However, angry sports fans in India, weary of 5-hour long cricket matches, were incensed that there would be no American Football and stormed Wankhede (I think that's pronounced "wank-head" in American) stadium in protest, tearing up the seats and eating all the Chaat in the concession stands while the toxic cloud from Houston wafted through the stadium. The army managed to clear the field, but it was no longer usable for a football game and it has since become a flea market.
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| Wankhede Stadium was choked with smoke as fans rioted over cancellation of Doormat Bowl in Mumbai |
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| Indian Fans Head for Alibag |
This reporter, along with both football teams, got on some old school buses and headed for Alibag. Unfortunately, we never made it. 10 miles outside Mumbai the bus was disabled by a bull elephant looking for a mate. I won't go into any more detail about that other than to say that sitting in the back--or on the back--of that bus at that moment was not a good idea.
The two football teams dispersed, an NFL diaspora in India, and were never heard from again. At least not to us. I assume at least some of them made it back to training camp 2014. The rest of us, stuck in a small Indian village, did what every football fan does: look for beer. We found a nice IPA in outdoor café and were just getting comfortable with our sixth--or was it sixteenth--IPA when we noticed the guys at the table across the café looked familiar.
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| The guys across the cafe |
Yes, that's right, it was the recently humiliated Russian Hockey Team. Rather than go home from Sochi, they had decided to hide out for a while. My new friend, Sanjay, who said he was from Nepal, said something loud like, "Hey, are you really the Russian loser hockey team? Are you Putin me on?" Anyway, something a lot like a fight or a hockey game broke out, and hockey players are usually better at hitting people than us fans so we got the bad end of the stick for a while. But before you know it, we were all slapping each other on the back and drinking vodka. I have no idea where the vodka came from, but wherever there are Russians, there always seems to be a lot of it, and Russians like to make friends with people they beat up.
Later that night, I think it was night, it was dark anyway, a nice Indian lady named Noori said she and some friends would love to share some space with real Russian hockey players. I think she didn't have any clothes on. Or I might have just imagined it. It was pretty easy to imagine with her. I thought it might be a setup or a joke or something and probably not a good idea, but her eyes reduced my intelligence to the bottom of a shoe box. All brain stem. I immediately introduced us--in a sloppy Russian accent--as Sasha, Ivan, and Valdi. I was Valdi. Anyway, I don't know what it is about Indian women, but they do everything gracefully. I mean everything. And she did. Everything, I mean.
I guess I should have known that Noori was an orchid and orchids attract thousands of bees. One bee in particular was a cricket player from Jaipoor. He introduced himself to me by waking me up with a cricket bat. I bounced around the room, pulling on my pants, while he shouted in Hindi and delivered several swats to my head and arse. It was cricket, so I could run any direction I wanted, but instead I tripped over my own pants. Noori grabbed a lamp and clubbed him, saying something about they were through and get our of her life. Five of the Russians--in their underwear and hockey sticks in hand--rushed into the room to join the fight.
There was a big flash of light. We all froze and looked to the window. It was a paparazzi from the Russian media getting a shot for the Moscow tabloids. "Look what your lousy Russian hockey team is doing now," kind of stuff. "You got to be Putin me on," Sanjay said again. No one laughed. "Hey, Sanjay," I said, "Drop the joke." He just smiled.
Meanwhile, everyone, half naked, chased the photographer down the crowded village street. He cut into a cricket field and then there we were in front of 5,000 fans in the middle of a match. Noori's cricket-beau immediately challenged all of us to a cricket match. The Russians, always good for a challenge, accepted. Noori spat on the ground and said she hoped we buried her boyfriend.
OK, I'm playing cricket now. How else will I get back tot he orchid?
I won't go into all the boring details of the game because it would be, well, boring. Let's just say that after 5 hours of bouncing balls and running back and forth, the Russians couldn't stand it anymore and decided to play with hockey sticks and started fore-checking on the base paths. As usual, it deteriorated into a melee that eventually turned into lots of back slapping and then the vodka appeared from out of nowhere.
The paparazzi was nowhere to be found and the Russians decided there was no longer any reason to return to Russia. India has lots of orchids.
So there you have it. We are still in India--somewhere--hanging out with Noori and her two friends Alashi and Bambu. The beer, mangoes, and Tandoori make for great tailgating. Soccer is even kinda fun to watch. But not cricket. 5 hours. Good grief. All of us, even the Russians, would love to come home, but we don't remember how to get there. You know how it is. We can't stand ourselves, but we can't say no to ourselves either.I think Randy Newman may have said something like that.
Anyway, the Doormat Bowl was a bust, thanks to Denver, but the Doormat Division isn't over, and it will live on for many years to come. Stay tuned for a season preview and the announcement of this year's team owners. Even if we are stuck in India, we got the Internet, baby, and we will be tracking the worst of the worst as they battle for the moldy carpet. Who knows, we may even get our own domain!
Meanwhile, say goodnight, Alashi.
