Tuesday, June 16, 2026

An Oranje weekend

     We had an all-Oranje weekend, and it was a wonderful experience. We marched with the Dutch Army. We (sort of) sang with them. We (sort of) danced with them -- "links, rechts" (translated: left, right).

      We found the now-famous double-decked Orange bus, and climbed aboard. 
      We rooted really hard for the Netherlands' soccer team. Because that's what I've done since I was about 5 years old ... and that's 74 years ago.
      The World Cup of soccer at "Dallas Stadium" -- forgive us, Cowboys -- was a blast.
      It was an all-orange outing. Yes, we wore orange shirts. Some of us also wore orange shorts.
      The Dutch flag is red-white-and-blue -- horizontally -- but the national color is orange because the royal family dates to The House of Orange.
      I have been an American citizen for 66 years; I was 8 when we left Holland late in 1955 as immigrants to the U.S. But I've always loved my original country -- a small but beautiful and progressive place (beautiful in many ways).
      This we've known forever, and it certainly was reaffirmed this weekend: The Netherlands has the greatest sports fans in the world. These people devoutly follow their soccer team (and their speed skaters, and every other sport).
      And they party like no else. They might not win the soccer game -- or the World Cup tournament -- but they are the World Champions of Partying.
--- 
     My World Cup adventure began Saturday afternoon at Fort Worth Central Station. As I arrived for the train ride to Dallas, I saw a man sitting and wearing a bright orange shirt, and holding an orange hat. The shirt had a black KNVB logo (the KNVB is the Dutch soccer organization). 
John and Erica Ven Berg
       John Van Berg was headed to Dallas, and his wife Erica soon walked up, wearing the same type shirt but also orange tennis shoes, carrying an orange bag with a "Holland" logo ... and her fingernails were painted orange.
        They live in Abbenes, a village not far from Schiphol, the Amsterdam airport (John was an air freight worker).
      They raised four sons -- "very expensive and hard for Erica," said John -- and have five grandchildren. Now retired, with the kids grown, they have time to travel and following the Dutch national team is what they do.
      They are among the select group that have season tickets to the Dutch games through the KNVB. In a deal cut with FIFA, the international soccer organization (which makes millions), they paid only $60 per game for the World Cup games here. 
       Only $60 (we paid four times that much), and they are prepared to make it to eight games if the Dutch go all the way, including a possible game in Mexico. However far the Dutch team falls short, their ticket costs will be refunded.    
      Their first trip to America, and they were staying in Fort Worth. But they will rent a car and drive to Houston, and then to Kansas City for the Dutch team's second and third Group F qualifiers.
      John estimated some 5,000 Dutch fans have made the trip from Holland to the USA this month. The majority are set to go the distance. Figure that maybe 15,000 Dutch more supporters (many with ties to the country) will join them at this World Cup.
       One recent memory stands out for John; the European qualifying game in Dortmund, Germany, two years ago. "There were 130,000 Dutch fans in town," he said. "It was a little dangerous in the streets. We didn't get into those crowds [and the famed Dutch march]. We took the metro straight to the stadium."
      But they were ready to join the crowd here. And if you've seen the videos on Facebook, etc., and TV, you know that an estimated 15,000 to 20,000 were in the march to the stadium here Sunday. Read on.    
---
      I took the train to EBJ Union Station in downtown Dallas, and Jason picked me up. Coming in, he and the boys had spotted the Orange bus across a nearby highway. It was in a huge parking lot, and we went right there.
          We met some of the owners of the bus; it is a group of 38 people who -- obviously -- are soccer fans ... and like to party. 
      The bus has become a Dutch soccer symbol, the organizing point for the now routine marches at major international (men and women's) games.
       It is stored in Breda, a town in the southern part of the Netherlands. I am familiar with Breda; on a family vacation there in October 1953, it is where I saw a television for the first time. Dad and I went in a restaurant, and on the TV that day was a Holland vs. Belgium soccer match (our biggest rival then). Holland won the game 1-0; it was played in Rotterdam. 
     The ownership group has taken the Orange Bus to 10 major tournament in a couple of decades, including men's World Cups in Germany, South Africa, Qatar and Brazil, and the European Championships every four years.
