I was able to visit my friends Rich, Rebecca, and Ben a few years ago in Rio de Janiero. They are doing some amazing work there among children living on the streets.
When visiting, I proposed that we see a soccer (football) game. I had always wanted to go to a Latin America soccer game. I had heard that they get CRAZY and wanted to see the excitement. Ben and Rich knew of some local teams that were playing and the fans hated each other. Normally these teams would be playing in a nearby stadium but it was under renovation. Another stadium had to be used, a stadium in a sketchy and largely unfamiliar neighborhood.
We debated whether to go and were told NOT to go by locals. Since the game was free, everyone was going. This was going to be a particularly rough event.
We decided to go anyway. We went with a large crowd. About five guys and four girls. Rich and Ben boxed our group in, one taking the lead and one following the group..both keeping an eye out for trouble.
I was particularly comforted when we had to go through a security check at the gate and were patted down for weapons. I thought this was a good sign. There wouldn't be any knives or guns. That had to eliminate a lot of potential threats.
The crowds were already excited, but when the game started they went NUTS. Chanting, singing, huge flags waving, big drums and deep bass sounds, firecrackers in the stands, huge waves of people jumping up and down with wildly flailing arms. Some of the words were translated and they were the worst curse words and threats you've ever heard at a game.
Rich and Ben advised us to leave the game before the end. All the parents were taking their children from the stands and careful boyfriends were taking their girlfriends home a little early. We all wanted both to beat the rush and also avoid problems that large crowds can exacerbate.
We got lost on the way out of the stadium, not finding the appropriate exit, and then starting to walk the wrong way home. In fact, besides probably loosely circling the standium again, we were walking the opposite way from home. We ended up changing direction and walking with several other small crowds. We talked loudly in English, relating our stories of the game, while Rich and Ben again looked to avoid trouble. Rich was in the lead and Ben was following the group. We had walked for about 10 minutes before I felt a tug on my rain jacket. I had taken it off a few minutes earlier because it was too hot. I carried it in my right hand.
He pulled, I pulled. He pulled, I pulled and the motion turned me toward him. Time started going very slowly. He jumped kicked me in the stomach but I held my ground. Being someone who abhors violence, I remember thinking that I couldn't punch him, but somehow kicking him seemed fine to my quickly formed moral grid. I was mostly frozen however. At this moment I felt the hand of Rich on my chest, like he was holding me back and giving the robber consent to take the jacket. All in one motion the sense was conveyed that the jacket wasn't worth fighting over and that he could take it. (Only sunglasses remained in the pocket of the jacket; I had taken out my passport earlier in the day).
This fellow ran back across the street to his friends and Ben quickly approached from behind. He had simultaneously been robbed. Someone came behind him and went for the wallet in his back pocket. This violent action ripped his jeans along the seam from the pocket all the way down his pants. He had a big strip of material missing from his pocket to his socks and his boxers were showing.
He was imploring the attacker the whole time to calm down in Portuguese. When this attacker went back to his group of friends, amazingly he was beat up. They had only heard the group speaking English and now were upset that they had robbed someone who was "local", a fellow Portuguese speaker. The mob beat this attacker and someone brought Ben's wallet back to him (without the money) and apologized for the attack.
As we continued to walk, we quieted down and picked up our pace. Police had already started firing tear gas and people were coughing loudly around the bus stops. We were willing to pay extra for a taxi, but we thought we might even break even if we could all squeeze into one stationwagon/van taxi. Nine fares on a bus might equal one taxi fare. We eventually found two taxis that took us home.
There are several versions of this event circulating. Being personally involved, I believe my version of my attack is the most true. Other versions, being circulated by Ben or Rich, show that my attacker was mostly a kid, and probably half my size. They also debate whether there was a jump kick involved in the robbery. But I am confident that he was a late teenager and ready to rumble. And his friends across the street would have jumped in if their friend was in trouble. It didn't stop either attacker that there were five men and four women as part of our group.
As so often happens, cliches about the event build up before the evening ends and the story is retold. The biggest guy in our group told me that if he had seen what had happened, he would been the first to get into the fight to help me. But I seemed to remember him out of the corner of my eye, frozen like everyone else.
I recently retold this story to friends, and I let it slip that "the joke is on him [the robber], that jacket didn't breathe". Evidently this was the funniest part of the story, but I really didn't like that jacket. It was hot and a personal sauna. But maybe I'm just justifying myself for having not responded.
