really excited that when we moved here, we could totally follow a local, kickass soccer team... the New England Revolution.
I headed to Providence for various and sundry things on Friday, and was planning my return when Z mentioned that the Rev were playing the LA Galaxy. (The Galaxy are like the Yankees of men's pro soccer in the states... they've got Landon Donovan AND David Beckham.) He looked into actually heading over to the stadium, but since I'm still unemployed, and tickets are not THAT cheap we settled for watching the game in a bar.
In Seattle, we knew where to find soccer on tv. In Fremont, there was the George and Dragon, there's The Dray in Ballard, there's the Kangaroo and Kiwi on Aurora and downtown, there's the Owl and Thistle. When the African Cup happened we called each of them and every Ethiopian restaurant and bar in town and still couldn't watch ONE game, even the final. What I'm saying is, we have practice tracking down soccer bars. Since I was hanging out with the Gray family, Z did all the "legwork" (read: Googling) tracking down the best place to go. I got home, we left for the T, we got out right near Fenway, and headed to a very fancy bar.
"Are you sure they'll show it?"
"Yes. This is where the very devoted fans, the Midnight Riders, come when they can't get to the game. They'll show it."
I put a shirt on over my tank top for decency and we headed in. Every television showed college American football. We asked the bartender, she asked her manager, she told us no. The manager came to us and apologized... usually they do show the games, but tonight they had a private party starting in 20 minutes. He apologized a couple more times and told us he wasn't sure where we could go to see the game.
We headed out, and over to Boston Beer Works which had a plethora of tv's (also showing college ball). We asked, and they said that they could totally put some tv's on the Fox Soccer Network for us...also they were a microbrewery! Score! We sat down and put off the waiter until we were sure that they really had the game. There was the face of Donovan in high def! We ordered beers and food (our waiter just moved here from Portland, Or, so we exchanged secret handshakes and he told us about the floral Ipa "You really can't find that kind of Ipa here in Boston") and then "No Signal". The tv's would show about 1 or 2 minutes of game and then "No Signal" for about 30 seconds. "Watching" the game this way was worse than listening to a radio, worse than not watching at all. All the same, it was all we could look at... we'd watch a play develop, see the pass toward the center then "No Signal". We were crestfallen. We gulped down the beer and the food and bolted.
The Iphone oracle suggested we go to a place called McGinns. En route Z popped into a bar as we passed and they suggested we head to McGinns. Thus bolstered in our faith in the oracle, we walked around the block. McGinns looked like just the place... except that it was inexplicably dark. So inexplicably dark (no sign, no nothing) that we both just stared into the windows for awhile. It was frustrating. We didn't have anything else to do, though and it was early so we figured we'd wander around and maybe get lucky. I had given up any real hope, but I like wandering around, so off we went around the next block. We saw a place called "Porter". We both enjoy porter, so we headed over. We looked through the paned windows, and there over the bar was a television showing the game. Easy as that. There were a handful of people inside, including a broad, atheletic-looking guy with bristly silver hair, staring up at the screen.
It was fantastic. The game was exciting (we'd only missed the first half hour) and Z talked to the fan... he'd played professionally back in the day and was eager for soccer to "catch on" here in the states. He followed Portugal and they had a great chat.
Here's to finding our way in our big home! Cheers.
Showing posts with label football. Show all posts
Showing posts with label football. Show all posts
Monday, September 1, 2008
Monday, April 7, 2008
"So you all know that what you've come to see is a nature documentary not a sports film."
I've been sick since Wednesday but on Saturday I dragged my ass with Z to the 36th Legislative District Caucus to attempt my civic duty as an Obama delegate. I was short of breath and coughing and spitting and generally disgusting and by the time we made it there I was certain that my next stop would be the emergency room. Because Z was an alternate we made sure that there were enough Obama alternates to cover me before he drove me to Capitol Hill to see the doctor. There were. We got in the car and I started wondering AGAIN...
Could I make it to the movie?
About three weeks ago I was walking to a bar when, through a window of a locked up coffee shop in the U District, I saw a poster with the face of Zizou and some dates. I imagined that I would forget to look it up, so I called Z and told him "It says Zidane, A 21st Century Portrait and April 4-6th." The next day we bought tickets. Until about an hour before the movie played I was still unsure about whether I could make it/stay awake/avoid coughing all over the person next to me. (The doctor gave me an albuterol inhaler to open up my bronchs, which was the only thing that assured me that I could, in fact, breathe through the whole show.) There's no telling when we'll get to see a screening of this incredible film again, and I'm so glad I went.
The quote in the title is from the Board member of the NW Film Forum who introduced the show. But I'm getting ahead of myself. As we walked up to the place (which is ordinarily pretty full up with folks who look like "film people" and other people dressed in black) there were people in Real Madrid jerseys and other football gear. It looked more like the George and Dragon on a Saturday morning than an arty film house. Everyone was on the phone telling the people that they were meeting that the show was sold out. I glowed smugly as we coasted into the Will Call line. The screening room was also filled with men, mostly, who looked unsettlingly sporty for the venue. I imagined they were almost hooligan-y. A group in the back kept trying to start a CLAP CLAP CLAP-CLAP-CLAP like we were at a stadium.
