Before leaving for work Monday morning I would learn that Johnny Carson had died of emphysema at the age of seventy-nine in California as the Northeast was being blasted with a blizzard – brutal winds, blinding snow, and temperatures hovering close to zero in my hometown of Albany, NY. Al Franken would open his show by eulogizing his hero, correctly acknowledging Johnny’s legendary status as a comic genius.
Down at the Fir, things couldn’t have been more different from the day before. Instead of the customers arriving in a seemingly endless stream of humanity, they never arrived at all. It would be my slowest lunch shift to date, with sales barely creeping past the $200 mark.
As I got things in order for the dinner shift later that afternoon, Ben, the Jupiter Hotel’s on-duty manager came by for one of his many daily visits. I would tell him about my weblog and the fact that he was in my most recent post. He was curious, so I handed him my card with my web address and he headed back to his computer.
A short while later he came back in a huff, upset at my unfair characterization of him as essentially a horndog. I pleaded with him to understand that my aim is to entertain and sometimes I use hyperbole to that effect, but I knew that others shared the generally held view of Ben as the quintessential ‘player’. I told him that if he didn’t appreciate this commonly held opinion then might want to consider changing his behavior. As I expected, he soon mellowed out and forgot all about my ‘mischaracterization’, preferring instead to focus his energies on his next conquest.
Dinner would prove to be much more fruitful and enjoyable than my earlier lunch shift. Early in the evening I catered to the needs of Phil, the notorious Lower East Side refugee who opened up Portland’s most beloved pizzeria more than two decades ago – Escape from NY – still the only one of its kind, located on NW 23rd. I would schmooze with him like we were old buddies, although we’re really just acquaintances despite knowing one another for nearly fifteen years. It would be no surprise when he and his fellow NYC émigré Bobby left me a handsome gratuity.
Also on hand were Erin and Matt, an attractive couple in their early thirties who come in fairly often. I hit it off with them the first time I met them and was happy to see them again, even if I had trouble remembering their names. Erin and I shared a subtle laugh about the lifeless, listless couple seated at the next booth. I would feel a slight tinge of guilt when they surprisingly left a thirty percent tip following their virtually silent meal.
One of my last tables of the night was a party of four attractive women, one of whom – Naomi – recognized me from a party at which we’d met a few weeks earlier. When the gal on my right said “Gracias” to me early in their meal, I responded with the Catalán “Vale”, which means something like ‘sure, no problem’. One thing led to another and we soon discovered our mutual affinity for Barcelona. She had met her husband there as it turns out. Upon learning this I would share news of my impending travels to Valencia for my cousin Gabe’s wedding to his Spanish bride Raquel in the town in which she was raised. I’m quite excited as I’ve been to Spain twice but have yet to visit the home of the reigning UEFA Cup champions.
After work I headed a block up Burnside to Union Jack’s – the neighborhood strip club – to join the lovely cocktail waitress Kristin for a beer. Upon walking in I saw a familiar face working her magic on the rear stage. It was Chey – short for Cheyenne – a sweet, tattooed, Montana-native who I’d first waited on a couple of weeks earlier, but who I’d also served earlier that evening. Somehow, it didn’t surprise me to learn that this was where she worked. Despite her demure demeanor, she seemed quite strong and confident as well. She would chat with Kristin and myself for a while after her short performance and then suddenly get up and walk away in the middle of conversation. It seemed a bit rude at first, but then I realized that she was just going back onstage for another couple of songs.
Ben from the Jupiter would show up a short while later to ‘work’ his stable of girls. Little did I know at the time that he had his eye on one particularly lithe short-blonde cutie – one of the many girls I would see perform that night.
By 1am I was ready to go and realized that I had left my apron at work…AGAIN!!! And again, it was nowhere to be found after I scouted about the place for ten or fifteen minutes. ARRGGGGHHH!!! That brain fart would end up costing me the forty dollars that I had left in my apron pocket for my bank for the following day.
The next day I would get a call around nine from the day bartender, an easygoing, likeable 6’5” Washington State alum named Jeremiah. My buddy ‘Jedediah Springfield’ as I like to call him – named after the founder of the fictional Springfield on “The Simpsons” – told me to come in as quick as I could. And less than forty minutes later I was on the floor taking care of the SUPER nice Crystal and Joshua – a couple of regulars who seem to overflow with kindness and love in true hippie fashion.
