Kick-off: 1994

The start of a decades-long World Cup ritual.

“Just let me do all the talking.”

I emphatically delivered these instructions to my friend, Sean, as we walked from the far reaches of the parking lot toward the colossus that is the Citrus Bowl in Orlando, Florida. We were discussing how two kids who had just driven 5 hours from Tallahassee without tickets were going to charm our way into a packed stadium for the World Cup match between Mexico and Ireland.

As we neared the gates, our paced quickened, as did the amount of sweat forming on our brows and necks from the Florida mid-day sun. Unfamiliar interstate interchanges and unanticipated long toll lines made the trip south longer than we imagined—much longer. We could hear the cheers of the crowd already booming over the confines of the concrete coliseum. The game had already started.

We were late? We were late!

All around the parking lot, small groups of men, gathered in threes and fours, were huddled near fences and on berms and under scraggy, parking-lot-after-thought trees. These clumps of cliques would be our saviors: scalpers.

We hurried up to the closest cabal, taking only a moment to listen while the parking lot dust started to settle around us. Our eavesdropping revealed that prices to get in, even after kick-off, were much higher than we had budgeted. We had enough cash, but we wouldn’t be able to eat. Or buy enough gas to get home.

“These are $100,” our asphalt entrepreneur said to another interested party whose negotiations we had just crashed.

“We’ll take ’em!”

Even as I hollered this, I was surprised that someone—anyone—would agree to a price without any sort of back-and-forth. No haggling. No deal-making. No compromise. No pleading.

I caught Sean shooting me a look of astonishment. I realize now that my negotiations were as effective as Robbie Keane’s transfer to Inter, but remember then resigning myself to paying the price for my impulsive outburst. Sean forked over his half of the lucre, all but throwing the cash to our new benefactor, and we snatched up the tickets and started sprinting toward the nearest gate.

I had no idea that our seats were on the second to last row of the highest part of the stadium. I had no idea Ireland had already scored. I had no idea that Mexico had also already scored. I had no idea the game was already in the second half. It didn’t matter. We were at our first World Cup match. And it was magic.

I haven’t missed a World Cup since.