A soccer player in the lobby of the Meridian Hotel on Copacabana beach.

Imagine a place where the streets are abandoned without warning. Businesses close their doors to prospective clients. Restaurants hang signs in their front windows announcing that they will reopen in a few hours. Every television set is turned on. Life comes to a standstill in Brazil because of one simple thing: Fútbol.

Flying the flag

While I was in Brazil this past June, I noticed a peculiar vibrancy among the country’s people. All feelings of desperation were lost in an urgent hopefulness. Brazil was poised to take home its sixth World Cup title, and nothing was more important to the country. Displays of patriotism and national pride took over the population, and excitement ruled the streets.

Every game day, I awoke to the same routine. Before seven in the morning, my eyes would open to the sound of homemade fireworks exploding outside the window of my small apartment just off the beach in Copacabana. Then the high-pitched whistles and uncommonly loud car horns would start, announcing to the world that the noisemaker was a true fan of the national team.

I should have predicted the source of this unusual national pride. Upon my arrival in early June, there was already no escaping the yellow, green, and blue of the Brazilian flag. Everywhere I looked, people were wearing these colors. Most wore t-shirts bearing a simple “Brasil,” while others sported the ever-popular top-hat with a small soccer ball resting near the crest.

People both young and old took part in the fashion. Women’s versions of the t-shirts were designed with a sexier appeal — most were cut into halter tank tops worn extra tight. From earrings to panties to Havaianas – the classic Brazilian flip-flops – every article of clothing was given a World Cup twist, emblazoned with the country’s flag.

In nearly every city I visited, the streamers dangling just above my head on the streets and sidewalks never failed to impress. This handmade sky of yellow, blue, and green fluttered overhead with the breeze as soccer balls made their way from one child’s foot to the next on the street below.

A young girl plays soccer in the streets of Rio de Janeiro.

Shooting for the moon

During the initial rounds of the tournament, Brazil had slow starts but quick, killer finishes. They were living up to the hype about being the best team in the world, beating Croatia 1-0 in the first round, and defeating Ghana with a score of 3-0 in the round of 16. By the quarterfinals, it was an unquestioned fact (at least in Brazil) that the country’s team would win their game against France.  

On the day of the match, I was huddled in a penthouse apartment overlooking Copacabana beach with several family members of a good friend and a British friend of mine. The game began with a great kick by Zidane that just failed to make it past Brazil’s nimble goalkeeper. France’s kicks just kept getting better and better while the Brazilian team never seemed to find their rhythm. Poor Ronaldo just couldn’t catch a break.  

Throughout the World Cup matches, if he wasn’t scoring, Ronaldo was a target for ridicule. Fans and the press alike insisted he had gained too much weight and that he was getting lazy because of his many beautiful girlfriends and his excessive wealth. But when he had the ball at his foot, he became the “best player to ever play.”

Although Ronaldo and the rest of the team played a great game of slow, methodical ball control, it was France’s Thierry Henry who came through to score the lightning-quick winning goal just before the end of the hour.
  
As I watched the climactic end to this upset win by France over Brazil, I found myself rooting for Brazil – a team that was not my own – and feeling certain that I was doing the exact same thing as everyone else in Rio de Janeiro and indeed, all of Brazil were doing. Much like the citizens of Brazil, I found myself heartbroken at the loss. While the Brazilian team was gracious in their defeat, the population was seized by extreme disappointment in the team’s performance that day. The common sentiment was that the team, too certain it would win, had lost its desire to fight for victory.

The streets are alive with streamers of traditional team colors.

Back to earth

Loss is something close to the hearts of many Brazilians. A staggering 22 percent* of the population lives on less than $2 per day and barely survives the current rise in drug- and gang-related violence. That is why the overwhelming joy in the streets during the World Cup seemed so surreal. Smiles appeared more easily. The anticipatory energy thrived under the guise of complete confidence in the Brazilian team.  

Unlike my previous visits to Brazil, I felt that class divisions were bridged as everyone gathered at the local bodega to share a liter of Brahma beer while cheering on the team. The day-to-day strife gave way to a certain joy that comes with pride — a feeling that poor Brazilians rarely get a chance to experience, but one which still has the ability to bring together a nation that reeks of political corruption and social injustice. For a while, the rich and the poor were united in their cheers.

This unity of colors, patriotism, and football conversations has subsided, for now, and life has returned to normal. Still, wouldn’t it be something if the country were always united? Although the team lost in front of a world audience, and the soccer hats and streamers are locked away until 2010, I know that in my heart, the pride of the people of Brazil will live on.

*Source: Population Reference Bureau (PRB) 2005 World Population Data Sheet

In The Fray Contributor