Jeremiah had called because he and the hostess Prizm had been taking care of business since the restaurant opened at seven. Claire had apparently called in sick. When LB – short for Ladybug – my delightfully gay co-worker who came in to cover our ailing colleague’s shift told me that he had seen Claire sloshed at the bar at 2am the previous night, I was slightly put-off. And LB, who had better things to do on his day off, was none too pleased to be working in Claire’s stead. As it was, the lunch rush would never materialize and LB would only work for about an hour, until his three tables had finished.
Ben would come by as usual in the mid-afternoon. He would revel in his previous night’s good fortunes with the blonde stripper he’d had his eye on. He was a changed man he told me. He intended to be a one-girl man from now on. I wished him the best of luck, but really didn’t expect that this new love would last very long.
At 5:30 I would receive my first table of the night, an eight-top that soon became nine. After a round or two of drinks and appetizers they would decide to stay for dinner, complicating our seating for a party of twenty-five or so to be split into three different groups. Fortunately, we allowed the easygoing group to stay in their original location rather than force them to move to accommodate the huge party. This turned out to be a good thing as they would rack up a huge tab after a fairly slow start, exceeding $300 which included a seventy-something dollar bottle of wine.
I would learn that they were celebrating the goodbye of one of their colleagues in their office, a non-profit called Save Our Wild Salmon. Always in support of efforts to make the world a better place, I told them that I’d be putting a link to their organization’s website from my own. This obviously pleased the party’s benefactor – perhaps the Executive Director or the President of the Board – as she left me an additional twenty bucks on top of the twenty percent automatic gratuity for groups of six or more.
Other than that, my night was notable in that I would be entertained throughout by a bartender I’d never worked with before – a sassy, sweet-talkin’ Southern belle named Alice whose whimsical smile easily charmed customers and co-workers alike. I was looking forward to having her pour drinks for me again sometime.
Claude & Drew came in with their posse just before my shift ended, so I would spend the rest of my night where I’d spent the previous twelve hours. Close to a dozen of us would huddle outside around the Fir’s gas log fireplace until nearly 2am.
The following morning I would sleep in and take my time coming to life, still cozily under the covers until past 9:30. I would be rousted from my roost finally by the sound of my neighbor Scott yelling up to me from the sidewalk. When I went to the window and poked me head out to see what was going on, he pleaded with me to watch little fourteen-month old Sean. Jill had absent-mindedly taken off with the baby seat and Scott had a meeting that would last less than an hour. I wasn’t really mentally prepared to deal with the little dude, but agreed anyway since Sean’s such a good kid and generally seems to like me quite a bit. He wouldn’t cause me too much trouble I figured.
Well, after about ten or fifteen minutes of Sean more-or-less entertaining himself with some assistance from me, he soon came to the realization that his parents were no longer around and weren’t coming back…EVER!!! The wailing would begin suddenly and not cease until Scott arrived as promised about half-an-hour later. At one point, Sean climbed up onto Stella’s bed – the dog growling briefly before reluctantly moving – and pointed at his house with tears streaming down his face as though he would never see the inside of it again.
When Scott did come back Sean’s painful sobbing quickly abated. He would ask me if I had thought to give the kid something to eat, because that works ever time. “Thanks”, I replied sarcastically. “Now y’tell me.”
Later that morning, Air America Radio News would report that the thirteen “No” votes cast against Condoleeza Rice at the end of her Senate confirmation hearings represented the poorest showing for any Secretary of State since World War II. Embattled Independent Jim Jeffords of Vermont joined twelve Democrats in opposition of the controversial former National Security Advisor. Maybe it has something to do with her negligence regarding a certain PDB (Presidential Daily Briefing) dated August 6, 2001. I believe it might have been titled something like ‘Bin Laden Determined to Strike Inside the U.S.’ Dubya would ignore this fateful warning and go on an extended vacation to his beloved ranch down in Crawford.
Meanwhile the torture-supporting, Geneva Convention-hating Attorney General-nominee Alberto Gonzales made it out of committee with a strict party-line vote of 10-8. Idiots like Rush Limbaugh would try to paint this as some act of racism by the Democrats. What a moron! Perhaps it has something to with his controversial policies and opinions on important legal matters. I don’t think his Mexican heritage has the slightest bit to do with his unpopularity among Democrats.
