In 1986 while playing foosball (and repeatedly losing) I felt like I could not openly declare that I was representing Brazil. So instead when commentating my games I began using alternate names for my players. For example I would refer to some by their real names such as Socrates as Brasileiro Oliveira and Zico as Arthur Antunes Coimbra. I got creative with others. For example I referred to Brazil's third goalkeeper Leao as Jeanao by associating Lee with jeans. This immediately resulted in my opponents suspecting I was representing Brazil and that the player I was hinting out was Junior although I convinced them otherwise by indicating this was my keeper. Following my heavy defeats, I few days later we played on my videogame system (even though the game was football and not soccer) and I openly admitted to being Brazil. The fact that now each of my goals were worth 7 points helped me easily make up for the multiple prior heavy defeats.
"My parents, brother, and I left Iran in 1980, shortly after the revolution. After a brief stay in Italy, we packed all our belongings once again and headed west to the exotic and the unknown: Vancouver. We had recently been accepted as landed immigrants, meaning Canada graciously opened its doors and we gratefully accepted; we arrived at Vancouver International Airport on my 10th birthday, three suitcases and one sewing machine in tow. After respectful but intense questioning at immigration, we were dropped off at a hotel on Robson Street, which was then still a couple years shy of becoming the fashionable tourist hub it is today. We were jetlagged, culture shocked, and hungry, so that first night, my father and brother courageously ventured out into the wild in search of provisions. I fell asleep before they returned. The next morning, I woke up at 5 a.m. and ravenously feasted on a cold Quarter Pounder with cheese and limp French fries that had been left by my beds...

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