        Some of that requires shipping the bus by boat, and the group more recently has received sponsorship for those costs. The boat this time was shipped from Holland to Galveston, and then driven to Houston last week. Many of the owners flew from Schiphol to Houston. 
      The journey to Dallas included a stop at Buc-ee's in Madisonville, where as always it had admirers from all over. 
Galina Visser
     Galina Visser, one of the owners with her husband, was a bit awed in her first American visit.
       "People are so friendly and so helpful," she said. "And it's all so huge -- huge cars, huge trucks, huge highways."
       We were allowed to step into the bus, which -- surprise -- has a bar on the lower level and we climbed the narrow stairs to the upper deck (to pose for photos, of course).
       Also met Ben Schalks, 67, a retired hotel
Ben Schalks knows voetbal
 worker who lives in Noordwijk, a scenic spot on the North Sea coast in the South Holland province. He's a talkative, friendly sort who is typically soccer-nuts and is taking in his fifth World Cup. He and I traded details of some of the Dutch team's historic World Cup games.
     He remembered that in Qatar, "the bus only was allowed to go around the stadium, either going left or right" (appropriate for the now Dutch dance craze).
      Observed Ben: "Dutch fans are better at celebrating than our team is at playing voetbal sometimes."
---
      Then, onto the FanFest at the Fair Park area in Dallas (think Texas State Fair). A wide-spread setup, with three huge screens to view the games, an amphitheater setting and a huge berm, and people/fans representing and wearing the colors of so many of the countries.
     The prevalent color this day was Brazil's bright yellow and green. But when Morocco scored first, we realized it, too, had a good share of supporters. Still, it was much louder when Brazil -- always the one of the favorites -- hit the equalizing goal. Both teams' fans danced and chanted throughout the match.
      We met a young man, Joshua Voshurt, only 22, from Mijdrecht, an assistant manager in a restaurant making his first journey to the U.S. He flew from London to Dallas "all on my own" and his impression of this country was "an amazing place."
Daniel Oordt, the orange suit
man  (and march leader)
     Then there was the "orange suit man," Daniel Oordt, 31, an major airline pilot but now known as the leader of the Dutch Army parade at the front of the bus.
      Coming through the crowds, he was stopped repeatedly for handshakes and photos. Just last week he was featured in People magazine. Originally from Leiden, the neat university town near The Hague, he now lives in Tampa, Florida, but he hasn't missed a Dutch international soccer game in 11 years, and wearing his orange suit (orange everything), he's the unofficial head cheerleader.  
      But the day's last stop was the highlight -- the Dutch pep rally. Maybe 500-750 orange-clad fans -- waving orange flags -- dancing, jumping, singing (almost all of it in Dutch), led by two excitable deejays. 
      Almost of the people knew all of the songs, no matter what age, what shape. We'd seen this before; Bea and I were on vacation in Amsterdam (and Zaandam) when Willem-Alexander became the King on April 30, 2013. What a day of celebration that was. But this singing and dancing was much the same. 
     Of course, I was clueless about the songs. (Good chance my mother would have known some.)
     And what I learned quickly was that the "links, rechts" dance number was not for me (although I had practices). Too fast, too much movement for this old not-trim body. Had to be careful to keep from being trampled. Left, right; left, right .. forget it.
---
      So many orange shirts, Dutch soccer teams shirts of all sorts (with the names of many of the great Dutch players), orange flags, the national flag (we brought one) ... all just a reminder that -- as we like to hear -- if you ain't Dutch, you ain't much.
      We met Americans -- with Dutch family backgrounds -- from all over. The young man sitting next to me during the game was from Los Angeles; his grandparents had been immigrants from Rotterdam. Met Dutch people from The Hague, Groningen and Den Bosch and, of course, Amsterdam (all of them are Ajax fans). 
       Met several Dutch natives now living in the Dallas area, and we saw a Facebook video featuring Henk's Deli -- off Northwest Highway in Dallas -- which we've visited often. It was the host for, surprise, a Dutch fans' party.
      Listening to conversations around The Bus and various places near the stadium, I tried to make out what the Dutch people were saying. I can pick up words here and there; sometimes if they speak slowly, I almost can understand what they're saying.
     But I forgot how to speak Dutch a long time ago. Know a lot of words, some small phrases. Putting together a sentence isn't happening. My sister, only 4 when we came to the U.S., knows more Dutch than me.
