12.10.09
I know there are a number of birthdays are around this time of the year. There’s B from Bloomington, who’s probably still studying probability. There’s T, the Russian girl who I met in Göttingen and who might have finished studying there already. I hope they’re both doing well. And then there’s my grandfather, who will turn one hundred in a week. What a guy!
A week ago Saturday I went to a soccer game. Apparently Rostov has a team in the premier Russian league. If they weren’t in twelfth place, they would participate in the Champions’ league tournament. Somebody told me that they were in sixth place many years ago, and Juventus came to play in Rostov. It was a big event among soccer fans.
When I went to the match, a team from Moscow had come to play. I went with my boss’s other son, who’s a big soccer fan, unlike the son that I’m giving lessons to. We arrived late since my conversation class didn’t end as soon as planned. They had been playing for about 5 minutes when we found a place to sit. The atmosphere was very energetic. There was an old man behind us who kept screaming “zaraza!” which I understand is one of the nicer curses used for expressing disappointment. He said some other things too, but Kolia said that even he didn’t know what they meant. Maybe he just didn’t want to explain.
I was a bit suprised that the players were so big. Maybe it’s because we were sitting close to the field, but I’d say I’ve never seen such thick soccer players. Furthermore, when you watch the Russian national team (which I did just a few days ago), you can’t help but feel sorry for the short and scrawny Russians running around on the soccer field.
The soccer was very good. It doesn’t get much more professional. They played with intensity and precision. It was a pleasure to watch. With twenty minutes left in the second half, Moscow manages to ricochet a shot into our goal, giving them some hope with 2-1. With five minutes left, they scored a splendid goal. The game ended 2-2, a little disappointing since we had been up two goals, but we had fun watching good soccer.
Last Saturday, the Russian national team played Germany in Moscow. I couldn’t help but get caught up in the excitement that some of my students expressed. I didn’t declare it openly, but I was rooting for the Germans, not because I necessarily like Germany more than Russia, but because I had been a big fan of the German team in the past. I cheered for them in 2006, when they lost to Italy in the semi-finals of their own World Cup in one of the hardest fought matches I’ve ever seen.
Another teacher invited me to a friend’s apartment to watch the game. They picked me up after my conversation class, we went to get some food and beer, then went to the apartment. I still remember almost everyone’s name that I met there, among them Spartak (nicknamed after a Moscovian soccer team), and the host, known by everyone as 'the boss'.
I think Spartak was Armanian. He spoke Russian as fluently as the others, but maybe with a different accent. Anyway, if someone has dark skin around here, then they’re likely from an Armanien family. The boss was a scrawny guy with straight hair to his shoulders and a slight beard. He was dressed like an American, that is, so casual for a Russian man as could only be when at home.
The game was pretty good. The only goal was scored by Miroslav Klose. I’m a big fan of this guy. He’s the one who, with the agility of a cat, scored a blazing header to send Argentina home during the quarter-finals in 2006. On Saturday, in the thiry fifth minute, the Russian goalie came out to meet another German forward, who instead of shooting, centered it a just slightly behind Klose, who again demonstrated feline dexterity in getting his foot on the ball at the right angle to send it into the empty goal.
Russia’s captain and biggest star is named, if I’m not mistaken, Arkyshin. During the course of the match, you could see Arkyshin next to the German captain, Michael Ballack. As far as height is concerned, Ballack is to Arkyshin as I am to my Grandmother. If Arkyshin stands up straight, he might reach Ballack’s shoulders, I’m not sure. To be fair, I think Ballack is a giant. Isn’t he over two meters tall? Arkyshin wasn’t an exceptionally small among the Russians. Where were the Rostovian giants on the Russian team?
Russia had a few good chances, but they couldn’t capitalize. So they remain without a victory over Germany since something like 1962. I guess they beat the Germans when it really mattered.
I spoke a bit more with the company after the match ended. My tongue was loose from the beer, so speaking was not as difficult as it often is, also for some reason it seemed I could understand these people better than others. Maybe it’s because they were asking me the same questions. What am I doing here? I asked them in return whether they would go to America to teach Russian if they had the chance. The boss said he would, others weren’t so sure.
At some point I picked up a guitar that was laying there and played a rinky-dink classical song that I learned in Vladimir under Sasha’s instruction. The guitar wasn’t in very good tune, and I wasn’t about to risk breaking some strings trying to tune it, but nonetheless something like music filled the room for a few seconds. Sasha would be proud.
I thanked the boss for his hospitality, and took off with the other guests. We walked to a nearby friends house to get a sober driver, then drove home.

I am a little frustrated with the scheduling at the chess club. They tell you to be there at a half past two, and you finally start playing an hour later. Maybe I just missunderstood when the weekly tournaments start.
Although I normally play blitz matches with my brother, I’ve had my best showing here at a tempo tournament, which took place one week ago. There were an odd number of people there then, along with one old guy who didn’t want to participate in the tournament. He played five minute blitz matches against the odd man out while the others played the round away at fifteen minutes a player. To my pleasant surprise, I gave the man several good games, beating him at least twice, managing devestating forks with my knight on each occasion. The other matches that I played that week weren’t so bad either, not quite so one-sided as they had been in the past.
Yesterday, on the other hand, was, in some cases, a fall from glory. I sat by helplessly as one young man, the same guy from table seven who was at first struggling against the teenage girl during one of the last rounds of the tournament, somehow marched his pawns to the seventh rank within the first ten moves to win some material. On other occasions, I was oblivious to a number of other moves, many of which cost me the match.
I was pleased to make Gilbert Godfrey put some thought into his moves, and happy to play the local champion, the only person to beat wondergirl in the tournament, almost evenly until I gave him my bishop for nothing. The grandmaster in the green tweed jacket watched us play that match. I think he missed watching me toss my bishop away, so maybe I didn’t come across as a complete chess bumpkin.
There was a guy there yesterday who seemed very interested in me. He expressed a great desire to learn English. This made him rather uninteresting for me, but still I listened attentively to whatever he had to say. I had great difficulty understanding him. Maybe I needed a few beers. Maybe it was the topic of conversation. He was telling me about English and American literature at one point, finally singing some English song that I had never heard before at another. He was clearly a big fan of Britain and or America, anything connected with English, it seemed.
You meet these people every once in awhile. They know more about American history, politics, and culture than I do. Maybe that’s not saying much, or maybe they know more than the average American. It makes sense, I guess. For them, America is one of the most fascinating places in the world, and for me it’s not. I grew up there, which counts for something, but not as much as a slight obscession with the country.

I’ve been here over a month now. I’m more or less settled. I still haven’t gone to the drama theater. I would’ve gone yesterday if I hadn’t stayed for the last few rounds of chess. Next time I’ll leave early. There’s one more showing of Romeo and Juliet this month. I’ve seen it before, of course, even in Russian. Still, I'm a big fan of Shakespeare.