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thirteen
tbilisi
far from moscow
where the soviet union is an unwelcome conqueror
rows and rows and rows of georgians surround us
we are packed in with belgian tourists
separated and separate from thousands of soccer fans
we are protected from them
they are protected from us
the belgians beside us are vocal colourful anxious
georgia vs moscow
here soccer is more than a game
the belgians clap and wave bright scarves
and whistle at each player's entrance
the waves of georgians simply sit and stare and clap
politely
quietly
mindful of the first thirty rows
reserved for the military
a green wall silent and disciplined
unable to move
i try to look in the eyes
of the young ordered soldiers
but their backs never turn to face us
and their faces are lost in trenchcoats and caps
i see a soccer game
it is not unusual
but i feel eyes glancing staring peeking
envious
as we clap and cheer
the belgians' banners slogans and scarves
our western clothes
a tiny dot of colour
flickering in a bowl of faded green and grey
the score is tied
a dull rumble of excitement
whispered carefully
passes under and over the stadium
moscow is not loved past the thick rows of soldiers
a soccer ball shot
fired and misses
back and forth trampling cleats
a drive towards the goal keep
in the final seconds the belgians are feverish
a soaring arc past outstretched hands
caught in a billowing net
a gun explodes
moscow has lost
we hurry through ignited energy to our bus
surrounded by georgians exuberant in victory
drawing courage from adrenaline
watched by battle stern green eyes
our bus pulls out
creeping through a thick field of frenzy
our canadian flag taped to a window
spotted by the crowd
who rock our bus and wave and cheer
and for a strange moment
i am trapped inside a glassy cage
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