     Even my parents, still fluent in Dutch, after a few years in America spoke English at home and thought in English. But Dad still perused the Dutch newspapers online. 
       I did realize that at my age I have outlasted many Dutch fans. When I asked some if they knew these names -- Abe Lenstra, Kees Broekman and Wim Van Est (the country's superstar athletes of the early 1950s) -- there was very little recognition. Only Lenstra, our best striker in voetbal for more than a decade, but only because there is a stadium named for him.
     Also found supporters of each of the top three teams in Holland -- reigning PSV (Eindhoven), Feyenoord (Rotterdam) and Ajax (Amsterdam, my favorite team since about 1952). 
---
     Sunday morning began with a nice hard rainfall. Still raining as we drove to the stadium area; we avoided the $60, $80 and $100 parking areas to find a spot on a street a good mile (maybe two) from Globe Life Field.
      So, a good walk past the new baseball stadium to the left-field side of the old baseball stadium (now Choctaw Stadium) where the Orange Bus was parked.
      The music, the dancing and the singing had started, and there were a few hundred people there. They kept coming ... and coming ... and coming.
       Doing the "links, rechts" dance was a bit tedious. Some of us avoided it. 
       By the time the bus began to roll toward "Dallas Stadium," it was estimated that at least 15,000 people were walking (marching). If you've seen the overhead photos or videos, it is an awesome sight.
      We stopped to enter Texas Live, where it was busy with TV screens (and food and drinks) available in multiple spots. Left the grandsons there, with a group that had come with us.     
     Onto the big stadium, not much trouble entering, then a four-escalator ride to the very top row. But still, a great view of the field from the right side beyond one of the goals. You can really see how the game develops from there, and I, for the most part, deliberately watched the field and not the giant TV screen above it.      Quite a thrill to watch the pregame ceremonies. Love Wilhelmus, the Dutch national anthem.
---
     About the game: A slow-paced, deliberate first half. A game of chess on the pitch. Both teams played conservatively, rarely speeding up, few scoring chances. The second half was terrific; both teams attacking frequently, playing to open spaces, and the four goals were met with thunderous reactions.
      The attendance was listed at 69,285 -- short of the capacity (70,649) in the stadium readjusted for soccer. 
     There were large patches of orange-clad fans in the stadium. But there might have been even more blue-shirted Japanese fans. And they were just as enthusiastic as the Dutch, maybe more.
    Seemed to us that the response to the Japanese goals was much louder than when Holland scored.   
    The Japanese rhythmic clapping was impressive; their incessant drum banging and chanting -- they never stopped -- honestly, was annoying. 
     We thought they were chanting Let It Go. But my Dutch/Canadian cousin -- also named Van Thyn -- informed me today that the chant was Vamos Nippon ("Let's Go Japan").
      And the blue bags many Japanese fans were waving, they used at game's end -- a fine tradition -- to pick up stadium trash. They were happy to do it.
     They were happier than the Dutch fans with the game's final 2-2 tie. It was a letdown for us, with Japan scoring the tying goal with about eight minutes remaining. It wasn't a loss, but it didn't feel good.
     It was the first time in the Dutch's World Cup history (some glorious, far too much heartbreak) that we gave up the lead twice in a game. We have been a world power program since 1974 (so, 52 years).
     It makes this Saturday's game with Sweden -- in Houston -- an almost "must-win" outing if we hope to advance out of Group F to the final 32.
     So as the Japanese picked up trash, many Dutch fans were headed back to party some more.
---
     Personally, our weekend was a gift from our son. Yes, a birthday/Father's Day present, and maybe payback for the 11 years Beatrice and I followed him through his soccer-playing days.
    Thought of how much Bea would have supported us, and thought of my Dad, who took me to my first games in Amsterdam in the early 1950s.
     In 1994, Dad and I saw the Dutch play two World Cup games in Orlando (a loss and a victory); the first game his seat was right behind the Netherlands' bench. He loved it. He was 75 then, younger than I am now.
      So this was a family experience again. But in a greater sense, it was also my Dutch family. Proud to be an American, but love my Dutch heritage. 
     I always will be an Oranje fan, and winning the World Cup would be a dream come true. Short of that, where's the party? Links or rechts.  

