Foggy Night Epiphanies

Twice in recent nights, I have bought a coffee or a latte, a scone or a doughnut, and sat on a bench by Lloyd Lake, watching the water, the lowering fog precipitating into water droplets, and the street lamps just turning on.

It is close to major roads, but very still. It's the sort of place to take stock of things, to question your assumptions, to take a breath between work and going home for the night to write.

Everyone needs a place like this, especially because it is almost literally across the road from my house, so when I get hungry or get tired of thinking and want a beer, I don't have to be particularly patient.

I've been thinking about the assumption I've made that I've always been doing my very best to treat everyone as well as could be desired. I don't know if I have. I considered making a mental checklist of all the actions that might make me feel secretly guilty, but as my Dad said, checklists are too simplistic for dealing with people. Relationships with people are ambiguous, even when you have--or are pretty sure you have--the best of intentions.

I think the conclusion that I reached is that a checklist, either mental or written, is not a cure-all, but it might provide a basis for self-evaluation, which is always a good thing, if done honestly. Of course, as Han Solo pointed out to Obi-Wan and Luke regarding the avoidance of Imperial entanglements, "Well, that's the trick, isn't it?"

Han also told Princess Leia, "You like me because I'm a scoundrel." So he clearly knew what he was talking about.

Perhaps the real trick is having some place like Lloyd Lake, or at least that sort of routine, where you can step away from everything for a minute or two and take the time to think, rather than just being swept along in a flood of choices and decisions.

Up From The Underground: Soccer Spoiler Alerts

Last night the U.S. needed to recover from a disastrous display in Costa Rica on Wednesday, where they were taken apart by a very good home team. Normally, there would be no shame in losing on the road to Costa Rica, which now leads the qualifying group on the road to South Africa next summer, but the US played such lackluster, depressingly-bad defense and such non-threatening offense that it was a big step backwards on the path to earning respect as a soccer nation. Costa Rica dominated us, and I had to admire their play, at least until the closing minutes, when, with victory already secure, on two separate occasions, to my eyes at least, Costa Rican players flailed theatrically in an attempt to draw yellow or red cards against American players, cheap gamesmanship that soured the day. Nevertheless, I saw more fault in the US side than brilliance in Costa Rica.

So it was refreshing to see a solid display last night, where even after giving up another miserable goal early from Clint Dempsey's way-too-cute bit of attempted trickery, the U.S. consistently pressured and won the ball, showed some signs of life in the creative passing game, and made enough runs and opportunities to come away with a victory and three critical points. Benny Feilhaber needs to play more, that's all I'm saying.

But that wasn't the soccer story that hung with me the most last night.

Mexico has been struggling this time around, and just recently sacked their coach in an effort to reinvigorate their campaign for World Cup qualification. They had a vital game last night against El Salvador, their first under the new coach, their first chance to get themselves going.

The Mexico-US rivalry has been heated over the last 8 to 10 years, with, to my possibly biased eye, Mexico displaying a greater penchant for foul play and red cards as the US has closed the gap in quality and results. I would freely admit to a certain amount of schadenfreude were Mexico to fail to qualify; but still, a World Cup without Mexico doesn't seem quite right, and Mexico has been beset with so many problems this year--the H1N1 virus/public relations catastrophe, the war between the military and the drug cartels that the military might just be losing--that I would not wish on any Mexican fan the failure of their team to qualify.

So as I hiked up the tiled steps from the subterranean BART terminal at 24th and Mission last night, I heard the steady, repetitive blaring of car horns, whistles and cheers, and I asked myself, "I wonder who won?"

Reaching street level, the first thing I saw was car after car cruising emphatically along Mission Street, drivers and passengers alike waving blue and white flags out the windows, hollering and shouting and raising a commotion, and securing the future job prospects of any mechanic who replaces worn out car horns.

Before I came to San Francisco to live, and before I spent much time here, I probably would have assumed that the vast majority of residents of the Mission have their roots in Mexico. That may or may not be true, but it appears that El Salvador has established a strong colony here as well. People were dancing on the sidewalks, cheering with the drivers of the cars in call and response fashion.

So I am sympathetic for any devastated fans of the Mexican national team--although Marina had a conversation with a Guatemalan store owner today that indicated that a large number of people in Mexico, while feeling strong allegiance for their local teams, are neither pleased with nor supportive of the national team, a team that has not been developing young players, and which, apparently, has not been playing with good sportsmanship in the eyes of many. I am sympathetic, but the joy, the exuberant joy of that spontaneous parade last night, that was a beautiful thing. That is the bright side of sports.

There is something magical about that sort of passion for soccer. There is a small soccer field, smaller than regulation, but well-maintained, at the south end of Balmy Alley. Today, we stopped there for a while to watch a seven-a-side match between local teams dressed in professional-looking jerseys, complete with a referee. Apparently, every Sunday, local teams gather and play non-stop from ten until five. These players are good, deftly controlling the ball in tight spaces, passing and constantly running, elegance of soccer under a small-field microscope. It is very much a festival, much like the ones that must have been triggered all over El Salvador and all over the Mission last night.

Having the chance to witness this joy is another amazing benefit of living in this city.