Czeching out Czech

BEER POSTING:
The Plsen Pivovar

"What admiration there was when its golden color glittered and the snow-white foam rose above it, how the drinkers rejoiced when they discovered the crisp, outstanding taste, hitherto unknown among beers."
A review of Pilsner Urquell. 1842.

Leaving Munich we drove to Plsen, the birthplace of pilsner-style beer. Our first beer there was the locally-made Gambrinus. King Gambrinus was the patron saint of beer, but brew scholars disagree about who he really was. Some people say he was Jan Primus, probably a Czech. Some say he was a Duke of Burgundy and King of Flanders. I toast both of them.

No beer-drinking pilgrimage would be complete without a visit to the Czech Republic, the birthplace of the lighter beers, that now dominate central Europe. Czechs consume more beer than any other people in the world, about a liter each a day. I helped out. By consuming a couple liters the day I was there I figure I was giving someone a break for a day.

The Gambrinus is a typical Czech beer, full-bodied and nicely bitter. It's got a nice head and strong carbonation.

We bought a Gambrinus and a Primus, another Czech beer, at a little outdoor cafe on the main square in Plsen. We couldn't find a seat, so we accepted an invitation to join an old drunk at his table. He wanted to learn some English and I wanted to learn some Czech. Mostly, I learned that he thinks the Russians should give him oral sex and I got his telephone number. His name was Milan. I also did learn the word for thank you is Yikwiu and the word for your welcome is Prosim. He also kissed Jessi on the forehead and drank out of one of our beers, so I need to get a hepatitis C test.

Then we went to the Pilsner Urquell brewery and did the tour. Went down into the cellars, where the beer ages, where it was about 50 degrees F. Got our free beers, paid homage to the geniuses who invented this type of beer, and then hit the road for Prague since we were only about an hour away from there anyway.

In Prague, we checked into a hotel and went into a bar to watch the Czechs lose to Italy in the World Cup. We again drank Gambrinus because that's what the bar had on tap.
Then in the evening we found a restaurant where we ordered a "Traditional Czech meat feast for two," and again, drank several Czech beers. We had Staropramen, Gambrinus and a couple other beers, none of which were particularly extraordinary, but all of which tasted great with our huge plate of various un-named meats.
We watched Australia play Croatia on the TV at the restaurant and couldn't finish our meal because it was a "meat-feast."

The view from our seats, Ivory Coast v. Serbia

MUNCHEN (AND DRINKIN')
June 21
We had a day of planes, trains and automobiles, flying from Glasgow to Beauvais, France and then taking a bus to Paris, then a train to Orly to rent a car. After a stop somewhere between Paris and Nancy to have lunch at a roadside house with Sayeed, the only Algerian in his town, we stopped for the night in Metz. Then on Weds morning we drove through Luxembourg and into Germany to head to Munich for Cote D'Ivoire vs. Serbia.

It's tempting to pull for Serbia and Montenegro - this will be the last tournament in which a team ever represents that nation. Montenegro recently split off and will have their own team, so this is the last game ever for this country.
But Cote D'Ivoire (we call them Ivory Coast, but that sounds like soap to me) is a fun team that stopped a civil war. The Elephants have played well, but still they're on their way home after this game, as are the Serbs.

It's pouring in Munich and the subway train breaks down on the way, so we're a bit late getting there. We get there and head up into the concourse and look at the scoreboard - they're in the 13th minute and already it's Serbia 1-Cote D'Ivoire 0. We missed the goal.
We both have to go to the bathroom. As I come out, I'm walking over to watch the game from the concourse while waiting for Jess. Serbia scores just as I walk up.
So by the time we get to our seats it's Serbia 2-Cd'I 0.
Drogba is on the bench for some reason.

Ivory Coast (dressed in Orange no less) plays a kind of Holland-like total football thing, where everybody pushes forward in attack.

In the 34th minute Serbian defender handles the ball in the box. Aruna Dindane takes the penalty, but the ref says somebody moved too early. So he does it again. Same spot. Same result. GOOOOOAAAALLLL Cote D'Ivoire, and the first W.C. goal I really, actually fully see live. And I got to see it twice.

Just before the half Serbia goes a man down with a yellow card to Nadj.
The Elephants dominate the second half with a man up. Several chances just miss.
Serbia actually has a player named Milosevic. The ref should keep an eye on him. In the 66th minute Dindane gets his Ivorian head on a nice cross and finishes beautifully. Knotted at 2.

All the Ivorian players head for the corner for a little dance, led by Drogba. The tournament is sponsored by Budweiser (the American crap) and I had one of those when we first came in . You can get Bitburg if you look for it. Fortunately, I'm going to have to drive later, so I won't be drinking any more tonight. Jessi's on her third though.