  A video:

https://www.facebook.com/share/r/1MFuaegxUL/ 

   

      

Friday, February 20, 2026

A "conversation" on The Mike Stone Show


February 14, 2026

    In this episode of The Mike Stone Show: Music, Stories, and Conversations, Mike sits down with veteran sports journalist Nico Van Thyn for a heartfelt and insightful conversation.

     Nico reflects on his journey from Amsterdam to America, his 45-year career in sportswriting, and the personal experiences that shaped his life beyond the headlines.

     This episode includes discussion of Holocaust history and real-life acts of violence. Listener discretion is advised. These stories are shared to inform and enlighten, not to sensationalize.

https://www.buzzsprout.com/2589934/episodes/18684545-a-life-in-sports-and-survival-nico-van-thyn-s-journey?t=0



Friday, February 6, 2026

A different anniversary day

     Our 49th wedding anniversary is today and as most of you likely know, Beatrice is no longer here to celebrate it.                                                         Miss her every day. But it is especially daunting today, as much as any day since the fateful Saturday, October 18. 
     It will be 16 weeks tomorrow. We go on with our lives, but it will never be the same. It just won't. She'll always be in our thoughts, in our everyday choices.
     For me, it's much less interesting here. She was great company ... most of the time, although the last couple of years included a lot of difficult days.
       People ask how I am, how am I doing, and the answer is, "fine." But not as fine as before.
        Don't mind living alone; I did have the final 4 1/2 months in the apartment by myself once we moved her to skilled nursing and then the memory-care unit at Trinity Terrace, our seniors residency in Fort Worth.
     I have received a great deal of support -- sympathy, encouragement -- from friends, here at Trinity Terrace, and the wide span of my longtime connections, even beyond those who remain on my contacts lists. So that's nice.
       But the anniversary date hits home.
       For years, Bea and I would exchange cards, and even flowers and candy were part of it, and always an outing for a good meal.  Nothing fancy because that wasn't us, but Bea liked Red Lobster or P.F. Chang ... and I think, I hope, she liked the attention.
        She wasn't the sentimental one in this pairing for remembering significant dates, but she did like February 6, although over 48-plus years, she must have had second -- third, fourth, etc. -- thoughts about it.
        Hey, it was often a disagreeable marriage. As I've noted several times, I apologized a lot. But one of the most touching things Bea said in discussing our relationship -- as her days were dwindling and she was weakening -- was "we were two difficult people."
        It was a sweet moment.
        In preparing this piece, I thought about last year's anniversary (No. 48). Went to my gratitude journal entry for that day; it read in part: "... We got lots of attention on Facebook and e-mail. Very nice. Bea again was depressed in the morning, but got going some and spent almost all the day on the couch. She was reasonably happy. She just is not eating much, although I keep trying and asking about [food] items we have."
     The next day's entry, though, is telling: "Bea was very depressed this morning, unwilling to get out of bed or do anything, very tearful. I was having a tough time; thank goodness the caretaker came in at 9. We found Bea on the bedroom floor, where she had fallen and was crying. But [the caretaker] settled her down, and did a good job with her until [leaving at] 1 p.m."
      This was only a couple of weeks after some entries in my book about really difficult moments, including times when -- lost --she wandered out of the apartment, and a month when several times she had no idea who I was.
       Many more examples I could cite. Hard days, and this was a few months before the uterine cancer began making its presence known.
       So, yes, she had her tearful days. We never talked about it; she wasn't one to feel sorry for herself openly. She didn't complain, even months later when we could see her wincing in pain. 
        But deep down, she must have felt her time was short, and the thought of leaving her kids and grandkids -- and everyone else -- had to be depressing.