Around noon I headed out to have lunch with a friend. Aong the way I would chat with my “boss”, the King of Refs (at least here in Portland), Eric Beck. He called to bend my ear about who and what was irritating him these days. Also, he would tell me that there had been no fallout from my previous week’s transgressions. Regarding that incident, Eric informed me that he had learned that Lynn's teammates had been trying to get him to leave their team for some time. Looks like this final act of belligerence might be the straw that broke the camel’s back.
My lunch date had an interesting background. She fought fires in the summers during high school, lived and married in Guanajuato, Mexico in her early twenties, currently studies Russian, and is a recent émigré to the Rose City – arriving to take a County job working with troubled youth.
Upon arriving at Tualatin Indoor later that afternoon, I would stop into Monty’s (the owner’s) office to apologize for my lack of professionalism the previous Thursday. Monty, an easygoing former local standout was all-too familiar with Lynn and his anger issues. They’d played on a team together a few years back and Lynn had to be restrained from roughing somebody up on at least one occasion that Monty could recall. So although he doesn’t like the idea of me calling players felons while refereeing at his facility, he understood the special circumstances regarding this particular situation. I promised him that nothing like it would ever occur again, especially in light of the fact that Lynn would no longer be welcome to play at Monty’s facility. It’s unfortunate that it’s come to this, but sadly, this guy simply doesn’t have the mental capacity to participate in a contentious contact sport without occasionally going berserk. Once is enough…it should never be allowed to happen again.
The next morning, Thursday, I would learn that the journal Nature was reporting that two British scientists have determined that global warming is twice as bad as first thought. Are you listening Dubya, or do you still just think we should learn to adapt and think of this ominous change in our environment as an opportunity? WAKE UP!!!
I would head down to the Fir for a little lunch and a little wifi before my early evening matches in Tualatin. Just as Jeremiah, the weekday bartender, was getting ready to head home, one of his regulars came in for some good cheer. Alice, the attractive, thirty-ish beer rep would bring down the mood a bit with a tragic tale. The boyfriend of one of her best friends had recently died in a terrible car crash. In a drunken stupor he had driven his car into a concrete barrier going ninety miles per hour, somehow managing to survive overnight despite losing both legs upon being ejected from the car.
She was lamenting not only the loss, but also the difficult task she would have giving a eulogy at two separate services over the coming weekend. I shared with her some of my own pain and difficulties dealing the loss of my brother nearly fourteen years earlier in a similarly tragic event. I try to use my own unfortunate experience as an opportunity to console others when such circumstances arise. She thanked me for my empathy and support as I headed off to work my matches.
Before my games I would debrief again with Dennis Medina, the facility manager who had been on hand during the fiasco a week previous. I was still in damage-control mode even though I knew everything was cool. I’m just a politician and a diplomat at heart, always working at improving relations whenever possible.
Following a pleasant late dinner with Keith & Deb at Lovely Hula Hands, located in a gorgeous Victorian house on Lower Mississippi Ave. overlooking I-5, I would call it an early night – preferring to be productive in some capacity.
The big news on tv Friday morning was the impending democracy in the cauldron of violence that is Iraq. MSNBC was having a boner for upcoming elections. I was hopeful that they would be fraught with less controversy than our dubious democracy…
a democracy headed by a government that sees fit to spread propaganda in the guise of political punditry. Two more ‘so-called’ journalists had been outed for serving as shills for the Bush government’s controversial social policies. Now the line between honest reporting and public relations consultant is blurrier than ever before.
In the afternoon, the maker of a documentary film entitled “Rush to War” - www.rushtowar.com - called in to the Ed Schulz Show. I assume this will further expose the Bush administration’s bungled invasion of Iraq, one that didn’t include a plan to keep the peace. A land that was free of terrorism under Saddam is now the world’s foremost hotbed for terrorist recruitment. Three cheers for freedom and liberty!!! Well done Dubya.
When I finally left the house to go meet Belden and his buddy Chris for a little afternoon bowling, I got a return phone call from Bristol Baughan at Reason Pictures. I had called her earlier in the day after sending her dozens of ideas for her to consider for her documentary about soccer, upon which I will hopefully be working as a researcher during my Football for Peace Tour. And after speaking with her again that reality seemed even more likely. Quite pleased with my helpful ideas, she concluded our discussion by saying that sometime in the next few months she’d like to “professionalize our relationship”. I wasn’t exactly sure what that meant, but I liked the way it sounded. Stay tuned…
On the way down to Portland Indoor for a couple of early evening matches I got a call from Blake in Taiwan. I still talk to her more than just about anyone…and she lives eight time zones away, sixteen hours into the future.
