I Am Lovin' Me European Soccer Fans

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I hate soccer.

And don't AT me.

I said what I said, and I meant it. Paint drying is more exciting than soccer.

The only sport worse on Earth is tied between women's golf or basketball.

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Anyway, now that the pleasantries are out of the way and I have established my disinterested, unbiased bona fides, I have to say, I am mad for the young European soccer fans who have come over. They are doing their dream tour of the United States before the FIFA World Cup games in the various cities get underway, and sharing them on X.

I don't know if any of you have been keeping up with the various accounts - a fair amount of the really hilarious ones are German, but I've seen Scottish, Japanese, and South African, too. They have been nothing short of absolutely charming, while discovering all the magical things that make America special with the wide-eyed wonder of your four-year-old's first look at an elephant up close.

And what's more, as a friend of mine said, they're a mirror reminding us just how special we are, in case we've forgotten.

One of the fellows who really captured hearts is named Freddy. He's a German who's here with a bro, and they are doing a road trip right.

He and his buddy landed in New York and then headed to Atlanta. 

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To be honest, the Scots have been busy sending out helpful hints on how to speak 'American' to their traveling fans...

Do not cheerfully tell American airport security that your granny 'packed you a piece' for the flight. They will shut down the entire terminal and you will never see Scotland again.

...for fans to read when they weren't complaining.

Or waking up the AirB&B neighbors.

Another young German named Fiago was up in the Windy City, sampling the food and wandering around.

He experienced an emotional moment at the stadium.

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And this made my heart so glad.

Meanwhile, Freddy was on the road, and had to stop at the Retail Holy Land of Legend.

One fellow explained how it feels for a European to be in a Walmart. He said he got lost the first time and can't resist its siren call.

Freddy knew where to stop for breakfast. 

The beverage choices after what looked like a Georgia zip-lining trip almost undid him.

The gorgeousness of this great country is breathtaking.

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Tennessee to Alabama and Florida, all on the way to New Orleans.

The boys' road trip has been most excellent so far.

Witnessed the flight of the War Eagle at Auburn's stadium.

And found that most cherished of roadside institutions - the beaver's place.

Dinner on sacks of seed corn at one in the morning.

Dude. With an XL drink.

The beauty of Mobile Bay's Eastern Shore.

Always helpful folks in the comments, too.

Blowing the unsuspecting European mind in Daphne, Alabama.

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They'd discovered a country singer named Ella Langley. Freddy said she'd become 'basically the soundtrack of our trip.' The station they were listening to knew about their trip and almost brought the boys to tears.

Through it all, the stops at the everyday places we all go - no resorts, no amusement parks, no high-end hotels or restaurants - Freddy, his friends, and every other soccer tourist on their first jaunt around the country have been, like - 

America - WOW

And that goes for the Americans who live here, no matter what state or what circumstances.

I CAN'T WIPE THIS SMILE OFF MY FACE

FREEDOM

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...No one has ever asked me this. In my land, the egg arrives as the cook decrees, and you thank the egg, the cook, and your ancestors, in that order.

"Scrambled? Over easy? Sunny side up?" she offered, gently, the way one talks a man down from a roof.

The terms did not help. Over easy — over WHAT, easily? Easy for whom? Sunny side up — these people have named an egg after the dawn. Who does that. I needed time.

I have chosen battlefields faster than I chose those eggs.

She refilled my coffee and said she'd come back. It was the second refill. I had been deciding for nine minutes.

The man on the next stool leaned over. "Just say over easy, man. You can't go wrong."

"And if I CAN go wrong?"

"...it's eggs, buddy."

It's eggs. Eight hundred years of my family training itself to want nothing, and this man dismissed all of it with a fork in his hand. He was right. I will never tell him.

"Sunny side up," I declared, with the weight of a man choosing a path for life. "I will face the sun."

"You got it, hon."

The eggs came. Two small suns on a white plate, looking up at me. Golden. Ridiculous. Exactly what I wanted.

So THAT is what wanting feels like. I had to cross an ocean and hold up a breakfast line to learn it.

The man on the next stool got his check and left. "Good choice," he said.

I have never been more proud of anything.

A man does not ask the eggs to be simple. He only becomes a man who knows what he wants.

Tomorrow: over easy. I am almost ready.

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We have so much here - from Dodge Ram pick up trucks to Buc-ees and Bass Pro Shops...or exactly the eggs you want, how you want them.

WHEN you want them.

Sometimes it just takes a joyful mirror held by people who have none of those things, whose lives enjoy none of those simple pleasures we take for granted every day of our lives, to show us how precious what we have truly, truly is.

Welcome, soccer fans.

Thank you for taking the time to share US with us.

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