I’ve always been impulsive, but my decision last week to drop everything to hop on a plane and tick something off the ol’ bucket list was crazy even for me.
A couple of weeks back, I used The Highlander to wax lyrical about the ongoing FIFA World Cup. I spoke about the connections I’ve made taking in games at local establishments, preaching how easy it is to spark new friendships when bonding over a common cause or interest.
Well, I took things to the next level last Wednesday (July 1), flying to Atlanta, Georgia to watch my very first England World Cup game live.
I didn’t think it was in the cards. Despite saving for the better part of six years, I was still short of being able to afford a game ticket, flights, a hotel and all the other costs that quickly add up. I wrote in that last column how I’d made peace with the fact I wouldn’t be able to go, encouraging folks to attend watch parties, or form their own, to get that atmosphere all footie fans crave.
That changed late Monday (June 29) when my childhood best friend told me he’d bought two tickets to the game and wouldn’t charge me for his spare, providing I could pay to get there.
That was no small feat. The game kicked off at noon local time, meaning I had to catch an early flight out of Toronto. With a two hour and 20-minute flight time, my options were limited. I couldn’t fly out on Tuesday (June 30) as we were putting together our July 2 edition a day early, due to Wednesday’s holiday. That meant there were about four possible flights I could get.
I won’t tell you how much I spent, but it was pretty close to how much it cost to fly myself, my wife and daughter to the UK for two weeks in April. Again, crazy. But this was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity that I simply couldn’t pass up.
We secured seats on the first direct flight from Toronto to Atlanta that morning, at 6:15 a.m. Knowing we would be going directly to Mercedes-Benz Stadium, we couldn’t take a bag – so I fit what I could carry into four pockets in a pair of cargo shorts. There was no room for deodorant, a toothbrush, or spare clothes. I felt like a teenager again, only this time with all the angst of a 35-year-old.
We were only there 26 hours, though. Surely not a big deal. Then we left the terminal building – and air conditioning – to go out into sweltering 43-degree Celcius southern heat. After 10 minutes on a bus, I looked and felt like I’d just gotten out of a swimming pool.
I spoke to dozens of fellow Brits en route to the stadium. My friend and I met someone who went to the same high school as us just outside of Manchester. Within about an hour, I’d made 20 new Facebook friends.
The game was a blur. I was pretty emotional as it was something my friend and I had wanted to do for the better part of 20 years.
It wasn’t a pretty game. It looked like we were going to be there for, perhaps, the darkest hour in the history of the English men’s team. But two late goals from captain Harry Kane won the game for England, sending us fans into delirium. I lost my voice serenading the players with Oasis’ Wonderwall alongside thousands of other fans at the end of the game.
We replenished at a pub outside the stadium with what felt like hundreds of other England fans before making our way to the fanfest in downtown Atlanta. I spoke to people from all over the U.S., Mexico, Ecuador, the Netherlands, Senegal, Belgium and Bosnia and Herzegovina. Football was the language that connected us.
We stayed at the park until almost 11 p.m. before retreating to our hotel room for a quick nap before heading back to the airport.
The whole experience was one of the craziest, most hectic, and cathartic of my life. Don’t let your dreams be dreams, people. Sometimes the best things happen just by saying yes.
