GOOOOAAAALLLL!!!!

Yesterday was an important day in my on-going Europeanization:

I SCORED A GOOAAALLLL!

For almost ten weeks now, I've run around the gymnasium on Wednesday afternoons, merrily playing a game that I have next-to-no-interest-in. To me, soccer -- here they call it "foci" -- is simply a game for the masses of Europe, Africa and South America to play. I much prefer the keen dichotomy of the strategy and smashmouth-edness of football; the pace and momentum of basketball; even the storytelling and legend of baseball. I haven't legitimately played this game of soccer since age seven, and can do little more than run around and swing my foot.

And for ten weeks now, the other teachers -- at least those who speak English -- have encouraged me. "You play football good for American!" I know, though, that they are excited when they see me walk onto the court wearing the opposite color. But every week they smile and welcome me. They always say something polite in Hungarian when I congratulate them with a "Good Game!" afterwards. And every week they assure me that perhaps next week will be the week that I score.

But yesterday, I wore white instead of a color. I faced a new goal. It seemed a bit bigger already. I was feeling optimistic.

Just as shocking that I scored was how I scored. This was not a measly goal at the end of the game when no one cares anymore, especially about something as trivial as defense. Oh no, folks, this was the first point of the game, in the first possession of the game!

Janos -- he speaks a bit of English -- had the ball on the right side of the court. He shuffled his feet a little, doing all these fancy European-like things with the soccer ball, but then kicked it towards me as I sprinted along the left sideline towards the goal. Miraculously, ball came to foot, foot was angled to the proper degree, and I slammed -- walloped, punched, kicked, motored, propelled, fired, shot, sank, boosted, jacked, rocketed, hammered, flung -- the ball into the goal!

I have watched soccer highlights on tv, so I knew what I needed to do next. The shock on my face turned to the unbridled joy of the scorer-of-the-soccer-ball. No language barriers prevented anyone, even the students who were watching, from understanding the euphoric cries of "GOOOOOOOAAAAAAAAAALLLLLLLLLLLLL!" that curdled from my lips for approximately forty seconds after the unprecedented penetration. I ran a lap around the gym, two fists held high over my head in triumph, while white-shirts and colored-shirts both applauded politely. Some even gave me high fives.

In celebration of the event? I made home-made Noodles and Beef. My bacheloresque definition of home-made is cooking noodles myself, opening a tin can of goulashy beef, successfully operating a microwave, and then mixing the two ingredients. It was delicious.