After my short two-game shift, John Schulz – a skilled player who I’ve known for years – complemented me for my consistently solid work on the field. On the way out the door I would chat with another player I’ve known for at least a decade – soft-spoken, dreadlocked Kurt who possesses a very deft touch with the ball. We would commiserate about the pathetic winter…or complete lack of one really. The endless sunshine and warm temps have kept us out of the mountains, causing our bodies to fall into a state of disrepair due to a lack of use.
Back at home for an hour or two I got news of Mona’s engagement to Annie B.’s old friend/former co-worker Markland. It’s funny how the world works. I had responded to Mona’s personal ad years ago and we became close friends, but nothing more. When Anne moved to Barcelona for a year in 2002, Mona moved into her house to live with Anne’s little sister Kate. That’s when Mona met Markland…and the rest, as they say, is history. But what if I had never answered Mona’s ad? Y’have to wonder.
A short while later I would head to an extravagant affair down at the Bossa Nova Ballroom, only a block or two from the Fir. The fundraiser for Portland-based Mercy Corps International was lush in its production, in large part due to the efforts of old friend and former teammate Peter Kaufmann. He named the event St. Rouge, paying homage to the patron saint of “creative inspiration and artistic freedom”. Resplendence and decadence were at the heart of this occasion, as exemplified by dazzling fashion show shortly after I arrived. The models lilted about with ballet-like grace, prancing about gently as if floating, seemingly suspended by the balloons of purple, green, and blue that they held in their hands. Large video screens on two of the huge room’s walls depicted alternate perspectives of the going-on as graphics of various kinds were fused over the video footage. It was all very otherworldly, enhanced only by the interesting variety of musical accompaniments.
Other entertainment included Go Go fire-dancers, a trapeze artist, and several djs spinning the wheels of steel. But eventually, I would need to slip out before my friend Matt’s brother Sterling Moss stepped up to bat. My first kickoff Saturday morning would be at 6:50am at Indoor Goals in Beaverton and I didn’t really feel like having a completely miserable day.
I only managed to get about four hours of sleep and would arrive still in the dark of night ten minutes before kickoff to a locked facility and an empty parking lot. Surely this was not happening. I thought about calling Eric to find out what was going, but thought better of it considering the early hour.
ONE of the teams did soon show up, but not the other. There must have been a scheduling snafu that didn’t get properly communicated to all parties involved, including me. Eventually, the facility owner – an amiable character named Ken – showed up. And like a sport, he paid me for my time. I think I would’ve rather just slept the extra fifty minutes if I’d had the option. But since I didn’t, I was grateful for his olive branch in the form of a sixteen dollar check.
On the NPR that morning I learned that Sharon Stone effortlessly squeezed a million dollars out of some of the world’s wealthiest people at the World Economic Forum in Davos, Switzerland when she learned that thousands of African children are dying of malaria because they cannot afford a simple necessity like mosquito netting. Way to go Sharon!!!
Back at home in the cozy confines of my homey little attic space, I enjoyed a South Coast derby in a 4th round English FA Cup clash between local rivals Portsmouth and Southampton. The 2 – 1 match would end climactically with a late-game penalty for Southampton, a gutsy, but correct handball called by the assistant referee who had a good view of the action.
Later that evening, after my regular three-game Saturday night shift Portland Indoor I would stop to de-brief with some of my favorite players from a team called Burnin’ Bush – a name that could possess a variety of meanings. I personally prefer the image of Dubya paying for his sins wrought upon the American people and the world.
My social engagement of the evening would be to celebrate the 35th birthday of an adorably impish ‘member of the tribe’, Jamie Pike. Jamie is ageless despite turning a year older. She looks remarkably similar to the Jamie I met almost exactly a decade ago when I was working on the Sten campaign to get my buddy elected to Portland’s City Council. And much to my delight, Jamie runs amongst a circle of women who tend to hover around the sixty inch threshold…women who I can see eye-to-eye with.
Sunday morning, lounging before my first two Men’s outdoor games of this short winter season, I watched Real Madrid away at a frigid Numancia. With the game still scoreless almost midway through the first half, Beckham did what he does best – curling the ball over the wall and past the outstretched keeper to the far post off a free kick from about twenty-two yards away. Moments earlier Beckham had asked the referee to move the right side of the wall back the proper distance. It made all the difference as Madrid continues to fight to stay alive in the title chase, Barcelona having just won convincingly the previous day nil – four at Sevilla to take a commanding lead at the top of the table.
