Inside FIFA’s Philly Takeover
The State of the Paper
The blaze of summer has arrived with oppressive temperatures hitting Philly this week. Please stay cool and hydrated out there, readers. Speaking of heat, I have some writing news hot off the press. As of Monday the 29th, I have received my first rejection from a magazine. This is not terribly unexpected news, but disappointing nonetheless. I know I have a solid story and it's just a matter of patience and perseverance until someone publishes me. For now I can start my book of motivation where I keep all of my rejection letters to get inspired by.
In this month’s edition we take an inside look at FIFA’s Fan Fest at Lemon Hill. I do some boots on the ground reporting as they say in the biz. A barber shop experience gets shared as a Martha’s Vineyard’s fan is revealed. The next volume of Claude-by-Cheese drops and it's an action packed one. Finally, Ruth’s Book Club takes a twist and our beloved mouse goes to a woodland paradise. That’s all I have for you this month and as always thanks for reading.
-Niall
The Inside Fan at FIFA’s Fan Fest
Saturday June 13th, with a blazing sun at its 3:00 zenith, I trudge through FIFA’s Fan Fest at Lemon Hill south entrance alone. My fellow investigative journalist, tied up with sleeping off a hang over, left me flying solo to cover the event I have been keeping a close eye on.
My first thought was “Wow there are a lot of Ecuadorian fans here.” The national team would be playing the next day against the Ivory Coast in the first host match of the World Cup that Philly would have. Yellow, red, and blue spread out all over the place as I ascended the steep hill they had the water station set up on. Giant fans blew mist right next to a line of automatic water dispensers arranged like beer taps. My 15 minute walk over had already got me sweating and in need of hydration.
Surveying the scene before me I took in the music festival-like atmosphere. There were game stations and food vendors. A beer garden that consisted of a dozen or so picnic tables sat under partial shade, and a massive screen with stage set below it, took up the far end of an open dusty field. I headed straight for the shade and for a beer. I almost got in line for a Coca-cola fan experience but quickly realized they weren't gonna give me a refreshment and bailed. Armed with a stadium priced Mango Cart, I squeezed myself into the sliver of shade that barely stretched onto the only available standing table. I settled in to watch some of the Qatar and Switzerland game. Little did I know it wouldn't be long before I became an honorary Ecuadorian.
Three middle aged dads showed up to the newly vacated standing table next to me. In an attempt to not block some other watchers, they scooted their table next to mine and we swiftly got to chatting. Visiting from LA, Texas, and Florida respectfully, they asked the standard things you do when meeting strangers at a World Cup Fan Fest. Do you follow soccer? What teams are you rooting for? Where are the bathrooms? Would you be able to save our table later when we have to leave for a bit? We would buy you beer and maybe a stripper. All standard stuff.
I had to politely decline the offer of free alcohol and “entertainment” because I had a dinner date planned with my wife right after the game ended. They found this to be the only acceptable excuse I could have offered. They chatted some more, and we cheered when Qatar scored a last second goal. The match had been a snooze fest up until that point. As I made my goodbyes they ceremoniously explained that I was now an honorary Ecuadorian and compelled to cheer for them. Unfortunately, it seems I was anything but a good luck charm for my new homeland’s team for they lost the game against the Ivory Coast.
My time at fan fest did not end there, because just a couple of days later, Taylor and I got in line on June 19th with thousands of others to watch the USA take on Australia. Showing up an hour and twenty minutes before kickoff apparently was almost not enough time to get in to see the start of the match. The line took a long time to filter through security and we had only 15 minutes to find a spot to watch the game from.
The Czy Creeks (a chair that sat directly on the ground) we brought fit well in with the contingent of blankets and lounging fans under one of the lone trees in direct view of the main screen. This sitting down area did not last long as more people filed in front of us standing and blocking the view of the people sitting right behind them. So those sitting fans stood up and that just caused more people to be blocked and have to stand up to see. This continued until we were all up on our feet and cheering as the USA slotted their first goal. The atmosphere was akin to a music festival, people beelining for beer or the bathroom in between the action. The energy was palpable and infectious as we jumped up and down. An impromptu passing drill even broke out during half time.
All in all, the Fan Fest has been a wild success for Philly, seeing more visitors than any other Fan Fest this World Cup. The experience on the inside is pretty fun, especially when you are surrounded by hundreds of like minded fans cheering on the action. Definitely worth a visit if you can make it out to Lemon Hill.
