December 04, 2004
11-27-04Today was the big game day. We would be heading to Nijmegen via train to see John's son play (if they played him) at De Goffert Stadium for NEC and I woke up with this knowledge sparking my mind. I was extremely nervous and the first thing I thought of was smoking. I never wake up wanting a cigarette save for this morning and, of course, this meant that I was completely out. Still dressed in my pink pajamas and John's long coat, I skipped the stairs two at a time to make haste toward the lobby. There was John, seated at one of the heavy brown tables and sipping a cup of equally brown coffee. I noted the extinguished Marlboro Light in the little black ashtry before him.
"I need cigarettes."
"Yeah, sorry, I smoked your last one."
"I need cigarettes."
I didn't know why I needed one so desperately, but for some reason it was all I could think of that late morning. John stood up, put his hands upon my shoulders and instructed me to take his seat. He walked out the door without a word and returned with a fresh pack of smokes. I thanked him and ran back up to the room. From the small refrigerator located underneath the television, I produced a can of Coca-Cola Light, lit a cigarette and watched the local news. All was well.
I quickly showered and returned downstairs. The owner looked over to a man sleeping on the couch to his right and gently requested that we check out as soon as possible. Another American had made his claim upon our room and we had no idea that it was already past noon. We fumbled for our things, checked out and made our way back to the Amsterdam train station. On our way, John purchased two sandwiches and before 1:00 p.m., we were standing upon the platform, waiting for the second class train to Nijmegen. As we boarded, I noted that it was a two story train and John asked if I would like a seat on the second floor. I grinned from ear to ear and eagerly nodded.
Everything happened so fast. The rush of people exiting and boarding the train seemed dizzying and soon the whole of it was packed. We had no where to stow our bags but by our feet and thus we sat, all piled up with our belongings. As we began to move, I looked out the window and noticed a plump Chinese man with glasses wailing and stomping his feet on the platform next to us. He had apparently been too slow for this quick paced transportation. John looked over and stated,
"You have to move fast on these trains, Laura, or you'll end up like that guy."
I nodded slowly and liesurely ate my sandwich.
We entered Nijmegen around 3:00 p.m., had our cigarettes and looked over at the Hotel Macure next to us. This is the hotel that John usually occupies during his visits to this town where his son, Charles, lives. Although it is somewhat expensive, we were both tired from the night before and had no intentions of walking too far with our heavy bags. They had one luxury suite available for nearly $200 Euro. We passed.
Heading into the town of Nijmegen, with its much more modern buildings and plethora of bicycles, we began our search. Place after place was fully booked due to a festival for the weekend and we were beginning to lose hope. A gentleman at the third place we tried was kind enough to call on to another hotel and inquire about a room. The Hotel Atlanta had two single rooms available and we asked if we could share one room.
"No," he said, "it's against the fire code."
We looked at each other, somewhat confused, but agreed and asked the gentleman to save the rooms for us. We walked to the hotel - with its enormous and bustling cafe of a lobby, John checked in and handed me a heavy key for the third floor. He took the key for the fourth floor and we shuffled into a tiny lift located just next to the bar. We checked out my room first and they were, indeed, very small but quite enough for just one person. We agreed to meet back at my room within an hour to give us enough time to shower and relax before heading to the big game.
I was ready to go before half the hour passed and knocking on John's door without patience to wait for him to come down to mine. He looked great, all dressed up and ready for action, ready to impress. He grabbed a few things and soon we were off by 5:15 p.m. having decided to walk to the stadium. The game started at 7:00 p.m. and we were scheduled to meet the NEC website producer, Frans, at 6:30 p.m. to get our tickets.
We passed some of the most charming houses I have ever seen. Each had a beautiful front walk enlcosed on either side by short stone walls that ended before the sidewalk. All of the living rooms with their wide front windows, clear of curtains, held a showcase of uninhabited and colorful furniture. We peaked into every one, noting how quaint they were and I imagined myself loafing on one of those grand, plush sofas with a great book in hand. But reality jerked me back and I became silent and thoughtful, looking down and contemplating the evening before me.