ANOTHER HAND BALL IN THE BOX BY SERBIA. They're not only war criminals, they cheat too. Bonaventure Kalou buries the spot kick and it's 3-2 Elephants, who go on to win.

We take the train back into the city center to find the car. We still don't have a place to stay. We get pulled over by a police officer who says we look lost. We are. He gives us directions. We go to a campground, but it's closed. Still raining, and we're in Dachau. We get on the highway toward the north. After about an hour I'm tired and I pull into a rest area. I go to sleep, dreaming of Yaya Toure, Dindane and Kalou.

It's more than a game, and it's too bad it's over. The Ivorians may return to their civil war. Montenegrins will go about building a new country - never an easy thing. And the Serbs can go back to rebuilding the land that we bombed into oblivion a few years ago and hating their neighbors for their religion and bloodline. If only they could just tune in to an endless soccer match.

GLASGOW, SCOTLAND: Written Monday, June 19 (posted later)
We're on a tour of places where people care about good soccer and where they drink beer. First stop: Glasgow, Scotland. Which leads me to my first thoughts on this World Cup. If you don't know who Archie Gemmill is, you're probably American. Here's a cultural reference for you - in Trainspotting Ewan MacGregor has sex with some girl and then says 'I haven't felt that good since Archie Gemmill scored against Holland.'

Every school boy in Scotland knows not only who Archie Gemmill is, but can re-enact the goal from the 1978 World Cup game against Holland. Of course, it was one of the World Cup few goals to remember if, like me, you are a Scotland fan. But, still, these are kids who were born in 1990, 12 years after Gemmill beat three defenders around the top of the box, including a nifty move where he sent the ball around one to the left and went around him to the right before blasting the ball into the upper left corner.
Because that is what Scots know and love. Football, or as they say, fitba.
The U.S. has scored some pretty nifty goals in its World Cup life - some that come to my mind are the goal that sent England into mourning in 1950, and I think you may have to add Dempsey's goal against Ghana this week.
Yet school kids from Portland to Omaha to the suburbs of Philly either don't care much, nor won't remember them next year.
Which is why - no matter what its record against the Faroe Islands (it was a disaster) - no matter what it's score in group play, Scotland deserves to be in the World Cup, while I would argue the U.S. does not.

What is sports? Yep, a chance for one team to play against the other. But if there are no fans, no collective sigh when a player gives up the ball, no roar when a goal is scored, no taunting the other team's fans based on their long-ago history and religious beliefs, then is it really the beautiful game?

No. At least not in the World Cup. The World Cup is not the American team vs. the Ghanaian team. It is _ or it should be _ America vs. Ghana. A substitute for wars, a way for our whole nation to go to war for one day against another, to be proud for one day to be Americans, because we play the world's most important game better than the other country. Alas, it ain't like that. Sam's Army is pretty small. The Tartan Army even goes to other country's games when they have no Scotland to support.

I met a Scot this week on the train in Munich, as we were leaving a Serbia vs. Ivory Coast game _ a game in which millions of Serbs were hanging on every touch of the ball. Oh, and it's also a game that has temporarily halted a real shooting war, a civil war in Ivory Coast, so it's a pretty big deal for the Elephants too.
But anyway this Scot _ a Presbyterian minister no less, with a crazy wig of Orange hair and a tartan tam _ told us he still follows the World Cup because he has 31 favorite teams in it. (Every team that could possibly beat England).

And so my plea to FIFA is this _ base World Cup qualification in part on the performance of the fans, as well as the team. The great teams would of course always be there - the Brazillians, the Germans, the Italians, the Argentinians. The little desperate countries that make such good stories would be there. And the Americans, who play their hearts out while their countrymen sleep or yawn and check out the papers for NFL news, wouldn't be let in, opening up a spot for countries where there are days of mourning following the day in group play where it becomes apparent that the team will stay home yet again.

Like Scotland. Who I hope to be watching beat England in 2010 in a stadium in Cape Town with thousands of Scots who will then be able to die happy.

I saw a lady outside the stadium in Munich the other night who had tears in her eyes and who said, 'I am sick and will die soon. Please trade me a souvenir for a ticket so that I might see one game before I die."
It was probably bullshit, but maybe not.

For frame of reference, this is us.

Drinking beer and watching the beautiful game

Hokay, so:
We're off on a beer drinking and soccer watching tour for the next few weeks. I'll update here. On the agenda are Scotland, France, Germany, maybe Czech, Holland and Belgium. Hoping to see Cote D'Ivoire v. Serbia in Munich. More about the cup in another blog. Will do our best to appear not to be American.

Genesis

In the beginning, Dave created this blog. So far, the blog is without form _ and void. But I say, let there be a blog. And I will try to see that it is good.
There.