Woke up in: Cologne
Worked in: Gelsenkirchen
Went to bed in: Cologne
He had red hair, his freckles had freckles, his skin was sunburned pinkish and John Adams - the United States' soccer fan, "not the president" - had blood on his white U.S. jersey.
He looked like they, loyal travelers abroad from Boston, Chicago, Dallas and Long Beach, all felt as they limped back to hotels in Hamburg, Frankfurt, Dusseldorf and Essen.
Like any American sports fan after a deflating loss, they broke down the loss piece by piece, kicking their luggage or swigging their beers to make a point.
"We need a new goalie," said Adams, a goalkeeper from Las Vegas. "Beasley played awful.
"We did not come out to play at all."
The complaints, and presented antidotes, varied as much as the Americans who presented them.
Jim Henry, the Steelers fan from outside Seattle, expected more from Bobby Convey, didn't like Landon Donovan playing as a forward ("He does get enough touches that way") and was rooting for Eddie Johnson to get the goal he needs to get on track.
Bill Connolly, Norwell, Mass. father attending his first major tournamenr with his son Jason, 15, was - like Bruce Arena - disappointed with the teams unwillingness to get forward and attack.
"It felt like we were moving backward," said Connolly.
On a train platform in Gelsenkirchen, Curtis White, a three-time World Cup veteran like Brian McBride, explained to the newbies, "If your going to lose, it's better to lose 6,000 from home.
Nobody likes us, we don't care
When we were in korean
Stephanie Riveria and Paul Levine were a couple from Washington D.C. who had just attended their first U.S. World Cup match. They planned to frame their tickets, even if the loss made Riveria a lot more upset than she expected.
Most had difficult coming to grips with the team's play. All singled out DaMarcus Beasley as a scapegoat.
None gave any credit to the Cyech team whatsoever.
Which must mean that soccer has made the leap into the truly mainstream.