It was an hour's walk and that coupled with all of our journeys through Paris began to weigh on my knees. The time seemed to snake by ever so slowly as I smoked cigarette after dissatisfying cigarette. I was utterly nervous and terribly incapable of voicing this to John. I was going to see his son; the infamous Boy Wonder, the professional European soccer player, my very first soccer game! A million questions ran through my aching head...
Would I get an opportunity to meet Charles face to face? I had already spoken to him once and conversed back forth via e-mail... Would he and John have their recent differences resolved? What would happen if we ran into his mother? What would I say to Charles? Should I let him be alone with his father? Should I hug him or shake his hand or do nothing? What if didn't play? But I know he's going to play. Was John okay? Perhaps I could help patch things up between them! No, I shouldn't get in the way... or should I?
Damn, this all made me so weary during that long walk. But I prodded on and I smoked my cigarettes and I laughed when I could and said hello to the very few passersby we encountered. Suddenly, there it was - the entrance to the stadium. The long, winding road seemed to go on for miles. I grabbed John's arm and quickened my pace. We had to meet Frans, who John has never met in person before and we had to get our tickets. I had no watch and knew not the time, but I knew it was close and John called it right on the dot. It was exactly 6:30 p.m. and there we stood at the stairs of the entrance of the Will Call station.
The minutes ticked by and still no Frans. John was so eager that he asked a gentleman who was pacing back forth whether or not he was the man we were waiting for.
"Are you Frans?"
"No, I'm not French," replied the gentleman.
"No, no. Are you Frans?"
"Oh no, I am not..."
But by 6:45 p.m., there was the surprisingly young, short haired, blonde Frans shaking our hands. He handed us two credit card type tickets and led the way to the VIP room where he also bought us a beer. John was going nuts. He had never been into this room before with all of the elegant wait staff and tables piled high with glasses, ready to be poured with drink. I was utterly quiet and lifting my fingers to my mouth at every interval of silence. John and Frans discussed this and that before Frans had to leave to take his place amongst the media. We sat down briefly to rest our tired legs and drank another beer before entering the De Goffert stadium.
The stadium was huge - the field swept before us, green and wet. We stood there for awhile on that cold concrete, John allowing me to take it all in and then we progressed to find our seats. Halfway down the aisles, I looked out onto the field and there was Charles, warming up for the game. He looked at us, too, with a grin and wave. I melted. He seemed so close and I know not if I waved back or if I just squealed under my breath, but I could not help myself from simply staring at him. We found our seats and I immediately began to take pictures. I walked down the steps and to the railing for a closer look as the crowd flowed over and around me. I returned to my seat without sitting.
Before the game, the announcer echoed over the field an introduction of the players and a special welcome to Charles' parents who were in attendance. My heart pounded wildly. Neeskens, the coach, couldn't HELP but play Charles now! And it was an important game with both teams being somewhat low on the standings for this season and each desperately needing a win. It would be most important for NEC to win, being at home, but the opposing team, Roda, would be out for blood. The game started and out for blood they were as one of Roda's players picked up NEC's Dennenboom as though he were a stiff piece of French bread. There were fights on the field and whistles signifying boos from the crowd.
Roda scored in the first half and the NEC players were not getting any better. The second half was more promising with a late tying goal by NEC and yet Neeskens had not yet replaced any players. I grabbed John's arm, though, as I saw Charles doff his bench side gear and begin warming up. The crowd began to cheer and chant his name! He skipped and stretched up and down the sidelines for several minutes, always looking over in the direction of Neeskens, waiting for the signal. 20 minutes left in the freakin' game and Neeskens was still sitting on his hands. Then, he called Charles over to him, finally, and we were shocked as Charles began to put on his warm bench clothes. What was going on? Neeskens changed his mind and replaced Charles to the bench. The crowd whistled and threw their hands into the air at this disgraceful act.
With less than ten minutes to go, Neeksens put Charles in, but it was all too late. Charles did not have a chance to get used to the soaked field or even warm up to it. The game was ended in a draw and a terrible disappoint for NEC at this home game. We watched as the players shuffled off the field and displayed our middle fingers to our pal Neeskens. We headed back to the VIP lounge for another round of drinks and kept mostly silent. I looked out the window and into the lobby, waiting for a sign of Charles.
*** To be Continued...