Red and I spent most of the trip up by the little grill on the upper deck, and dined on meager but satisfying cheeseburgers from grill, while we watched the Olympics on the Washington side slowly come into view through the fog. An Asian family at the table next to us laughed and guffawed at the top of their voices in boisterous conviviality. It was a little past sunset when we were waved by the CBP agent through the last checkpoint into the streets of Port Angeles.
We stayed the night at a clean Indian family-owned motor lodge on U.S. 101 on the east edge of town. In the morning we ate an awesome omelette breakfast on Main Street, checked out the local bookstore, where I purchased a couple language phrasebooks.
Then we drove through downtown to find the sports bar I'd found on line. We rolled up to the curve right before noon. They would be open for the soccer game, they said, but not until noon. We waited a few minutes then went in and found seats. The place was not really a sports bar. It was a live music venture---it had a bit of hard core edge, but it also had large televisions, so it would do, even though the sound was turned down on one of them. At that hour of a Sunday morning, watching the staff prep the place for an early opening, it felt a bit like we had woken up a bunch of friendly vampires in the middle of the day.
We were among the first customers to arrive. We sat at the table near the television in back and ordered a pair of ginger beers in bottles when the scraggly tattooed bartender came over to take our orders (he was very friendly). We nursed the ginger beers the entire game. The bar did plenty of business that day. By the time the match had even started, a couple dozen other people had filled up seats, as well as the bar. By that time they had turned the sound up on ESPN. I couldn't help wishing it was on Univision, but that would asking to much.
I'd thought I was neutral in the game----and of course who really cares, it's a game---but I found myself rooting for Argentina, since they were the underdogs, and I thought i would be nice for the South Americans to win the tournament (although it would mean extra humiliation for the host nation Brazil).
When Argentina seemed to have scored the first goal, I jumped out of my seat with excitement, and then felt the mild disappointment as it was apparent that they were offside.
There were obviously other folk for Argentina in the bar, but by far the loudest and most enthusiastic fans were the ones for Germany. There was one guy behind us who was very much a supporter of the Germans. He was vocal and loud, almost in an "in your face" kind of way, as if he'd waited a long time to express himself that way. Even though I was for Argentina, it was fun and enlightening to be an audience for him. He crowed majestically when Germany finally scored its goal, so late in extra time, and then when the final whistle was called shortly after that to seal the championship.
"Thank God that's over," I said to Red, as we got in the car to head out of town.
"What a pain in the ass it was to have to watch it."
But of course it was privilege to do so, as it is a privilege to walk the earth and breath the air. It was only an inconvenience, to be sure, and it turned out to be a good excuse to spend a little time in town before we headed out on 101. Besides it was good to see the official debut of the New Germany.
I wanted say that I was done watching the World Cup, and in fact I did assert that at the time, but who knows what I'll feel like doing in four years. In the meantime there is nothing sportswise that I have to see on television until the Rio Olympics in two years---if they indeed have them there. The thought of not having to watch any paritcular sporting events on television for the next couple years was greatly satisfying, as if I'd achieved some kind of profound personal gooooool.
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