Ah, Hell. Let's grab a beer.

   This is a blog about my experiences in Brazil for the 2014 World Cup.  As I'm writing this, my days here in Brazil are coming to a close.  Although I’m ready to get back to Seattle to see my family, friends, girlfriend and get back to work, I’m going to leave Brazil with so many different valuable things. Memories, a newfound appreciation and love for the Brazilian culture and people, as well as an ever increasing pride for my home, the United States of America, and their National Men’s soccer team especially after a spirited knockout stage performance on Tuesday. 

   The final whistle vs. Belgium had gone.  Another stressful day at the office.  This time accompanied by feelings of despondence rather than jubilation.  Sad? Yep. Upset? You bet. Speechless? Of course. I continually juggled in my mind what could have been if this or that, how it could have been, whatever. As Bennett, Ben, Ari and I dejectedly walked away from the 2-1 defeat, our heavy heads tried to concentrate on our feet kicking up the imaginary dust on the clean concrete sidewalk.  We had set on returning to the house instead of staying out so we could kick this sore throat that had hit us all. Before we could hail a taxi, we heard some guys about 50 yards away yelling at us.  “USA!! What a great game, guys! We love America!”  A quick hand in the air and a wave of acknowledgement to shut them up would be sufficient.  “Come have a beer with us, guys!  Come on, it’s on us!”  We walked on in our haze of disbelief, our sour moods keeping our lethargic pace.  One more shout came, and I gave a half roll of the eyes as I said to the guys “Ah, Hell, let’s grab a beer.”

   We turned around and joined a group of 7-8 guys ranging from about 35-55, all hanging around a taco truck-like structure with Heinekens in hand.  We feinted smiles as we entered the area and noticed all of their faces lit with excitement and encouragement.  Maybe beer, as well.  I first shook the hand of Carlos, a short, bald, overweight Brazilian, who ordered us four Heinekens.  He had the biggest, and admittedly the dumbest-looking grin out of the lot.  I couldn't stop my fake smile from turning sincere before I even said a word.  The Rev. Al Sharpton-look-alike behind the counter pulled the beers out of the fridge and wrapped the twist-off tops with a napkin to help the grip.  Nursing my way through the Heineken, I wasn't in a mood to drink, and already had more than I should have while recovering from a cold.  Every gulp stabbed my throat, and I was out of cough drops. 

   We finished the first beer with a lack of conviction.  I don’t really recall exactly what we talked about at first – futbol in Brazil, in the States, American Football, Seattle, a couple stories on all sides, I don’t know, and it doesn't quite matter.  My smile indicated my response to the offer at a second beer, still a bit dejected but in much higher spirits than the first.  By this point we were very comfortable talking, joking and sharing stories with the guys. My mind wondered in and out of the Belgium game, but it was far from hogging my thoughts like it was 20 minutes prior.  Instead, my mood was being set by our new acquaintances - a group of bankers that work together down the street.  Carlos has been many of their “English teacher” for a few years.  What started with teaching his co-workers a few words here and there turned into four or five guys becoming very competent in the English language.  This story stuck out to us, no question.  It was far from the best story they were to tell all night.

   As I sat down and opened another beer, we posed for a picture for one of the guys that didn't speak any English.  We were told he was sending the picture to his friend living in the states.  Tiago(pronounced chee-ah-go in this part of the country), who spoke the best English due to living in Australia for nine years, sat across from us and offered to tell the story about how this “piece of shit beer stand” came about.  I always love a good story, and as it appeared, he liked telling them.

   The guy behind the counter, we’ll call him Al(I'm associating him to Al Sharpton's heavier years), was homeless five years ago.  One day, he rode his motorbike with a cooler full of beer strapped to the back to the busy street corner just outside of downtown, put the cooler on the ground and started selling for $4 Reis(about $2 American).  The group got off work together that day and said “Ah, Hell, let’s grab a beer”. 

   The bankers walked up and got a beer. Then another, then another, and another.  Al was wiped clean on his first day of his new job.  Day 2, he brought 2 coolers.  The bankers wiped him out again.  Day 3, 4 and 5 went by, Al had a new means of a modest income, and the guys had a new post-work hangout.  The motorbike with limited capacity turned into a beat-up compact car that held much more.  Al, who was living out of this car, kept providing the beer, and the bankers kept drinking. 

   Soon enough, Al saved enough money to buy a hot dog stand.  “The hot dogs were shit, but we just came to drink”, I was told from Tiago and his Australian accent.  The hot dog later stand turned into a little hut and a barbecue.  Al generally gave away his food to most people, as long as they kept buying beer.  A year or two went by and Al, no longer homeless, had added to his hut by installing an overhang, table and chairs, and even built a bathroom on the side(I didn't try it out).  Someone from the group donated a TV and the place was as good as home.  Today, he sells barbecued and fried food, non-perishable snacks like chips and candy.  Oh and I guess alcohol as well.  Al is living the American dream.  An idea combined with hard work, struggle, grit, determination and a little bit of luck brought him from living on the streets to running his own successful and sustainable business.  I had Tiago translate to him that I love his story, it’s wonderful to hear his success, and it’s the perfect example of the American Dream.  My words to him seemed to mean as much as his story did to me(as did the $20 Reis tip).

 We left the street corner all smiles – energetic, happy, and very thankful for that small phrase.  One that turned Al's life, turned our moods, and one that continues to bring these bankers together year after year, evening after evening, beer after beer.

“Ah Hell, let’s grab a beer.”

Tiago bottom, Al to his right, Carlos above to Tiago's left