Kurt, the dreadlocked fellow snow-lover from the other night at Portland Indoor was there for my first outdoor game of the Men’s GPSD winter season. The entertaining match would end in a 1-all draw, leaving me satisfied and feeling good after my first adult outdoor game of the new year. The weather was anything but wintry on this mid-winter day and my Iraqi-born colleague Mohammed Al-Abbas was on hand to work as one of my ARs. Ironically, it was Election Day in his homeland and Mo had just spent the previous day flying down to LA and back so that he could vote in his home country’s first democratic election in nearly half-a-century. He proudly showed me his ink-stained finger – the method used to prevent people from voting more than once – to signify his participation in the Iraq’s nascent democratic process.
When Mohammed reminded me that he comes from the south, not too far from Basra, I quickly remembered that the ‘Sunni Triangle’ near the center of the country west of Bagdad is Saddam’s people. “So you’re Shi’ite”, I said, proud to know the difference (at least on a very rudimentary level). So although Mo wouldn’t share with me which party he voted for, I can pretty much assume that he supports his people. The Shiya will likely win control of the country, replacing Saddam’s Sunni stronghold. It will be interesting to see if they are able to cobble together a Constitution and a government that leads to peace throughout this highly fragmented country.
Later that evening, I walked into Costello’s Travel Caffe after my haircut to a live airing of Argentina’s Superclasico between Boca and River. I had apparently arrived moments after a golaso – a spectacular thirty-five yard strike that swerved into the top corner – to give Boca a commanding nil – 2 lead with only ten minutes remaining in the match.
After working for a while, I met up with Annalisa and brought her down to the Viper Room’s bash to celebrate the opening of the club’s upper level. My co-worker Brady is their kitchen manager, and invoking his name to the beefy bouncer afforded me instant VIP status. He would come by to greet us and thank us for coming, happy I think to see some friendly faces in the otherwise anonymous crowd.
AL and I would head upstairs to meet up with my pal Nizar and his gal-pal Page. We all found the scene to be rather amusing. The girls from the Safari Club – a high-end strip joint a couple of miles away – were on hand to do their thing. Botox and silicone implants aside, the cartoonish physiques of the dancers at least made for interesting viewing…for a while.
But then we got bored and tired of the thumping gangsta hip-hop grooves, so we headed over to 21st/Clinton for a change of scenery and a mellower venue. I would go on to win a few games of pool then chatted with Anna Lisa and the lovely young Sarah who grew up in Missoula, Montana with my fellow Fir server, Amelia. Yet further confirmation of the depth and extent of the interconnectedness of the web of life.
The next morning at the Fir I would see Brady working the grill station. He apologized for his club’s overall ghetto-feel, treading the line of racist rhetoric. But I knew what he meant and understand the importance and challenge of defining new venue to attract the desired clientele. And they seemed to have their work cut out for them to create the image they were looking for.
A short while later I would share with my GM Todd my potential good fortune regarding my new relationship with Reason Pictures; and to my surprise, I had neglected to ever tell him about agenda to promote peace through soccer. So after giving him my spiel and he congratulated on my burgeoning success, I somewhat sarcastically asked him if I could have my job back when I return from my travels. Without equivocation, Todd graciously told me that a job would always be there at the Fir for me as long as wanted to work there. That was a little reassuring as I plan to spend much of my life savings in the coming year.
It would prove to be a pretty mellow day overall, leaving me with a few dollars short of a hundred after my twelve hour day schmoozing and serving Portland’s diverse dining community. Among those I catered to were a couple of guys in their early to mid-40s, one of whom has a similar mission to me. As there are so many universal commonalities that allow us to effectively bridge cultural differences, I wasn’t too surprised to learn that this easygoing character was promoting peace through drink. You can learn more about him and his noble efforts to heal our planet at www.drinkforpeace.com. Ironically, it would be his dinner partner, who had recently returned from a three-month sabbatical in Brazil, who would warn me of the dangers lurking in Rio de Janeiro. His cautionary words were just what I needed to help me plan out my epic journey in such a fashion that I receive maximum enjoyment. I don’t need the hassle of primary destinations like Rio when I can find good times in second tier locales like Porto Alegre, a less well-known urban area in Brazil’s southern state of Rio Grande do Sul.
