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The idea for this was floated by John Malone several months earlier, and it was after much vacillating as per usual (see Dublin, 1999) that we decided we'd go once and for all (and after we'd be assured of Luxury box seats at the Azteca). The crew this time - Me, Malone, Maria, Jimmy and Paul Kehoe, a new member of our crew but a well versed US soccer fan. Maria and I decided to experiment with the 'A' train to JFK and avoid the 2 hour fiasco that Silent Mark and I endured last time. This time we only had to endure 1 3/4 hours dealing with the 'A' train proletariat and the excrutiating free shuttle bus to the Delta terminal that felt the need to stop every 7 1/2 inches to let some complaining fat person off. An unending line and 2 hour delay on the plane later and we were off.
Jorge was waiting for us, and after a quick stop at the 'Camino Real' to pick up Jimmy and Paul we were off to meet the rest of the Mexican Posse (Tito, Chi-Chi's et all complete with wives). My first realization that I wasn't in Kansas any more (or NYC for that matter) was when I commented on the large number of men outside the club only to be told that they were all bodyguards, replete with ear pieces and weaponry. It took a couple of drinks to get over that, but I knew we had a lot of catching up to do. After leaving our upstairs VIP area to dance to some authentic mexican music (Madonna) I went back up only to find noone around. Proceeding to do exactly the wrong thing instead of hanging around at which point I would have found then all downstairs I stumbled out and caught a taxi to the only landmark I knew within a thousand miles - The Camino Real. My drunken negotiations with the Maitre'D failed to get me in to Jimmy's room, so I naturally tried to get in to Paul's room. To avoid any more trouble the Maitre'D just gave me the key to a room as I was going to be staying there for 3 days anyway.
Next morning I left a message with Jimmy to join me at the pool, and after a quick breakfast we decided to go siteseeing with Paul to the Cathedral in the central square. After seeing this Jimmy went out to drink while Paul and I admired the splendid murals of Diego Rivera at one of the main public buildings near by. We split up, and I managed to get myself back to the hotel before my 9pm call summoned me to the Cabayo Bayo. One unscrupulous mexican cabbie later I was there and joining the party 7 hours late (although I could have drank for 15 hours and not caught up to Jimmy). I proceeded to explain my previous night's misfortune to each and every one of the Mexican posse while trying to quickly catch up with them. To avoid similar mishaps Johanna made a sign in spanish and pinned it to me 'Hi, my name is Manny. Please take me to the Camino Real, room 3015. No Mames (Mexican slang for 'Don't bullshit me')'. We managed to make it out to one more club before it was time to go.
Game Day. Our caravan slowly wandered around the city picking up crew members. Unpleasant revelations started being casually uncovered - 'Not enough tickets - how many are we short?' - 'Seven'??? 'What do you mean we don't have a parking permit?' 'You mean there might not be enough room in the luxury box - where do we go then?'. Of course, things are done differently in Mexico. Money seemed to have significantly more power there than here (or maybe I don't have enough of it here and the mentality to use it as freely). Either way, none of these seemingly significant inconveniences reared their head. We parked anyway. We strolled in to the stadium. We squeezed into the box. We watched a lacklustre US performance. We saw the Mexican penalty and the U.S. fail to exhibit anything approaching a threat. We saw a terrific, passionate crowd and as large a crowd as I've ever seen (110,000). We came out of the luxury box 1-0 loses only to be villified by hundreds of mexicans on the rampway opposite. I was in a relaxed mood and waved to them in a friendly fashion, not noting the threat or the worried demeanour of our hosts as they hustled us back in to the box for the next 20 minutes.
Out to a bar to eat something and drink and watch some other games. Jimmy proved that it was indeed physically possible to be more drunk than he was the day before, refusing to believe all physical evidence to the contrary and believing it was 5am monday morning as opposed to 5pm sunday evening. 'Dude, my flight leaves in 2 hours' - 'No it doesn't Jimmy, it leaves tomorrow morning'.
The next couple of days were anticlimactic. I did a little more sightseeing with Paul, had to deal with the nightmare of my flight being cancelled on tuesday and stumbled around to find a hotel room and transportation to the airport on July 4th. I never felt really comfortable in Mexico City, mainly because of my lack of command of the language. I think as I take more trips abroad to non-english speaking countries I'll start to feel more comfortable and take more chances - I regret a little bit that I didn't do more siteseeing, i.e. the mayan pyramids, but I did get a decent amount in and in Paul had a great tour guide.