STICKLER'S WORLD OF EURO-YODELING

"Our close personal pal, Stickler, of that sassy-saugage-filled breakfast burrito of a blog, Stickler’s World, was to been sent to Europe on behalf of Rivalfish for some on-site coverage of an age-old Austrian Pickle Sheathing Festival. We asked him to cover the World Cup. We couldn't offer him plane fare, salary, or an apology for the stain on his parents' bathroom sink, but we thought he'd do it out of his love for us, er, the game. But now he hates us and writes spiteful e-mails to his co-editor (his foxy sister) over at Stickler's World. But we know a guy that banged her, and we get his e-mails anyway! Isn't counter-spite spite a beautiful thing?!?!?! :) ;)" - Rival Room Editor

by Josh Stickler, www.sticklersworld.blogspot.com, sticklersworld@gmail.com

"Bitte ein birre." I said with a smile so wide, some may have confused me for the joker in Batman or Mark Chmura at a Hilary Duff concert. The bartender just laughed at me, because my pronunciation was so bad and the she wouldn’t serve me until I got it right. Three more attempts and I had a frosty pint of Ottakringer in my hands and a restraining order from the broad behind the bar. I walked across the bar where a large screen had been set up.

Ever since arriving in Vienna, Austria the pulse of German Football could be felt everywhere. I nudged past all the people and found an open seat in the front of the room. I was sitting in front of a little boy, clearly blocking his view, but he was with both of his dads, so I figured he wasn’t interested anyway. The Germany vs. Sweden match was about to start and the crowd was fueled with the sensations of German loyalty and body odor. I turned to the guys sitting next to me and asked, "Sprechen Sie Englisch?" They came back with a resounding "nein." I had once again wandered into some unknown territory and it seemed no one could, or wanted to, communicate with me. Much like middle school.

The game began and every German in the crowd started singing fight songs that I wish i had known. They waved their flags and were absolutely crazy. As the game took off I noticed the Germans around me couldn't open their beers, so I pulled out my wine opener and offered it to them. Then one their kids starting acting a fool and distracting everyone by pacing back and forth and obstructing peoples’ views of the screen. His dad pleaded for sympathy, declaring his son a victim of harsh case of Attention Deficit Disorder to the massive and irritated crowd. Someone amongst the crowd shouted that he should send his kid to a concentration camp. I sat aghast until someone whispered to me that it wasn’t what I was thinking. It was more like a Huntington Learning Center.

This is when they began speaking to me in English. Suddenly the game took on a lot more meaning as I understood what their songs were about. Many were about the United States’ harsh economic sanctions against Suriname, actually. Really pisses those Krauts off. Germany scored the first two goals during the first half. It was extremely fast-paced and Sweden definitely put up a very dirty fight that reminded me of the time we caught that blind kid in our tree house. Lucico from Sweden went out with a red card. It was the 873rd given thus far in the tournament, in the elimination round exclusively. It was the first time in the history of the games that I had seen a ref smile as brightly as he pulled it out of his pocket. I ’m sure it felt good, even better than when he subsequently put his member away, and exchanged its presence with the impending red card. If anything, I was starting to see that the refs held some loyalty to their country as well.

At halftime I brought down some Italian wine I had been stowing since Cinque Terra that was as warm as a murder weapon and as stinky as a corpse. My German friends and I shared the bottle and watched as Germany decimated Sweden in the first round of the sweet sixteen. Everyone cleared out of the bar and I sat their by myself. Suddenly, one of the German girls returned. Her name was Piam and was interested in my plans for the evening. I knew I had promised to call my ailing grandpappy back in the states, but I responded "nothing" nonetheless. She invited me to come out with her and her friends. I said a prayer about my grandpa and got dressed for the evening. I didn’t want my cell phone to ring and my mom to try to have a conversation about my grandpa dying while I was trying to noodle this German bird, so I put it on vibrate. They were going to go to the Donau Fest. Accidentally, I had scheduled my trip to coincide with one of the biggest festivals in Vienna, where 18 stages fill a tiny island with music, beer, and sausage. So with our newly forged friendship these 6 Germans from Munich showed me the best night of my life. We heard bands play songs I knew in English and I would teach them the words. I thought the stars had aligned as I heard the harmonica solo to the Cranberries hit, “Linger,� and stared into the German girls’ thigh cleavage.

They taught me German and watched as I botched many attempts at talking to German girls. In the end I discovered that Germans know how to party, especially after a World Cup win. The whole way back to the hostel I sang German songs on the train with them and at the end of the night kissed a German girl. (Stickler, we all know you’re lying – Rival Room Editor) Not too bad for not knowing the language at the night’s onset. Now I have places to stay in Munich, so hopefully I won’t be sleeping in the train station and instead lying about hooking up with a drooling bum. So now on to Salzburg, where the World Cup really begins, and the ice caves dominate my very existence.