The story of the film is that it's an experiment and it's a different way to watch a football game. I think it attempts to give us some insight into what the difference between a player's perception of a game and a viewer's perception. Basically, the filmmakers shot one Real Madrid match (the usual cues are missing, and I don't know enough about la ligue to recognize the opponents) by only filming Zidane with 17 HD cameras. This means that we very rarely see the ball, and we simply watch all of the moments in the game that don't make it into the highlight reel. This is difficult to describe, particularly to anyone who doesn't watch soccer.
We (American soccer fans) often say that watching soccer takes a longer attention span, that the action is more continuous and therefore at a different pace than other spectator sports. This film shows that playing professional soccer takes a longer attention span still. We see only the world through Zidane's apparent reaction to it, through how it changes his game face. It was very Zen, very beautiful and like nothing I've seen. Absent are commentators, the pregame to remind you of which individuals are playing, the time clock, replays or other onscreen reminders to let you know the details of the game. I wasn't even certain of the score until I checked with Z on the way out!
Most of the film is growing obsessively familiar with the smallest details, Zidane's squint, his gait as he wanders from open place to open place on the field positioning constantly. Early on, there's a little bit of action... he gets the ball, burns through a defender or two and passes it on. Nobody in the sold out crowd made a sound (though we were clearly all football fans (the clapping guys started calling out ZIZOU! ZIZOU! when the lights went out) and appreciated the beauty and skill on the screen) that was it. We were collectively silent for the rest of the film. A crowd of people, who I imagine have no shame about yelling and berating screens anywhere else, watched our first football match in silence. I believe that if we'd cheered for that initial moment, we'd have made noise through the whole thing.
The sound of the film may account for that. We heard the players run on the turf like horse, heard Zidane's hand scrape his stubbly head to wipe off sweat, and more than anything heard the voices of the fans in the stands as a player does. There is a brilliant soundtrack by Mogwai that complements the sort of Nature Documenatry sounds of a "footballer in the wild". All in all, it was unlike anything I've ever seen, and I'm grateful I went.
sniff.
cough.
Could I make it to the movie?
About three weeks ago I was walking to a bar when, through a window of a locked up coffee shop in the U District, I saw a poster with the face of Zizou and some dates. I imagined that I would forget to look it up, so I called Z and told him "It says Zidane, A 21st Century Portrait and April 4-6th." The next day we bought tickets. Until about an hour before the movie played I was still unsure about whether I could make it/stay awake/avoid coughing all over the person next to me. (The doctor gave me an albuterol inhaler to open up my bronchs, which was the only thing that assured me that I could, in fact, breathe through the whole show.) There's no telling when we'll get to see a screening of this incredible film again, and I'm so glad I went.
The quote in the title is from the Board member of the NW Film Forum who introduced the show. But I'm getting ahead of myself. As we walked up to the place (which is ordinarily pretty full up with folks who look like "film people" and other people dressed in black) there were people in Real Madrid jerseys and other football gear. It looked more like the George and Dragon on a Saturday morning than an arty film house. Everyone was on the phone telling the people that they were meeting that the show was sold out. I glowed smugly as we coasted into the Will Call line. The screening room was also filled with men, mostly, who looked unsettlingly sporty for the venue. I imagined they were almost hooligan-y. A group in the back kept trying to start a CLAP CLAP CLAP-CLAP-CLAP like we were at a stadium.
The story of the film is that it's an experiment and it's a different way to watch a football game. I think it attempts to give us some insight into what the difference between a player's perception of a game and a viewer's perception. Basically, the filmmakers shot one Real Madrid match (the usual cues are missing, and I don't know enough about la ligue to recognize the opponents) by only filming Zidane with 17 HD cameras. This means that we very rarely see the ball, and we simply watch all of the moments in the game that don't make it into the highlight reel. This is difficult to describe, particularly to anyone who doesn't watch soccer.
We (American soccer fans) often say that watching soccer takes a longer attention span, that the action is more continuous and therefore at a different pace than other spectator sports. This film shows that playing professional soccer takes a longer attention span still. We see only the world through Zidane's apparent reaction to it, through how it changes his game face. It was very Zen, very beautiful and like nothing I've seen. Absent are commentators, the pregame to remind you of which individuals are playing, the time clock, replays or other onscreen reminders to let you know the details of the game. I wasn't even certain of the score until I checked with Z on the way out!
Most of the film is growing obsessively familiar with the smallest details, Zidane's squint, his gait as he wanders from open place to open place on the field positioning constantly. Early on, there's a little bit of action... he gets the ball, burns through a defender or two and passes it on. Nobody in the sold out crowd made a sound (though we were clearly all football fans (the clapping guys started calling out ZIZOU! ZIZOU! when the lights went out) and appreciated the beauty and skill on the screen) that was it. We were collectively silent for the rest of the film. A crowd of people, who I imagine have no shame about yelling and berating screens anywhere else, watched our first football match in silence. I believe that if we'd cheered for that initial moment, we'd have made noise through the whole thing.
The sound of the film may account for that. We heard the players run on the turf like horse, heard Zidane's hand scrape his stubbly head to wipe off sweat, and more than anything heard the voices of the fans in the stands as a player does. There is a brilliant soundtrack by Mogwai that complements the sort of Nature Documenatry sounds of a "footballer in the wild". All in all, it was unlike anything I've ever seen, and I'm grateful I went.
sniff.
cough.
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