FIFA, Will You Let Us Have Fun?

‘Right before Pandora was able to close the box, she grabbed hope and was able to stick it back in’

Felipe was telling our son Elan, as we were going up the stairs of the Philadelphia Art Museum. A big, golden Diana goddess in front of us. She looked so beautiful, with natural light radiating throughout her body. Elan is in a Persey Jackson era of his life and is fascinated with Greek Mythology. I am overwhelmed with all the gods, the passionate relationships amongst them and the complexity of each of their characters. I am not going to lie, at times I tune out. But this Pandora’s box story, you know the one, right? When Pandora out of an insatiable curiosity opens the forbidden box (we’ve heard that one before). When she opens it out goes sickness, sorrow, greed, envy, and suffering. The silver lining to the story is that she’s able to get hope back into the box. I immediately tuned in because like all of us, we are craving hope more than ever.

We were in Philadelphia for the weekend for Elan’s soccer tournament. We figured we’d make a family trip out of it. We ate out every night and discovered the Philly gastronomic scene thanks to Max and Remy, who have a lot of heart for the city and recommended wonderful places to us. We ate so well and I got so inspired by all these big independent restaurants that can pull off a seriously good level of cuisine and service. These restaurants were packed with flavor and culture but also felt and looked like they had a well running machine behind them. It really was admirable. We are at a stage as a family where the kids are truly curious and craving good eats so we got to eat Thai - inspired oysters at Kalaya and ‘callo de acho’ (scallop) tostadas at Amá. The wine lists - Efficient yet spot on, with variety but managing small list that look more like extensions of the by the glass program.

At every restaurant, we would pull out Elan’s panini book and all the soccer player stickers that go with it. We counted repeats and took turns opening new packs. ‘Me llego Joao Neves!’ our daughter Natalia screamed. The World Cup has arrived, and you can smell it in the air. More than anything, you feel its pulse within the circles that run the cities. You hear it in the Uber ride, with the Haitian driver that’s excited for his country’s appearance at the Cup since 1974. Or the guy at the deli wearing the Colombian jersey and who is ready to tell you why this is the year for them. The World Cup is in the air but this year, its giving conflicted signals. Why does it feel we cannot go into it all the way? We can’t embrace its passion and its fun through and through. FIFA, more than ever, is gatekeeping the fun, with tickets that run at $2000 in the nose bleed section and complicated permits to broadcast the programming. It really feels like they went into our room to raid it for the perfect toy and are now waving it in front of us - ‘Do you really want it? Well maybe you can’t have it’. Well FUCK YOU, FIFA.

FIFA is the post-capitalism we are all dreading and has kidnapped our favorite toy, the one that spikes ALL emotions out of us. It’s kidnapped our hope. The reason why we all love the Cup is that anything can happen. Collectively and individually, we feel the win can be ‘ours’. We can be the next Costa Rica that makes it to the eights. We can be Morocco! The first in their continent to make it to the semi-final. We can be Argentina and win in the last two minutes….the list goes on, the surprises are endless, hope reigns. The World Cup is the time when the underdog truly does win. A time to leave it all on the field. We follow it with our eyes glued to the players, our heart beats faster. The world is connected by this thread of joy for the unknown. The love for the sport is really the love for humanity, because for those hours, we all know we are all right there….watching.

Deep into Gowanus, Brooklyn and still standing tall is Ray Smith’s Studio. It stands amidst multiple Temu-like new buildings, its the upcoming Brooklyn neighborhood with potential of being exploited. They’ve tried to buy Ray’s studio to tear it down, but the man will not nudge. He refuses. Ray and his family are one of the the last standing cultural institutions remaining in the area. I’ve always loved Ray for the contrarian that he is, for the Texan in him (like me). Born in South Texas from a Mexican family, the man has hosted and fostered so many young artists in his studio. He’s done events for the neighborhood, many incredibly ridiculous like ‘chicken shit bingo’ where he built a huge chicken cage and the audience got to bet on where the chicken would take a shit. Or most recently, ‘April Foolery’ where he hosted over one hundred artists for a night of absurdity, satire, and unruly imagination. Ray does not give a shit. He is my reminder of how comical life is. Recently at a Sunday Asado I invited him to, I introduced him to another great Colombian artist. This artist asked him - ‘what is your work about?’. ‘My work is about the end of our civilization’ Ray replied, scaring off this wonderful artist, who just wanted to have a great bite and enjoy some sunshine.

Well, life is absurd, right now it’s more comical than ever. It’s also tough, more than ever. Because of this, we will not let FIFA take our favorite toy away. Felipe and I figured that the best place to watch the World Cup is at Ray’s, with good eats, great drinks, music and surrounded by the outmost beautiful company. We are starting up June 13th - Brazil vs Morocco. Churrasco, wines, mezcalitas by Agua Magica and the match, center stage, projected on one of the big white walls.

‘Bueno, pues vamos a ver que pasa en Ray’s!’ Felipe rose his glass of wine to ching ching with me. Let’s see how it goes and what happens at Ray’s. We had moved on to the mains at Kalaya. Gaeng massaman nua curry with Heinrich ‘naked orange’ wine, a match made in heaven. The server asked if we had room for desert, the kids screamed ‘noooooooo please no more’. We had stuffed them, we felt complete. Also, all this chatter and good time but we had to gooooo! We had an early wake up call - Elan’s team had made it to the semi-finals and had a sharp 7:30am start time.

The next morning, Elan scored the goal that broke the tie and got the team into the finals. I teared up but obviously hid it from everyone (as my kids would say I would have lost soooo much aura if someone saw). It was a surprise to us all as he was placed as left wing, not striker. Yet there it was, a beautiful goal, the reason why we love soccer, anything is possible.

See you on June 13th, where we can all give FIFA the middle finger and where we can all celebrate as we give hope its ultimate theatre.