As a soccer admirer and enthusiast, I believe watching a professional soccer match is every little boy’s dream, or at least mine, especially if that certain match is in Europe—the home of soccer and the place where world-class players showcase their world-class talent. Luckily, in the spring of 2023, I was given the opportunity of a lifetime—the chance to see my idol and the idol of many, Lionel Messi, with my grandpa at one of his matches.
When my grandpa and I arrived in Paris, France, we stayed at one of those fancy, antique hotels. The hotel room walls were filled with floral wallpaper and swirling designs, which made me feel as if I were royalty. The morning of the soccer match, I woke up to the irritating sound of my grandpa’s 1990 alarm clock. I slightly opened one eye, barely able to see if he was awake. Of course, he was snoring louder than ever, almost as if he were gasping for air with every breath.
“Grandpaaaaaa, Grandpaaaaaa, can you please turn off the alarm? It is actually so annoying,” I said in a groggy morning voice.
He turned off his clock and went about his daily routine, consisting of showering, brushing his teeth, and—the most important part—answering the call of nature. As I went back to sleep for a few more minutes before I really had to get up, I heard a loud noise come repeatedly from the door, which was followed by a timid voice.
“Housekeeping,” the voice said. “Housekeeping,” she said again.
I opened the door. “Please come back in about 15 minutes. We just woke up,” I said, interrupting her.
We got ready and finished an exceedingly good hotel breakfast, which included excellent scrambled eggs that reminded me of my mom’s cooking. The soft yet perfectly crisp eggs swarmed my mouth, making my taste buds sing with joy. It was even better when I finished off my eggs with freshly squeezed orange juice.
After we finished eating, we called an Uber to get to the stadium. The car smelled horrid, almost as if someone had just died in the backseat. When we finally got out of the Uber, we were immediately knocked over by loud and obnoxious PSG ultra fans, a group of shirtless die-hards carrying flags and drums as they passionately sang the team songs.
My grandpa and I carefully advanced through the dense crowd of fans into the stadium, passing by dozens of security guards. After getting our bag searched and going through metal detectors for what seemed like eternity, we finally got to our VIP cushioned seats. As we made ourselves comfortable, my grandpa and I were dumbfounded to realize how close our seats were to the field.
“Oh my god, look how close we are to the pitch! I can almost touch the grass!! Thanks grandpa,” I said to him with a smile so big that my face began to feel cramps.
Although the match itself was actionless, with no team scoring on either side in the first half, the fans were still in an uproar, eagerly hoping for goals to be scored in the second half. Around this time, a few minutes before the halfway mark, , my stomach growled with hunger, a sound that quickly became a harmony of discomfort.
“Grandpa, can we go get something to eat? I’m starving,” I pleaded.
“Sure thing. Why don’t I go get two croissants? You stay here so you don’t miss anything.”
However, just as my grandpa got up to leave, a sharp yet distinctive sound pierced my ears. The referee had blown his whistle to begin the second half. Boys and girls old and young got on their feet and began to cheer once again. A wave of explosive shouts wrapped around my head, sending a shiver down my spine.
A light breeze swiftly entered the monstrous stadium, putting us in an uncomfortable state. I realized that bad weather would affect the game, but the match was to continue. A few minutes later, multiple rain drops began to kiss my cheek as I cheered so loudly that I almost felt defeaned by my own voice.
Soon, my grandpa returned with two freshly baked croissants straight from the VIP room, but which were unfortunately immediately drenched in the rain because of the downpour we were experiencing. Despite the unappetizing look of the croissant, my stomach continued to rumble unpleasantly, so I listened to my inner voice and reluctantly ate the soggy bread.
The referee blew the final whistle to end the game, which concluded in a nil-nil draw. Although I wasn’t pleased by the fact that there were no goals, it was still an action-packed game, filled with drama and emotions.
“You see Diego, I told you: going to a game in Europe and spending time with me would be so entertaining,” my grandpa chuckled. “Even though we were dealt with a lot of unnecessary challenges and setbacks, you persevered and enjoyed the match.”
“You’re right,” I said with a grin. Despite the rain, watery croissant, and underwhelming nature of the game, I was still able to experience a delightful day.
