It is hot as hell and the sun is beating down like it\u2019s high noon on the equator. But it\u2019s not high noon on the equator. It\u2019s 5:30 on a Sunday evening in August in New Orleans and I am in search of a bar. But not just any bar. A bar that will broadcast NYCFC\u2019s game against the New England Revolution. In which I hope, of course, that NYCFC beat New England.<\/p>\n
So there I am, walking through the edge of the Lower Garden district with my laptop, looking for the Rusty Nail<\/a>, where Jesse behind the bar tells me, sure, we can find that game, sit down and have a drink. Which I do as he scans devices and screens until ultimately turning sad eyes to me. \u201cSorry, pal. I guess we don\u2019t.\u201d But he gives me directions to another bar, in the Irish Channel, Tracey\u2019s<\/a> on Magazine, so I head over there and meet Bob.<\/p>\n \u201cLet\u2019s see what we\u2019ve got\u201d Bob tells me, and brings me over to an empty section of the bar where there\u2019s a screen that no one\u2019s looking at. And someone puts a drink in front of me and we begin searching through the hundreds of channels. I look at my watch and, making a quick calculation that takes into account the time change, note that the game started ten minutes ago. Or perhaps not, because, you know, MLS.<\/p>\n \u201cSorry, man. Doesn\u2019t look like we get that channel,\u201d Bob says. Like it\u2019s his fault this bar doesn\u2019t carry NYCFC matches. Like it\u2019s not the most ridiculous thing in the world that I should walk in off the street in August and want to watch a match being played 1,300 miles away between two teams that have no logical connection to this city, in a league with no representation here. \u201cNo worry, brother,” I tell him as I pack up my laptop. \u201cIf you\u2019ve got a car,\u201d he says, \u201cyou should head up to Finn McCool\u2019s<\/a> in Mid City. They\u2019re sure to have it. They\u2019re a big soccer bar.\u201d And so I get back into the car and drive these ancient, arbitrary, river-run streets, towards Mid City and the home of this mythical warrior.<\/p>\n And as I roll up I have to confess, it doesn\u2019t look promising. Old men are sitting under umbrellas, arguing unintelligibly about something. I open a door with a sign on it that regrets that dogs are no longer allowed inside, and am briefly blinded by the darkness that greets me. I take a few tentative steps inside until my eyes adjust, and then when I can see again, there is Neymar, big as life, schooling Toulouse on the big screen. Okay, I think, this looks promising.<\/p>\n I ask Connor behind the bar if they can show the NYCFC match and she doesn\u2019t even skip a beat. \u201cYou want to sit over there, you can see this screen here,\u201d she says, pointing me to a table in front of a screen that\u2019s showing the Saints\u2019 pre-game (no, not Southampton; the New Orleans<\/em> Saints. The football team. They\u2019re playing in San Diego later). She pushes a few buttons, tilts the screen, and PRESTO CHANGO! There\u2019s the Bronx, there\u2019s Yankee Stadium, and there\u2019s David Villa running his ass off. Ladies and gentleman, the Eagle has landed.<\/p>\n