Barber In Fitler Square
The older man and I share bemused looks at the empty barber shop. He checks the bathroom while I sit next to the pile of laundry taking up two seats. The washer spins away through its cycle and the wind down to the morning show blares in the background. Finding it empty he returns to stand and worry his hands together. I offer that they are probably across the street and will be back any minute. He doesn't look too convinced. My barber proves my point, coming in with a steaming coffee. The older man’s barber isn’t too far behind with a cheery hello and a floppy-eared dog. Megan nuzzles my hand as the barbers set up, and I scratch around her butterfly collar.
We are sat in purple vinyl and jacked up into position. His barber snips away with scissors and mine picks up clippers as I ask for four on the sides. The question of vacation came through an easy tee up for the start of summer.
“Oh Martha’s Vineyard, I have never been but I have read and seen so many movies about it. I feel like I have to go.”
The older man smiles at the three letters inked below his barber's eye.
“In twenty twenty I was locked up…for doing something not great. Just for thirty days. I didn’t want to leave my cell cause the guys out there…they were used to everything…I just didn’t want to get into that. So I stayed in my cell. My cellmate had a book in there and he asked if I wanted to read it. I stayed in that cell and just read that book.
It was about this lady who ends up moving to Martha’s Vineyard and she meets this guy and they obviously get together. It was really nice. But ever since, I’ve wanted to go there. It seems like one of those places I have to go to now.”
My barber had me facing away but I could see his head bob in the mirror. I left after handing my barber his due. Saying goodbye to Megan, I tousled her ears one last time. I hope to know that desire for a place like Martha’s Vineyard. An unbridled child's excitement in a grown man’s body is a strangely wholesome thing. Out the door I couldn’t help smiling, thinking about the older man’s barber drinking a Frosé.
Claude-by-Cheese Vol. 4
As much as I would love to write that my first instinct upon seeing armed creatures enter my building was to flee, I will not lie to you here. At the end of the day, I am an academic at heart and academic hearts are not prone to fast action. I stood there on the balcony staring at where the group of dark clothed figures had been just moments ago. The sudden plunge of fear locked my limbs together, not able to look away from where they had just been.
All of a sudden, I was released from my frozen state, and I stumbled back inside. Looking frantically around I knew I had to flee before the figures got up here, but I found it difficult to drop everything and go. I grabbed my leather satchel and scooped the coded rhyme and warning into it, along with my trusty atlas and hunk of swiss wrapped in wax. Always handy to have a block of cheese on paw for a quick get away. My satchel slung, I stuck my head out of the front door of my apartment.
Just as I was casting my gaze down the hallway, the elevator dings, its metal doors gleam and slide open. The cloaked figures stare back at me through their shadowed hoods. I squeaked a rather unattractive cry and slammed the door. Throwing the bolts to my door, I suddenly wished I took security like Reg did. Rushing back out to my balcony I stared at my escape route with a sinking feeling. There was no fire escape attached to my building that I could clamber down. Besides jumping down to the street below which would surely shatter most if not all my bones, the only other option I had was an identical looking balcony across an eight foot or so gap. It was precisely eight feet and two inches and theoretically I could make the jump.
You see, a couple of years ago, the mouse who lived in the apartment that accessed my escape route balcony, locked herself out on the metal platform. It was a particularly windy day and as one does in a scary situation, she was freaking out. I happened to hear her calls for help and after dialing for a really tall ladder to be brought, I tried to provide emotional support. I am apparently not the most reassuring fellow because her panic only climbed higher. At one point she tried to threaten me to jump over to her and save her. I obviously did not do such a dangerous stunt and she was successfully rescued.
In the aftermath of the whole situation, I couldn’t get the thought of jumping over to her balcony out of my head. Being of an inquisitive mind I sat down and did the calculations to see if it was actually possible for me to jump across the gap. Long story short, I could do it.
Knowing you could theoretically do something is a whole other thing than actually throwing your body into the open air. As I contemplated how best to psych myself up, my pursuers were trying to get through my front door. The sounds of banging and then splintering wood got me to turn my head around. A dinner plate sized hole was taken out of my front door and two gleaming red eyes narrowed at me. Listening to my reflexes I leaned to one side and a knife whistled right by head spinning off into the night and clattering to the street below. My wits were barely marshaled as I clambered atop the balcony railing. There was another loud crack and I swear I felt some little splinters of wood on the back of my neck.
