World Cup From the stadium to the bar stool, watch for our ongoing reports A L S O _T O D A Y Among the hooligans By Ethan Zindler World Cup scenes: Threat and theft among the hooligans in Lens, France T A B L E_T A L K Have you ever traveled somewhere that you absolutely hated? Share the wheres and whys of it in the Wanderlust area of Table Talk R E C E N T L Y Irredeemably wealthy in Patagonia By Mark Schatzker A bittersweet idyll in paradise (06/29/98) Mondo Weirdo Hooked on Thaipusam: An astonishing religious rite in Malaysia (06/26/98) Mondo Weirdo Going natural Wanderlust asks: What's your favorite nude beach? (06/26/98) Wide-eyed in Galápagos By Barry Lopez An award-winning writer explores the mind-stretching wonders and gut-wrenching terrors of an extraordinary land (06/25/98) USA vs. Iran (vs. Iran) By Ethan Zindler At this World Cup match, the action is in the stands (06/24/98) Browse the Wanderlust Postmark archives		AMONG THE COLOMBIANS | PAGE 1, 2 - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - On three giant screens, the fans watch their longtime heroes Valderrama and Rincon -- both playing in their third and final World Cup -- warming up. The cameras pan to the stands where a mass of all-male English fans cheer, their white and red painted faces complementing their mostly sunburned pink torsos. The comparison with the fans in La Chibcha couldn't be more striking. Both are celebrating game and country. But while the English contingent are "on tour," promoting their sometimes misguided national pride as if it were an export business, New York's expatriate Colombian community is looking home, not abroad, and finding, in its World Cup team, a sense of identity and cohesion with a land left behind. This sense of identity is a subplot to the World Cup being played out all over New York this summer. From Colombians in Jackson Heights to Mexicans in Sunset Park, to the disparate English community that takes over Manhattan's sports bars every time England plays, New York's immigrant cultures take time out from being New Yorkers and reaffirm their original identities. The city is abuzz with talk of the Coupe du Monde. So far this summer, I've had tactical chats with my Yugoslavian super, endured the tunnel-vision logic of the Argentine short-order chef at the local diner and been abused daily by the Aussies in my corner deli, jealous that their team didn't qualify. The U.S. may be out of the World Cup, but New York is still mad for it. Back in La Chibcha, the crowd is scooping up prematch Budweiser and Heineken promotional freebies from two companies that appreciate a strong market when they see one. As the match kicks off, only one question remains. Will Colombia win? Rafael Duque, a native of Cali who came to New York just last year, is sure. "Colombia have the motivation to go and win," he says with quiet confidence. All week, the talk has been of the team's errant genius, Faustino Asprilla, who has been kicked off the squad by coach Hernan Dario Gomez, for criticizing tactics (though he quickly apologized and begged to be brought back). Tino, as he is known, is the one player who can set Colombia alight; plus he knows today's opposition because he played last season for Newcastle United in the English Premier League. Rafael is unfazed by the dilemma. "It doesn't matter about Tino," he says with a smile. "We still have good players." In front of me, a woman turns around and starts chatting. "Are you from Colombia?" she asks. No, I reply, I'm from Wales. "Why are you here then?" It's a good question. Before the game, I was convinced that, watching the game in a Colombian bar, I wouldn't really care if England won or not. Now, with the match under way and the tension mounting, it's obviously going to be more difficult than I first thought. Actually, it's tough being Welsh. If you're a Scot, it's simple. Basically, you hate England -- whatever the situation, whatever the sport. But I've always been a little schizophrenic when it comes to England. Growing up, my Welsh nationalism was only as strong as the strength of the Welsh team. Rugby was easy: For nearly a decade in the 1970s Wales was untouchable and England the laughingstock of the world. Even now that the situation has pretty much been reversed, I still could never bring myself to support England. But football was always different. For whatever reason, when England plays football, I put on hold my distaste for that snooty, misplaced sense of superiority that so many English adopt in addressing their Celtic neighbors. Hence I've cheered on England in World Cups since 1982 without ever feeling I've sold out my homeland. Though I can't subdue my guilty loyalty, it seems tactful not to scream too loudly in La Chibcha. Then England scores, a searing close-quarter shot from winger Darren Anderton that rockets into the top of the net. Inside, I jump for joy; outside, I give a half smile. This is going to be hard. Then, just before the end of the first half, David Beckham, poster pin-up of the English team and fiancé of Posh Spice no less, sends a free kick curling into the right corner of Colombian goalie Mondragon's net. "Yes!" I cry out among the collective groan of the crowd -- causing a few puzzled Colombian supporters to stare at the traitor in their midst. My moment of jubilation marks the beginning of the end for Colombia. From that point on the team fades away and the crowd gradually loses interest in the game. "Disappointed, very disappointed," is all one fan will say afterward. Outside La Chibcha, a few dozen supporters crowd around a television camera broadcasting postgame reactions, but Colombia's bubble has been burst. In Jackson Heights, New York, life returns, at least until Colombia's independence celebrations at the end of July. And World Cup fever moves south to the streets of Brooklyn's Sunset Park, where Mexican fans are preparing for their country's biggest game in a decade -- a second-round encounter with Germany. SALON | June 30, 1998 Matthew Yeomans is a freelance writer living in Brooklyn. He writes for Condé Nast Traveler, GQ and Details.