GOALS! GOALS! (BUT NO OTHER GOALS!)

Since I was in Phoenix, I decided to attend the USA-Mexico international friendly at the University of Phoenix Stadium (motto: Get Your Accounting Degree By Halftime!). I'm a soccer fan, and I follow the USA, and I know this rivalry is one of the better ones in soccer. Mostly, though, I went to see the Peter Eisenmann-designed stadium, which looks like it belongs in Dusseldorf instead of Glendale.

Upon arrival, it became abundantly clear that this was going to be a road game for the US. Mexican flags, Mexico jerseys, Mexico signs, giant sombreros, more Mexican flags, hair paint, body paint...I'd never seen so much green, white and red. It felt like being instantly fast-forwarded into the future of America. I must have stood out like, well, a white guy at southwestern US soccer game. The final tally was over 62,000, about 60,000 of whom had once lived or were directly related to someone who lives or had lived in Mexico.

I sat in the upper upper deck, which isn't a bad place to watch a game, because you can see the plays develop (at least that's what I told myself). I could look straight ahead and see the girders that hold up the retractable roof, which was open on a beautiful desert evening. The game was supposed to start at 7:05, but at about 7:07, the teams went back into the locker rooms after warmups. Finally, at about 7:30, they marched out with the usual cadre of little kids that seems to accompany every FIFA game I've ever seen. I think they just use the same kids every time. Those little bastards must make a fortune. After kickoff, the Tricolores had the run of the match for most of the first half, with the partisan crowd chanting "ME-XI-CO!" all the way. They had a couple of good chances that USA keeper Tim Howard easily brushed aside or that the Mexicans themselves booted away (odd note: every time Howard kicked a goal kick, the crowd shouted "Boot-O!". Weird). This was better than the US, which did almost nothing offensively in the first 45 minutes. Still, the score remained 0-0 heading into the second half. Then the fun started, and not only on the field.

I went down a large green river of humanity to the mens room, and as I was heading back to my seat, I noticed a melee starting to break out. People were clearing out for two guys who were wrestling and shouting. Then I saw one of the guys who was wrestling step back. He was a tall, 40+ white guy, well built, with spiky gray/white hair and a green shirt, and it looked like he had a headset on, as if we were an employee. He was still upset, shouting at someone, and then suddenly, whoever he was shouting at threw a full cup of beer at him. This made him go completely apeshit. He dove into the crowd and picked out the beer-thrower and started wailing on him. Since he was just about the only white guy in the area besides me, and this was too good of an opportunity for some in the crowd to pass up, two or three latino guys joined in and were beating on the white guy. At this point, there was absolutely no one between me and the fight. For a microsecond, I thought of stepping in and holding back one of the two latino guys who had jumped in late, but my better judgment prevailed. I heard a security guy behind me on a headset calling for the police, and then the white guy realized he was outnumbered and retreated back toward the concession stand where he appeared to be stationed. The latino guys all quickly dispersed, and I finally found a path to my seat. I saw the cops coming, but I don't think they were able to find anyone. The white guy was wiping off blood from his nose the last I saw him.

After I got to my seat, another fight broke out one section over. It looked like a guy with Mexican flag body paint was slap fighting with a guy in a white tank top, who also appeared to be latino. The guy with the tank top would come down the steps, fight a little, and then head back up the stairs. The body-paint guy would yell something, and then the tank top guy would come back down, looking homicidal, and they would slap fight some more, and then back he would go. This went on for a while, and then the same cops who were under the seats a few minutes ago for the previous fight finally showed up. They dragged the tank top guy away, and came back several minutes later after the game had started again and were questioning witnesses.

Back to futbol. The US continued to be outplayed early in the 2nd half, but then managed to finally get a couple of corner kicks. On the second corner kick, Landon Donovan served up a perfect cross in the box to Jimmy Conrad, who headed it just inside the upright for the first goal. That's when I was introduced to the lamest "anthem" in the history of team sports. "Goals! Goals! Goals!" is its name, and it belongs to the US Men's Soccer Team. Here are some of the lyrics:

Our hearts will never tire,
Our legs will see us through ...

GOALS! GOALS! GOALS!
For the Red, White and Blue!

Yeesh. Hey, whatever, at least we scored. Down 1-0, the Tricolores unleashed a torrent of chances, a few of which were turned aside brilliantly by Howard. Our Tim made a stunning save on one breakaway, diving out to barely redirect a point-blank shot. Howard and the US defense withstood the blitz and the team even improved their possession as the game wore on. As I was heading down the stairs in the 90th minute, Landon Donovan broke free and feinted out Mexican keeper Oswaldo Sanchez to bury the Tricolores for good. I am happy to say there were no fisticuffs on the way out.

If you ever go to Diploma Mill Stadium, park in the Brown Lot. It's on 91st Street, across the street from the stadium. It's absolutely enormous, they will bus you over in luxury coaches, drop you off and pick you up, and you can drive away without a traffic jam. I stumbled on to it because I got there early, but I would recommend it for anyone.

Anybody want to play some golf tommorrow? God, am I bored.

BY THE TIME I GET TO PHOENIX...IT'LL BE YESTERDAY

Yes, I'm in Phoenix, the capital of Arizona, and aridity (ask my sinuses). Why? Why not? I'm trying for every state west of the Pecos. It's a personal quest.

I had the worst Super Bowl experience of almost anyone in America, short of Bears fans who electrocuted themselves while making bratwurst dip. I watched the game in a no-service hotel (which is what this particular chain should rename themselves), in Phoenix, on a 15" very low-def TV, with a migraine, and the team I hate more than any other won. Beat that!

Prior to that, I went out and watched the gripping battle between Jeff Quinney and Aaron Baddeley for the FBC Open title at the TPC of Scottsdale. Not exactly Tiger and Phil at Augusta. Hell, it's not exactly Fred Funk and Scott Verplank at the Greater Greensboro. At least Baddeley's (usually young, female) fans are prone to wearing tight blue tank tops. If not for that, the gallery would have been sucked up into a vortex of white-breaded blandness. Badds won, long after I had left to catch the game.

Now I'm staring at 4 more days of self-paced training, which I could finish in two if I wanted to. Hmmm, do you think my company would mind if I buy casino chips in Vegas on my corporate credit card?