scott's world cup blog














http://www.theymightbegiants.com/mp3/NSA.mp3

God Bless America

The Zs and Ys have returned to their proper locations, the people on the street no longer speak proper English, and I had like a six-gallon Coke loaded with ice from a drive through. I must be back in the land of the free and the home of the brave.

So when we last spoke, I had struck out on a second attempt to buddy pass home from Copenhagen to Atlanta. Two fellow buddy-passers (each of whom had been trying to get out of Copenhagen since Tuesday) and I had banded together and bought tickets to Berlin where we heard Delta flights home might be more available. The picture shows Sevgi (the happy one from Turkey), Nancy (the tired of three days in the airport one from Sweeden), and some freakishly tall American dude looming over them. We staked out some comfortable chairs in a relatively quiet area of the Copenhagen airport and settled in for the seven-hour wait for the Berlin flight.

At some point it occurred to Sevgi that it would be a good idea to use the downtime to sort out her visa issue. She tried to leave Denmark one day before her visa was set to expire and failed, then again the next day and failed. Now she was one day late, and a bit worried they might give her a hard time about it. She left us for an hour or so, eventually coming back for her bags and saying "its bad, I've got to go, I'll explain later." Ninety minutes after that she returned and told us goodbye, and she had to run off right away, and they were ordering her to Frankfurt, and she'd email us when she could. We haven't heard from her since. She may be locked up in Spandau prison for all we know.

So seven rolled around and Nancy and I flew to Berlin's Templehof airport. I don't want to say its a small, backwards kind of airport, but this was the view from the tarmac as we walked from our plane toward the terminal. Yes, its a biplane. We were in fact the last flight in for the night, and when we left the terminal (one room the size of a college gymnasium) the airport was smoothly ceasing operations for the night. At 8pm. On the brightside, they put us in row 17 A&B on the plane. It was the first good omen since the standby ordeal began.

Lo! The second good omen! I booked a hotel for 45 euro a night, assuming it was going to be a complete dive. Instead the room turned out to have 15 foot ceilings, art all over the walls, a nice tv, a big living room, a functioning pre-WW2 glass bottle coke vending machine in the hallway, and it was half a block from friggin Leinbnizstrasse! Things were clearly looking up.

So after one last currywurst in the Berlin airport, we managed to succesfully standby and get on a plane to JFK (and in business class no less). Here we celebrate as the plane pulls away from the gate and the flight attendants bring us our first mimosas. Also, I manage to take a picture that lends itself to a little brainteaser. Would you blame Scott the photographer or Scott the photographee for how bad I look in this picture? Discuss amongst yourselves; there's no wrong answer.

So we made it to New York. For me that's 90% of the battle, since I can stay with my aunt and uncle on Long Island indefinitely. Nancy on the other hand was desperate to get back to Jacksonville, Florida (her place of permanent residence for the last three years). She's overdue for her job (she should have just quit) and late for picking up a bridesmaid's dress for a wedding next Saturday. We investigated options at JFK as best we could, eventually deciding that crashing with my family for a night was the best choice.

So that's how Nancy from Sweeden ended up at my cousin Eric's baseball game, probably pretty much the last thing in the world she intended when she woke up four days ago to fly out of Copenhagen. She actually seemed to enjoy the game, asking the right questions and by the end clapping at the right times. She said its simillar to the Sweedish game of bronball (umlaat over the o... how I miss keyboards that come with umlauts and euro signs...), which is a game that I don't ever recall coming up in that whole English/American cricket/townball/stickball/Cartwright/Doubleday debate.


Here Eric takes a mighty hack and grounds one to the left side. He had better swings, but I'm posting this one because I timed the photo better. Certainly more important to make myself look good than the subject of the photograph. Perhaps this explains the busisess class photo of myself... Anywho, Eric was the starting pitcher for Port Washington. He gave up single runs in the first and second, largely due to some shaky defense behind him. He settled down though, and in the top of the sixth he blew away the opposition's best hitter on a full-count fastball to strand three runners and keep Port in the game at 2-1. Unfortunately, he labored in the seventh and the game got away from the home team. It was their Heimspeil, but they just couldn't make it real.

So now I'm going to take a real American shower and then Nancy and I are off to the greatest nost magical happy land in all the world, New York City! She's never been, so we're going to try to see as much as possible before I put her on a Greyhound and send her to Florida. As for me, I'm going to hang out here in New York for a bit and sort out my travel options for getting home to the 404. In the meantime, Manhattan is calling. See ya!

'Cause everyone's your friend in New York City
And everything looks beautiful when you're young and pretty
The streets are paved with diamonds and there's just so much to see
But the best thing about New York City is you and me!

A leftover Copenhagen story

Two nights ago I stopped in a bar to watch Spain/France. This was partly to root against France, and partly because I promised the hot Spanish woman near the Queen's Palace that I would. So I got to talking to the guy on the next stool, who turned out to be from Belgium where he tells me they hate the French as well. So we sat there talking about hating France and European politics and whatnot. At some point (before the terrible dive that cost Spain the game) I mention how I walked out on the street last night and immediately heard a band playing "Sweet Home Alabama," as kind of a parable on the pitfalls of globalism (erasing advantages to be gained from diversity and local culture). So anyway, the game ends, and as we're paying our tabs they turn the game audio down and a band takes the stage. Yes, it may seem obvious where this story is going, but trust me I was completely blindsided when they played the first couple cords. Sweet Home Alabama. First song. Thanks for nothing, Copenhagen!

They're coming to take me away haha hoho hehe

I'm starting to go a bit nuts. I spent the day yesterday hacking and coughing (Bavarian Death Tuberculosis, brought on by the omnipresent cloud of second-hand smoke over all of Europe). I did manage to book a flight back to Berlin and a cheap (read: scary as hell) hostel. I felt too lousy to go out and make use of my half-day, so I holed up in the Hotel Absalon and read a book. I got up early this morning and tried again on standby, but again didn't come close as nobody of my standy priority was allowed on board. Now I've formed a bit of a travelling club with two fellow standby strandees. They're joining me on the flight to Berlin, and going to crash in the airport tonight and try the Delta flight to JFK tomorrow. I may try the same flight, or I may just be a tourist again for the weekend and take my original flight on Monday.

Yes, the travails of the last two days seem overwhelming. They would assuredly have broken an ordinary man. But I, Scott Andrew Lange, World Traveller, Internationalist, Sam's Armyist, RHS '94, Georgia F'n Tech '98, Regional MathCounts Champion 1989, Leading FG% Man on the Winter '05 BusDrivers Basketball Team, Favorite Grandchild of TWO Grandmothers, and one of the top 50,000 finishers in the 1997 Peachtree Road Race, will not only survive this ordeal, but rise above and in the end conquer it like Mark Grace breaking Mariano Rivera's little heart in the bottom of the ninth in game seven. I AM A GOLDEN GOD!

And now, away! To Berlin! To Dusseldorf! To New York City! And Beyond! EXCELSIOR!

In the Motherland. Still.

Rumors of my return have been greatly exaggerated. The flight I blew a few hundred bucks for a buddy pass on was way overbooked (and not, in fact, wide open as I had heard when I bought the pass and then again last night.) Now I'm stuck in Europe for... who knows? They relisted me on tomorrow's flight, but the guy just sadly shook his head at me when I asked if I actually had a practical chance to get on board. Now I guess I'm off to Sweeden. Or Dachau. Whatever.