¡SI SE PUEDE!

When I made the decision to move to South America, I knew a massive lifestyle change was in order. This meant more than giving up In-n-Out Burger, more than missing out on watching TV shows with my folks, and more than leaving worldly goods behind in the states. I traded my car for a bus and 'trole' system, I traded Red Robin for Seco de Pollo at a corner shop where they remember your face, and I traded American football for fútbol de Súdamerica... Well, I still stream the NFL with my roommate, but that doesn't mean I can't love both.

I knew when I started applying down in good 'ol Latin America that I'd need to stick with the national team of whichever country I inhabited for the next year. The bright, primary colors of Ecuador's national team bring a sense of pride and quality to the match- which is awesome because I can't foresee myself getting behind a team wearing pastels.

My roommate, Ian, and I decided we were going to take advantage of our schedules while we could and jumped a city bus for the 10 minute ride to the stadium. Everywhere you looked, Ecuador was represented by the shirts on their backs, scarves around their necks, paint on their faces, and the gleam in their eyes. The local business along Naciones Unidas (the main avenue leading up to the stadium) opened their parking lots to vendors with massive tables piled high with royal blue and sunshine yellow merchandise. Jerseys, hats, jackets, scarves, bracelets, vuvuzelas, wigs, and anything else you could imagine. I bought Valencia's #16 bright yellow jersey and Ian purchased a royal blue zip-up jacket, both sporting "ECUADOR" across the back and both of us bargained in soft, yellow scarves from Otavalo to complete our sportsmanship.

We dipped in to a local liquor store and purchased large Pilseners and walked the last block to the stadium. I'm pretty sure that every police officer in the city of Quito was out in full force- on foot, motorcycle, and mounted on horses- and they are my favorite. Well, the men are, because when I smile and say, "Buenas tardes" they always smile back, tip their hats, and unleash a plethora of kind sayings and well wishes. The women on the force are not so friendly... But I'm working on them.

Ian and I stood under a large tree directly in front of the stadium drinking our cold beers and people watching a sea of brilliant yellow and blue, sprinkled with red and white Peruvian supporters. Various chants rose up in to the clear blue sky, filling the warm, thicker than normal air with energy and anticipation. Two dozen police officers with dogs in tow- well, lying in the shade blissfully- occupied the area behind us, while a promotional team comprised of two good looking men and five ridiculously hot women painted faces and posed for photos directly in front of us. Of course, we elected to have our faces painted with the three stripes of the Flag of Ecuador; purely for sportsmanship, of course.

We ran into a few friends who were leaving for Buenos Aires the following day, shared our beers and rum with them, and wished them well. We managed, per usual, to make a random friend in a matter of moments during our chat and followed the Kiwi into the stadium to stake our claim on spots for the match. Our Kiwi friend led us to two tall, mustached gentleman- one from Colorado and the other Toronto- who I nestled in between (standing a foot shorter, it felt, and I enjoyed my break from towering over people) and pressed up against the concrete half-wall and ordered a beer. Game on.

Looking around at 30,000 fellow fútbol fans screaming, laughing, drinking, eating, babbling on about who knows what... It was invigorating. I felt alive as the sun kissed my skin and warmed my hair, the wind blew softly on occasion, moving my scarf and hair about in its own fashion, and waiting with baited breath for Ecuador to sex the ball into the net.

Goal.

A shower of beer came down on us as quickly as the ball entered the Peruvian goal and the drum, lucky for us it was two rows directly in front of us, shot up in the air and a man in his late twenties with a jester hat raised a clenched hand holding a drum stick and beat the living hell out of the drum. "¡Soooooy Ecuatorianooooos!" All 30,000 sang in unison. Goosebumps. Shredded newspaper fell as confetti and fans hugged, kissed, cheered and ordered more beers. I shared my beer (a very common and appreciated gesture here) with the jester hat and we all cheered again.

Goal.

Could this really be happening? If Ecuador were to lose this match, they would be eliminated from the runnings for all the cups coming up and leading to the World Cup Brazil 2014, I was told. They lead 2-0 and players from both teams were being carted off the green grass if the field every few minutes. The game was so good, even the 'seguridad' placed around the field were watching the match, relying on the massive concrete trench and barbed wire fence to keep unruly fans in the stands.

"¡VAMOS ECUADOR!"

The smell of sweat, beer, and fútbol filled the air and we were loving every second of it. Ian and I were helping the drum crew pass beers down from the vendor and they invited us to join the celebration on their level. We quickly and clumsily scaled the half-wall I had formed a relationship with by this point, and joined the fun a little closer in. Directly behind the goal is not a bad place to be, I must admit. They handed us beers and we cheered louder and harder than before, and both of our Spanish improved a fair amount during this match, oddly enough. 

The whistle blew, precious Pilsener went into the air, joining more shredded newspaper confetti and there was a deafening roar. Half a dozen men in bright yellow jerseys grabbed massive, dated looking fire extinguishers and aimed them directly over the crowd. (Note: These things used to terrify me, thanks to my good friend, Nik, I felt a sense of empowerment knowing that this white foam would rain down on me and I owned it. Thanks, Nik.) Much to my surprise; red, blue, and yellow rocketed out of the hoses and showered us with fanaticism. The jester, wearing what was a white shirt, now looked like a smurf, having caught the brunt of the blue concoction and was thrilled to be blue. Ian lunged for the victory drum, cheered enthusiastically and thrust it solidly into the air. The jester grabbed his instrument of enthusiasm and began the victory chant... And Ian was the foundation.

Covered in beer, fire extinguisher residue of all colors, sweat, and the city... Ian and I walked home through the park watching the clouds that seemed to be turning red in ,support of Ecuadorian victory, against the blue sky. The buses were filled with happy tired fans, people on their way home from work with longing looks in their eyes at the missed adventure, and us: two gringos who took the opportunity to be a part of the culture that is hosting us for a year, and will never be the same. Gracias, Ecuador... Si se puede.

xx.a