My chest vibrates from the noise of the crowd as we enter the stadium: Roars | yells | bleating vuvuzelas coincide with every dramatic foul and goal attempt. Passion. I’m bombarded with high-fives and hand-shakes from complete strangers as I make my way through the crowd. Smiling children and men launch artillery-like attacks of fire crackers | toilet paper | smoke bombs from the packed stands. I do my best to avoid taking fire. The eggy smell of sulfur and smoke is thick. Young flag-holders wave the colors of Antigua as if victory has already been achieved. A battalion of fans rush the referee: his questionable call just cost Antigua goal. Bad move, sir. They yell words I dare not repeat as they attack the fence, which, lucky for the referee, is the only physical structure standing in-between himself and the gloriously epic beating of a lifetime. | 5-1 Antigua | The score might have been higher had they not stopped the game due to fighting in the field | Best sports game I’ve ever been to.