The Flag (Oxymoron Project)

Story of the Czechoslovakian flag I own

Back in June 1990 I had the great good fortune of having tickets to the USA's first match in forty years in World Cup play. The game would be taking place in Florence.

The morning of the match my friend's mother awoke a still very jet lagged crazy haired American and got him to the train on time so that he could get from Modena to Florence. Even when two people do not speak the same language mothers still have the ability to get things done in the morning, don't they?

Well, I got to the church on time (so to speak) and took my seat for the game. I was jazzed for this game and can still close my eyes and feel everything. There was a small number of Americans in the end zone where I was sitting, more of a sideshow than anything really to the locals. How quaint, Americans at the World Cup ...

The guy sitting next to me was a fellow American, but despite his protests to the contrary, he obviously knew little, if anything, about the realities of European teams. He seemed very earnest in his belief that the Czechs and the Austrians should be easily winnable games for the USA and that advancing int he tournament seemed likely. I kid you not. By the end of the game he was stunned and depressed, having apparently truly believed the shite he was saying.

Anyways, as I mentioned above the game went poorly. The young Americans were pounded by a very good Czechoslovakian team 5-1. In the game Eric Wynalda got red carded, Paul Caligiuri did score a mercy goal, but it seemed very clear that the Czechs decided to be nice and not make it even worse.

I, however, still had the time of my life. I mean, it was the World Cup and the team I had grown up never expecting to see qualify for the tourney was in it and I was there. It was Florence freaking Italy and I was walking the streets with a giant US flag and never prouder to be an American in my life.

And then I felt the tug.

See, the Italian government was in a very good mood that month and not just because they were hosting the World Cup. Communist governments all across Eastern Europe were falling the year before and from what I recall the Czechs had actually voted in their first government the day earlier. It also seems that the Italian government decided in a goodwill gesture to allow any Czechs with game tickets free rail passage to the game. There were a lot of them. They were festive. They had just completely destroyed us. Vaclav Havel had been elected the day before.

There was a large group of Czechs suddenly all around me on the way back to the train station and a very old man had a grip on the flag draped over my shoulders. He offered me his. I had heard about the grand tradition of exchanging flags and shirts but this was my first real experience. I gladly exchanged it with him, wrapped the Czechoslovakian flag around my shoulders and joined their group screaming and yelling all the way back to the train station. I bid them farewell. My flag went back to Chechoslovakia.

The Italian flag I exchanged with a boy a few days later is cool too, but nothing compares to the experiene I had in Florence. That flag will always be a reminder of a great day, one of the greatest, in my life.