Without looking behind me I launched myself out, pushing off with all the strength that coiled in my legs. The wind rushed and cut through me as shouts nipped at my tail. Those eight feet flew by in an instant and my paws were scraping the bottom part of the balcony across from mine. I clamped on with all I had in me and cried out as my flight was jerked to a stop. I swung there for a few precious seconds, turning my head briefly to see the hooded figures piled out onto my little balcony. A few curses were spat at me and then another glint of a knife flashed in the moon light and I instinctively let go.
My original plan had been to climb up and onto the balcony banging on the door for the mouse who lived there to let me in. Now with my instinctual reaction, I was falling down to a new plan. A balcony shot by me and I grabbed for it, my paws banging painfully against the railing and failing to latch on. I cried out as I looked down, seeing I only had two more opportunities to arrest my descent before I met the sidewalk with some inevitable broken bones. I flung my whole body at the next railing, hitting it with a whoomp and an audible crack.
My lungs wheezed painfully in my chest as I hung draped over the side of the balcony. It felt as though I might have cracked a rib, lances of fire raced through me with every breath I took. I could just hear the commotion of my pursers above me, rushing to get off of my balcony. I knew I had to get moving, they would be down sooner rather than later, every second counted in this deadly chase I was in.
With an effort I levered myself up and over the balcony crashing with a significant clang. The glass door in front of me swung open and a bewildered looking squirrel stared down at me.
“Someone’s chasing me, gotta…get…away.”
Speaking was an effort, especially when it was combined with the herculean effort of getting my feet under me.
“Woah there buddy, just calm down. I'll call the Police and we can get this all sorted.”
I grunted mostly incoherent noises and pushed past him into his apartment.
“You can’t just barge in here! How did you even get on my balcony?”
I frantically sprinted through a living room and combined kitchen into a bedroom. I turned back out in confusion, locating the exit of the hall to the living room and making a beeline for it. The squirrel started to get in my way but saw something in my eyes that made him jump back as I trundled by as fast as my painful body would allow. Out in the apartment building’s hallway I search for an exit sign or stairwell, finding neither. I rush over to the elevators. There are two sets of doors and I mash the down arrow between them. The right set of doors ding open and I am inside and jamming the first floor button. Just as the metal slides between me and the hallway I hear the ding of the other elevator and see a sliver of black rushing robe before I am whisked down ward. My pursers were hot on my tail, hopefully they didn’t notice my swift exit from that floor.
There was no time to really think because I was out, grabbing my satchel that I had dropped in my daring leap to escape, and hustling down the street. Traffic was almost non-existent at this time of night, but the rattle of trolley wheels had me scurrying to hitch a ride. I swung myself up and onto the back wincing as my ribs continued to shoot stabs of pain into my chest. Just as I was whisked around a corner, I saw the red gleaming eyes of my pursuers stopped and staring with malice from the middle of the street. One of them held a gun up, pointed as if we were two gunslingers facing off, but the trolley had already disappeared taking me along with it. I slumped into a seat and tried to formulate a plan on what to do next, but sleep gathered me up and lulled me into her dreams.
Ruth’s Book Corner
This month I am without a book review for you fine gentle readers. Not from lack of reading, mind you. No, my problem lies in the fact that the books I read didn't spark a good source for a review. Thankfully I was recently in a place that was certainly sparky enough for me to write about.
No, it was not a power station, I see why you thought that with me dropping spark in back-to-back sentences. I swear I’ll avoid any more electricity adjacent verbiage to clear up any confusion for the rest of my segment.
It was Everdell, I went to Everdell. After the boss man came back from Memorial Day Weekend spouting about how great it was, I thought I would see what all the fuss was about. Let me tell you the fuss was well founded.
To the best of my ability I will try and paint a picture for you. A pastoral woodland paradise run by animals, building communities in harmony and nature. I visited a couple towns that had thriving diverse populations, hares running general stores and bats studying in belfries. I was welcomed in and lended my paw towards gathering materials to build a school house, a stately bespectacled crow overseeing matters. I met a badger running a popular inn which was tucked into the trunk of a great tree. I even had time to chat with a wise cravat wearing tortoise whose occupation as judge amounted more to resource adjustments than sentencing misdoers.
It was a wonderful time, seeing so many helpful and caring animals come together. My heart was heavy when my time in Everdell came to an end. I made my goodbyes to my new friends with more than a mist in my eyes. Vowing to return soon I headed back to the hustle and bustle of the city.
Much to my delight I have found that there exists a boardgame that replicates the experience of Everdell so humans can enjoy the critter wonderland too. It sounds like the perfect get away for a rainy weekend inside and I will have to give it a try when I am feeling nostalgic for the dappled paths of Everdell.
-Ruth