Football

To say football isn't a religion in Brazil is nearly blasphemous itself. This game (known as soccer to everyone Stateside) is sacred to this country. Fans wear their favorite team's jerseys with the same holiness as a cross around their necks. They use plastic chairs instead of church pews, worshiping the game's broadcast from bars every Wednesday and Sunday night. And when their team wins, the fans rejoice like they've just made it into heaven.

Our Brazilian friends have told us about the country's obsession with the sport since we arrived, and described the fervor of the fans. Beyond politics and music and celebrities, nothing stirs patriotism in the country the way football does. It makes grown men openly weep with pride, and is the only reason citizens learn the national anthem -- so they can sing along before each game.

And this lifestyle carries far beyond the field. Your team of choice can define lifelong allies or enemies among strangers, friends and even countries. If someone else is a fan of your team, no matter how rich or poor he may be, you'll become best friends during the match. On the other hand, an insult toward one team will often be answered with physically retribution by the offended fan, whether he's a passerby or your own boss.

Games played abroad define international relations, too. I asked Sabrina about Brazil's relationship with Argentina, a country Brazilians always seem to snub their noses at. I asked if it was the history of wars against each other that's led to this disdain. She said no one cares about the battles. Instead, the resentment grew from one country's football team beating the other during some important match years ago. The countries have been rivals ever since.

Last week, Ben and I got to sneak a peak of some of this zeal after one of the biggest games of the year, the Cupo do Brasil, or Brazil Cup. It was down to just two teams: Coritiba from the south and Rio's own Vasco.

We were at Sabrina's house for a birthday party, and like every other house in the country, their TV was on and tuned in to the game. I wasn't watching much, but I didn't need to have my eyes on the screen to know when a goal was scored. Not only did the announcer light up with the famous "gooooooooooooooal!", but the entire city literally began cheering. It sounded just like we were there at the stadium. People ran out on their balconies to scream "Vasco!" as loud as they could while others sprinted down the streets, shouting and waving flags. The only thing that could drown out the cheers were the celebratory fireworks booming in the air all around.

Ben and I had to leave before the end of the game. But even though we were on the bus, we knew the minute the game was over. Suddenly, the streets filled with seas of people, all screaming and waving Vasco flags in the air. They ran, cheered, clapped, kissed and jumped all around us. Even the bus driver got in the action, tooting the horn with rhythmic honks as we drove through the crowds. It was a little scary, seeing these flash mobs come to life seemingly out of nowhere. Still, maybe I should have made like a true Brazilian and joined in the fun.