We arrived in the small village of Ottrott in the mountains of Alsace just as the national anthems were being played for both France and Mexico. We had left the Champagne region behind schedule this morning (for obvious reasons – the entire region is named after a type of wine) and after stopping at an actual French aristocratic chateau to look at a bunch of designer dresses and really old tapestries (clearly my choice) and then winding over mountain passes we arrived in our small village for the night.
Upon check-in our innkeeper (is that still the right phrase in the 21st century?) confirmed that to watch the ‘Coupe de Monde’ we should head to the next, larger village of Obernai 4 kms down the road. When we did drive to Obernai, we arrived in a picturesque little village straight out of Hansel and Gretel (as we are about 30 kms from Germany) and after circling four times trying to find a parking spot (despite seeing about 4 people on the streets) we made it in to the Bar De L’Athic.
The bar was jammed with chairs all facing the big screen in the corner – almost like theatre seating – but we found a small table in the back corner where we could successfully see the game without interfering with the guys watching through the open window from the porch. Our waitress came over and we successfully ordered two Meteor Pils beers – apparently a local Alsatian beer, and I love me local beers – happy that unlike their friends across the channel, the waitresses in bars in France actually wait on you.
Unfortunately, they don’ t serve food which means while the beer is good, we will be stuck eating snacks picked up from the toll highway service centers earlier for dinner. Thankfully, the French don’t settle for Slim Jims, so we have baguettes, salami and cheese.
The crowd is overwhelmingly young men. Few women and few people older than 30 or so. Shortly after we arrive the 0-0 game goes to halftime and about 40% of the bar immediately leaves their seats to go outside and smoke a cigarette. Just as we were thinking that more British smoke than their French counterparts (thanks to the mobs outside of every pub we walked by while in London), the small village of Obernai comes through to retain French pride.
As the second half starts, the Mrs. and I discuss our rooting strategy. I am blatantly pro-France and she concurs. Not only are we in the country itself but did I mention the food and wine? Also, they are playing Mexico who acts as the Raiders to the U.S. national team’s Broncos in my mind. They are our nemesis. In fact, trying to mentally explain this to the locals, I would claim that U.S. feels about Mexico (on the soccer pitch) as France feels about Germany. I have no idea if this true but it seems reasonable. Next door neighbors; lots of cross-culture (especially here in the far-west) and of course a few wars on their resumes. Sure, the French and Germans have us beat by at least 1 war but in my mind it is still comparable.
Early in the second half, Mexico finally breaks through and scores the first goal on what appears to be a blatantly off-side play, which in hindsight could be seen as karmic retribution for Thierry Henry’s blatant handball for France to even qualify for the World Cup. Strangely, this is met with a number of loud cheers from the bar patrons. We had joked about the guy wearing the L.A. Dodgers hat earlier, but now as his table celebrate the Mexico goal; I start to wonder if maybe he ran a fine boulangerie in east LA until the Rodney King riots forced him back to this small village in Alsace.
Will the ripples emanating from that tragic event ever stop?
There are also guys drinking Corona at several tables. I would say this suggests they should cheer for Mexico, but even Mexicans laugh at the people that drink that piss.
A second goal on a penalty kick late in the second half seals the Mexico win. Things do not look good for the French to advance out of the Group stage. As the final whistle blows, there are claps from throughout the bar, presumably from those so disgusted by the local squad that they had bet against them.
Or maybe, there is a very good reason while we adopted the word blasé from the French.
Ironically, being even more remote from home than I have been – leaving behind the big cities and English language TV channels of Paris and London – makes me feel a little more at home. Sure, I have no idea where the NBA Finals stand but this little village reminds me a little of my own neighborhood in Denver.
I don’t live in a village out of a fairy tale, but I do live in a place where a portion of the population cheers for Mexico in games against the country in which they live.
I bet this guy in the bar is a Lakers fan too.
