#aodc

This was fun to wake up to this morning! You can see my face at 0:19 as well as my voice throughout.  

Sometime after 7:30 last Tuesday night, I tried to catch the attention of the lone server taking orders from the growing crowd of American Outlaws.

We were in the back room, in the basement, surrounded by screens.

All the screens were tuned to the wrong channel. To a good game, mind you, a fine game, a World Cup Qualifier between Colombia and Uruguay, with Cavani, Suarez, and Falcao all on the field.

Stars.

But not ours.

She promised to do her best, and soon, Columbus unfolded before us, a sea of flags and chants, and then the anthem.

And we sang.

###

I'll back up.

I wanted to go to Columbus. I wanted to be there in person, for the US home qualifier against Mexico. I wanted to celebrate qualification. I wanted to drive there alone early Tuesday morning, check into a cheap hotel room alone, and just show up at the tailgate and make friends, then stand with AO and sing through the match.

And we would win.

That was a given.

But, I would not be there. Not in person, anyway. Too much, at the wrong time of year, too much going on, and too much travel coming up.

So we made a deal, as a family, that I would not travel, but I would go to DC for the evening (we live deep in the exurbs and rarely make it into the city) to watch the game at the local American Outlaws outpost.

Which brings us to the basement of the Laughing Man Tavern.

After a predictable wrong-turn-in-search-of-a-shortcut to the right road to get to the nearest Metro stop, I let out a predictable string of profanity and pointed the Prius in the right direction to drive into the city.

Blasting Uncle Tupelo.

Cruising past the White House and wounded-but-beautiful Washington Monument, with the low sun and long shadows.

Parking.

Counterintuitively, eating tacos for dinner. I know, not the most American thing, but I'm not the most American American, then, am I?

Then, to Laughing Man, hold the door for a fellow fan, then follow the signs down the stairs, seek out the screens.

###

I sat down with a couple of beverages, on a stool in what felt like the "back" of the room, but within a few feet of a huge screen. Eventually, a group of post-college kids sat down near me, and the extrovert among them (hi, Zack) introduced himself, then the rest of them, with the sort of friendly, all-in-this-together attitude that the American Outlaws are supposed to be about.

The next lone fan to sit down near us? The leader of a new AO chapter up in Western Massachusetts. 

I was in the right place.

We pre-gamed.

"So, you guys are going to get loud and stuff, right? You're not just going to sit there quietly and watch?" I asked. I knew the answer.

In most situations, I come off as pretty mild-mannered.

Not once the game starts.

I really, really, really enjoy this. Leading chants, singing my heart out, screaming my head off. Not sure when this started. Probably in the bleachers at Yankee Stadium. I'm sure there are plenty of studies out there on fanship and collective experience and the lizard brain bits of us that we dig into when we chant for our team -- not to mention our nation -- in unison, in a crowd, and, yeah, alcohol helps.

Winning, helps, too.