Who You Calling "Bimbo?"

Lost amidst the general euphoria of being at the Estadio Azteca was the strangest detail about yesterday’s match: the shirt sponsor for both Club America and Monterrey is a bread company called Bimbo. That’s right: Bimbo. Apparently they’re the same company that makes Wonderbread; think about that next time you’re at a Safeway store near you.

What this means, of course, is that the word “BIMBO” is emblazoned in capital letters across each player’s jersey. It reminds me of the Canadian team arriving at the 2000 Sydney Olympics proudly wearing Roots clothing. “Roots,” of course, is Aussie slang for “fuck,” and the Canadians’ clothing turned into a running joke for the duration of the Games. I’d argue having Bimbo as a sponsor’s even funnier since a, it’s a funnier word to begin with, and b, Bimbo’s the shirt sponsor for the Mexico Primera Division’s three most popular clubs (America, Monterrey, and Chivas de Guadalajara). Consequently, it’s a word you see all over Mexico City; maybe Bimbo’s more clever than its name would lead us to believe.

But I digress. If you think Bimbo being a shirt sponsor’s weird then check this out: at halftime, rather than going to their respective dressing rooms, the two teams retreated to the inside of two giant inflatable loaves of bread that were rolled out onto the pitch. You couldn’t make it up; you wouldn’t have to. This, in turn, led to a halftime performance featuring a Mexican synth-pop trio who were joined on stage by Bimbo’s official mascot, a giant white bear who looks like a character from Avenue Q (Bimbo has one of the friendliest-looking corporate logos on earth). And here’s the best part: during the performance Club America’s dance troupe jogged onto the field carrying giant BIMBO banners. Bimbos promoting Bimbo; it’s gotta be a joke, right?

Roots, of course, wasn’t a joke, and it’s possible Bimbo isn’t either, even though the dancers gave me pause. And while yesterday’s match was borderline unwatchable, that won’t stop me from pricing Club America replica kits before leaving Mexico. I once got in trouble for wearing my Sleater-Kinney “SHOW ME YOUR RIFFS” shirt to work; it makes me wonder what would happen if I showed up with the word “BIMBO” written across my chest.

Estadio Azteca

When I arrived in Mexico City, the first question I asked anybody was, “Estadio Azteca?” Just the thought of setting eyes on the famous venue was appealing enough that I thought about seeking it out during my day off. So when I discovered that its primary tenant, Club America, was actually playing while I was in Mexico City, it seemed a foregone conclusion that I’d attend.

But then I wavered. The effort of getting to the stadium–let alone finding a ticket–seemed overwhelming, especially since Mexico City cab drivers generally don’t speak any English. And, well, there was a part of me that would’ve been happy staying close to my hotel, exploring the neighbourhood surrounding the Palacio Nacional, and watching NFL football (which is huge here, by the way…in fact, as we speak I’m watching a Spanish language broadcast of tonight’s Eagles/49ers game). It took an exasperated (yet nonetheless fetching) Blonde to basically guilt me into going by asking, quite reasonably, “When will you ever get this chance again?” She was right, and thus I set out for the stadium. The hotel concierge had told me that the nearby Libreria Ghandi (its real name!) sold Club America tickets; of course, when I got there I learned there was actually another Libreria Ghandi, and after failing to find it I jumped in a cab and said simply, “Estadio Azteca?”

Twenty minutes and eighty pesos later I was outside its main gates. The line-up for tickets was long–I’d been warned of this eventuality–and so I did what any right-minded gringo would do: I went to a scalper. (Yup, that’s right: I bought a ticket from a Mexico City scalper! At this point I’d bet on myself getting mugged before leaving here on Tuesday.) Two hundred pesos and one legitimate ticket later I was inside and climbing up, up, up to the stadium’s third tier, from where I could literally feel the oxygen supply dwindling. The game itself was awful; it ended 0-0, a result which flattered both Club America and its opponent, Monterrey. (This wasn’t even MLS level. Also, both teams featured strikers who were as collected in front of goal as HLP Paul.) But the Azteca itself was absolutely awesome. It’s the fifth-biggest stadium on earth, although its current capacity of 104,000 is actually 11,000 less than when it opened in 1966. Among other things, it’s the only place to have hosted two World Cup Finals; it was also the scene of the infamous England/Argentina quarter-final in 1986 when Diego Maradona scored both the most controversial and the greatest goal in World Cup history. Yet simply noting its capacity doesn’t do the stadium justice; to do that, you’ve got to go to its upper level and climb as high as you can go, stake out a spot on one of its concrete bleachers (almost two-thirds of the venue’s seats are made of concrete), and then feel the Azteca shake, literally shake, when the crowd begins to sing. It’s cold, it’s austere, it’s imposing…and it’s magnificent. In short, the Estadio Azteca was everything I hoped it would be.

It cost me three hundred pesos to get back to my hotel–I will never, ever understand barter economies–and as I’m sitting here with the city’s skyline stretched out behind me I’m trying to wrap my head around the fact that I’ve ended up in a position where afternoon jaunts to the Estadio Azteca are actually possible. Who would’ve predicted this three years ago when I first got into the recruitment racket? And it doesn’t stop with Mexican league soccer. Up next: a weekend in a cloud forest in Mindo, Ecuador! My Fetching Blonde is already green with envy. Soon, you will be as well.

Chillin’ Out Max in Mexico City

Greetings from a very smoggy Mexico City! I have the day off; it’s probably a sad commentary that I’m seriously considering spending it watching NFL football, but I’m also toying with a couple other options.

The first, and most intriguing, is going to the Club America match at the world-famous Estadio Azteca–scene of, among other things, Diego Maradona’s legendary “Hand of God” goal against England in the 1986 World Cup. The other is watching the parade in celebration of Mexico’s 200th anniversary; it’s taking place (I think) right in front of my hotel and features noted Mexican luminaries such as…Michael Phelps (yes, that Michael Phelps…am I alone in not seeing the connection?). This is a fascinating city: yesterday, after working a fair at the American Foundation School, I met up with a couple friends, sampled authentic Mexican tacos (which I lathered in guacamole…yup, that’s right, I ate guacamole yesterday, and I liked it!), and soaked up the atmosphere of the neighbourhood surrounding the Auditorio Nacional. Canadians tend to ignore Mexico City; to us, “visiting Mexico” really means “going to an all-inclusive resort.” But I’m glad I’ve had the benefit of the world’s largest city as my introduction to the country, and I’m excited by an afternoon without timetable but full of possibility. Adios!