Now before I forget, I should mention that early in the evening I crossed paths with Peter Kaufmann as he was leaving the South bar at the Fir. You’ll recall he’s the friend of mine who had produced that swank affair on Friday night at the Bossa Nova. I congratulated him on a job well done and again reminded him that I’d like him to help me with my pre-trip extravaganza. “No problem”, he told me. “I’ve got plenty of free time since I got fired today.” I guess his actual employers took exception to his commitment to his personal side project – the Mercy Corps fundraiser. As usual, I tried to look at the bright side, having suffered such indignity on a number of occasions. “It’s always worked out to be a good thing for me”, I told him. “I think that’ll be the case for you too.” You have to believe that’ll be the case anyway even if life does really suck in the immediate wake of such sudden and drastic change.
When I got home I came across this story, that came to me via my friend Aaron Brown. It’s probably his way of suggesting another option next time I lose my cool in the middle of a match. This comes from the BBC:
Sorry ref - you've got to go
A football referee was forced to abandon a game after showing himself the red card.
Andy Wain decided he had to go following a run-in with a goalkeeper in the Sunday League match.
The incident happened during a contest between Peterborough North End and Royal Mail AYL.
North End keeper Richard McGaffin was unhappy with a goal that put the opposition 2-1 up, inisting a player had been fouled.
But instead of giving McGaffin a ticking off, Wain lost his temper.
The ref hurled down his whistle, untucked his shirt and marched up to eyeball the player, before realising the error of his ways.
The 39-year-old official, who had a few personal problems leading up to the Peterborough Sunday League Two clash, admitted he should have stayed at home.
"With hindsight I should never have officiated," he said.
"It was totally unprofessional. If a player did that I would send him off, so I had to go.
"I heard the keeper say 'It's always the bloody same with you, ref - we never get anything'. It was the last straw, but fortunately I came to my senses."
Wain, whose future as a ref is now hanging in the balance, had to abandon the game as he headed for an early bath in the 63rd minute - because there was no-one else to officiate.
Fortunately he did not compound his error by arguing with himself about the sending off.
As my final act of the evening at quarter past two, I logged onto FIFA’s website to start look into buying World Cup which had just begun to go on sale that day, February 1st. I was pleased to see that they were not more expensive than I would have imagined – under $100 euros for most games. The most expensive were only six hundred, for the Cup Final of course.
Then the next morning I came across this on FIFA’s website – a story that exemplifies the spirit of sportsmanship, the essence of what the Football for Peace Tour is all about:
(2/1/03) Denmark capture the spirit of Fair Play in the opening game of the Carlsberg Cup against Iran. Believing he had heard the half-time whistle, Iran’s Jalla Kameli Morfrad picked up the ball in the area and made to walk off. Unfortunately, what the player actually heard was a whistle from the crowd, and, despite furious protests from the Asian players, the referee pointed to the spot. However, the Danish coach Morten Olsen sportingly instructed his captain Morten Weighorst to deliberately miss the penalty. As fate would have it, Iran went on to win the encounter 1-0, the goal ironically coming from a first-half penalty by Javed Nekounam.
Also on FIFA’s website was news of a football match to benefit tsunami survivors. The power of football to do good in the world…here’s just one example:
Tickets for the “Football for Hope” match, to be played at Barcelona’s Nou Camp Stadium on 15 February (kick-off 21.00h CET), are now on sale.
Organised by FIFA and UEFA with the approval of the Royal Spanish Football Federation and with support from FC Barcelona who are providing their stadium and staff free of charge, this benefit match for the victims of the tsunami will see an XI led by Ronaldinho, the FIFA World Player 2004, take on a team captained by Andriy Shevchenko, the European Footballer of the Year 2004.
FIFA and UEFA have invited more than 50 players, including some of the biggest stars in world football, to take part in the “Football for Hope” match. The list of players can be found on FIFA.com.
All of the proceeds of the “Football for Hope” match will be donated to the FIFA/AFC Tsunami Solidarity Fund, which has been set up jointly by FIFA and the Asian Football Confederation (AFC). UEFA has also pledged donations to this fund.
And with the news of this benefit match which features FIFA’s World Player of the Year putting together a squad to face the European Player of the Year’s XI, I’ll think I’ll pause here. I’d like to end on a positive note for a change.
So until next time…
peace,
ac
