A project

Anecdotal commentary on sporting projects from a taxi driver in Hungary

“What I like about America is you make a project”. 

I’m in a cab on my way to Viktor Orbán’s hometown of Felcsút, to watch a European Qualifier between Israel and Switzerland; it’s relocated, given circumstances, from Israel to Hungary. 

“You have a goal, you know? You say: we’re going here. And you make a plan.” 

He later imagines that in Hungary perhaps they have fewer plans, but retain a soul for things. In football it’s the same, he says, as places like Mexico and Argentina.

On arrival to Felscút I find a dark quiet night. I pierce the Pancho Aréna’s perimeter through a scrupulous ring of regular police (who inspect my passport carefully) and well-armed men in camouflage, sporting assault weapons, guarding a stadium placed suspiciously close to the Prime Minister’s small village estate. 

I’d also find Hungarian Prime Minister Viktor Orbán there himself. A few eyes in commotion pointed the way and I turned to find him standing there nonchalantly, a few rows back from the press tribune, surveying the mostly empty stadium filled with Eyal Golin blasting, blue and white balloons floating above the pre-match warm-up below.

But first I’m in a cab gliding out past Budapest, talking to my cab driver about Dániel Gazdag and Yunus Musah. 

The soft low rhythm of techno music guides us to Felcsút in the background. My driver compliments America’s perceived project-launching, in response to my query for opinions on Americans that play soccer. 

As he considers the question thoughtfully, the first name he finds is Christian Pulisic. He’s good, he says, but he disappears between big moments. Running through the ensuing cast of characters, my driver (who shares a first name with The Hound from Game of Thrones: Sandór) comes most alive at the mention of Tim Weah and Yunus Musah. Over the latter we bond for some moments over mutual admiration for Musah’s work in the midfield. 

The project Sandór compliments? Contending with the grand contenders of international football. Unfortunately for the impatient, Sandór says we’re twenty to thirty years out. Think of where you came from, he says, reminiscing on the 1994 World Cup. 

He could be right. Though the next few years will have their chance at rebuttal, should he be incorrect in that time’s distance estimation.

Felscút is a small place. Its inhabitants number about 1,700. We drive toward it through the dark six p.m. abyss of a winter evening in Central Europe. As we do we turn our conversation toward the career of Dániel Gazdag, and the rather specific American project called Major League Soccer. 

“Better and better” he says after a pause, on request for an opinion of it. The most memorable moment in its history for Sandór remains the 2007 acquisition of David Beckham. He’s un-alone internationally. He draws a direct line from Beckham to the recent arrival of Lionel Messi. 

Messi’s arrival then reminds him (with a curse word unfurled, followed by an apology) of the traitors departing Europe for Saudi Arabia. It’s for cash, only for cash, and they were already making so much of it, he laments to me. A few sentences of deep felt pain are spared for the very specific loss of N’Golo Kanté.

Something deep and different about young players, in their prime, he emphasizes, departing the heart of the game (Europe) as he sees it, is striking.

The Saudis have a project of their own I suppose to him. 

Does he watch the Saudi League? No way. 

Shortly after, I’m left at the foot of a warily guarded stadium in the midst of relative nowhere Hungary. The armed guards are requesting my passport, a car full of Israelis arrive with German license plates. I’m left there contemplating his departing remarks on the difference between having a project and a soul for things.