Sunday Football

Last Tuesday the 50 or so foreign officers who did not attend the French course at the Ecole Militaire joined the 42 of us who did, and we began the 10-day Session Internationale, an ice-breaker of sorts meant to get us acquainted as well as to get us back in the swing of things after a lengthy summer vacation.   There was not enough time for me to meet every one of my new classmates on the first day, but the ones I did meet were invariably approachable and engaging.  Making my way though the crowded coffee reception I stopped to introduce myself to an officer of the Senegalese gendarmerie.  He was standing tall and straight, surveying the crowd with kind eyes.  He had an elegant air about him punctuated by the deep purple of his dress uniform.  As we shook hands I took a double take at the name tag over his chest pocket.

"Bonjour.  Je suis Tom, de la Marine américaine.  Ton prénom, c'est Papa?"

"Bonjour, Tom.  Oui, je m'appelle Papa.  Je viens du Sénégal."

"C'est beau comme prénom!  Enchanté, Papa."

"Enchanté, Tom." 

We both smiled, and I moved along to shake more hands and to try to remember a few names.  I knew I wouldn't forget Papa's.

I also met Jean-Vincent from Cameroon, Jean from Gabon, and two Nicks, both from England. There was Pierre, a Navy diver from Belgium, Jorge, an F-18 pilot from Spain, and a MIG-29 driver from Algeria whose callsign is 'Corsair'.  It won't be easy to keep all the names straight, which is why I have a class roster to review at home for a few minutes each day.  Once the real course begins on September 6th it won't be often that we are all together, so I hope to sort out who is who by the end of next week.  

On Thursday was the inaugural Joli Jeudi of the new year.  Joli Jeudi is a happy hour for the students of the Ecole de Guerre.  It goes down every Thursday at the Brasserie Suffren, a fine establishment a stone's throw from the school and an even shorter stone's throw from my apartment.   Several dozen of us showed up and we spent a few hours chatting and drinking beer.

On Sunday, one of the English Nicks and I met for lunch at Café Carmine, the café on the corner of my block that I know well.  After lunch we walked over to the Champ de Mars to watch the final matches of the Homeless World Cup.  Le Coupe du Monde des Sans-Abri is an unlikely and inspiring soccer tournament that has been happening every year since 2003.  For 2011 Paris was chosen as the host city.  From the tournament's official website:

64 National football Teams comprising homeless and socially marginalised players from across the world will unite for seven days of gritty, fast paced street soccer.

For the players taking part the tournament represents an unlikely opportunity to achieve a dream shared by millions; to wear their national colours with pride, represent their country on the pitch and enjoy the adulation of the crowd.

Players who previously lived on the outskirts of society find acceptance, understanding and the courage to re-evaluate their lives.

The vast majority of participants go on to rebuild relationships with family and friends, overcome addictions and find accommodation, education and employment. Some have even become professional coaches and players.

When Nick and I arrived the small grandstand was nearly full and we found two seats about half way up on the side of the field behind the players' bench.  A woman sitting close to us was dressed as the Statue of Liberty.  The teams play 4-on-4 on a smaller version of an indoor soccer field.  Games last 20 minutes.  There is furious action and lots of scoring. Before the start of each game the two teams line up together in the middle of the field, along with the referees, for the playing of both countries' national anthems.

We stayed for the last five games of the day, including both the men's and women's finals. The first three games were Argentina-Palestine, Denmark-USA, and Russia-Poland, with Palestine, Denmark, and Russia winning.  After each game many of the players found seats in the stands around us, including the American goalkeeper who sat close to us with a player from the Italian squad. 

Next came the women's final between Mexico and Kenya.  The Kenyans had more support than any other team we saw, or at least their fans were the most enthusiastic.  As the Kenyan women made their way to the field a large group of their supporters danced in a circle next to the grandstand, waving flags and singing.  In a closely contested game Kenya won the women's final 4-3.  The Kenyan players and their fans were jubilant, the players taking three victory laps around the pitch while their fans broke into another round of dancing and singing.  Several of the Mexican women were inconsolable - sobbing, hugging coaches, and laying dejectedly on the ground.  I felt bad for them, wondering what struggles they had each been through to get to this day in Paris. 

The men's final between Mexico and Scotland was also a tight contest.  Scotland held onto a 4-2 halftime lead and won the game 4-3.  By the Scottish players' frenzied celebrating you would think they had just won the World Cup, and indeed they had.