A hint of bluster met me as I biked to catch the Northeast Regional from DC to New York. It was still hard to believe that I was going: I had won my first World Cup lottery for a chance to buy tickets but found none to afford. I lost my next three. Five weeks prior, I was still ticket-less. Then a generous friend stepped in with a golden ticket. Now I was on my way to Norway-Senegal in the great state of New York-New Jersey—if the weather held. A flash flood warning was in effect; the potential for lightning strikes and a flooded pitch threatened to postpone the match. The setting did not bode well—MetLife Stadium sits in the middle of a giant wetland, immediately surrounded by an impressive expanse of asphalt. The Norwegians had been practicing their rowing; they would show, the path already charted by one intrepid paddler. Hell and high water, I would too. My mom expressed concern over text and soon sent me a phone number. Should anything go wrong, I was to call her high-school beau of some 50 years prior who now served as a local councilmember. The dream, however damp, would come true.
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