       In my view, our kids -- Jason and Rachel -- handled all this well. I know they were hurting. With her, they were loving and supportive, and both were very close to her, always. For all of us, our tears came privately.   
---
     In the weekly support group for Alzheimer's/dementia caretakers -- we meet every Friday morning at the James L. West Center, just across the street from Trinity Terrace, a frequent discussion is about grief.
     If you are living with someone, or caring for them, with memory issues, I recommend finding a group like this.
      Part of the journey is that we grieve, long before the final parting. Putting that grief in perspective, dealing with it, is among the lessons.
      Our moderator/educator, Hollie, suggested recently that one exercise is to write a letter to Alzheimer's or dementia expressing your feelings, be it anger or sorrow or frustration.
      I suppose this will count as my letter. Figure the wedding anniversary is good timing for it.
     The grief isn't on the surface. It's deep, and sometimes it's surprising. There are daily reminders of her, ones that bring tears. Hollie terms these "grief bursts."
      Pictures, certainly. Thinking of her moments with Josie, coloring together. Eli at the swimming pool here or walking the labyrinth with his Granny closeby. Watching Jacob play trumpet or Kaden play soccer. A hundred, thousand moments with Jason and Rachel ... and me.
        Watching CBS Sunday Morning and the PBS Newshour -- two Bea favorites. Seeing YouTube or TV clips of Willie Nelson and Kris Kristofferson singing ... she loved 'em both.
         Our Social Hour programs here at Trinity Terrace, especially the musical ones. Bea enjoyed them. The White Elephant Store ladies working hard here; she was in charge of that for a few months.   
       During Bea's last year, it wasn't anger I was feeling. Those who know me know how anger has been part of life, often a destructive -- and costly -- anger. But not here. 
      Frustrating, yes, especially when Bea would not do things to keep her safe. Did not realize her limitations, did not know how to best stay safe ... dementia ruled. Thus, falls and bruises. Luckily, no breaks or stitches. 
      Mostly, I felt sad, helpless, resigned to the knowledge that it would not get better. But no one was to blame. This was her fate, our fate. She was a proud person, and she didn't want pity.
       Had a caretaker friend who told me he felt sorry for himself. That was never me. Felt sorry for the kids, and for her. Such a very smart, beautiful woman did not deserve this (no one does).
       At times, it seems surreal that she's gone. I think when I get in bed -- she usually went to bed much earlier than me -- that she'll be there in the morning. But as the Zombies sang in 1964: "... She's not there."
---
     To go with this piece, I prepared a collage of Bea photos. Also did a collage of Jason and Rachel together. A former boss once told another editor that "layout was not [my] strong suit." (Nice recommendation, huh?) 
      I like these layouts. Fairly easy to do on computer; just crop photos, size them, and put them in order.
      Bea would have scoffed at the collage of her, rolled her eyes and said not necessary. But I know she would have loved the one of the kids.
              Many people have said to focus on the good times, the good memories. So, one is that her kids and grandkids all visited with her in the final weeks; the photo of Josie sitting next to her is a treasure. And her youngest sister, Alice, and husband Leonard visited her two days before the end.
     Bea went through a period of anger -- physical and verbal -- with me and the nurses/staff -- for about a month. As Rachel noted, there was a lot of pent-up anger from years of conflicts.
     But that settled, and one really pleasant memory for me is that every day the last couple of months when I would go to see her, she would spot me and smile, her eyes brightened, and every day she would say, "I love you."
      Every day, and on the last evening 112 days ago, I answered, "And I love you. I'll be back soon."    
      I will tell her now, because in a way she is still there: Happy anniversary, honey.