Friday--------
South Africa vs. Mexico
vs. 
Sixteen years of thinly veiled torpor is finally over. South Africa’s first all-inclusive triumph has arrived! For sixteen long years, we’ve been asked to accept the preposterous notion that racial unity in South Africa was moving forward at a rapid clip. First there were the tourism videos produced by the Mandela government that somehow expected us to view glistening shopping malls as part of the same culture as Kwaito Jams. Then there were the commerce promotions that demanded I observe the operations of the DeBeers Mines and Stellenbosch vineyards while ignoring all the destitute black laborers in the background. While living in Africa, I was found South African Television shows that asked me to be believe, among other things, that tan, blonde Afrikaners were lifelong friends with thickly-accented Zulus.
More recently, there was the appallingly flawed “Invictus”.
A rugby championship as the defining moment lifting the long dark shadow of
Apartheid? Give me a fucking break! White fans of the Pretoria Blue Bulls just
went to Soweto last week…for the first time…ever. The real road to a historic
breakthrough of national pride and racial harmony begins tomorrow as the world
watches Bafana Bafana take the pitch in Johannesburg. As I’m sure I’ve said
before, this is an entity that can be cheered from the slums of Soweto to the
Cape Town Golf & Racquet Club. Don’t let the coverage fool you. South
Africa is still a heavily segregated country. Indigenous peoples may have the crown,
but Afrikaners and Indians still hold all the jewels. Moreover, they guard it
with more ammunition than a West Bank farmer. Security at extravagant
Boer-gated communities rivals that of an Israeli country club. Of course, there
remain some positives that I don’t have time to delve into. Merely wish to make
sure we appreciate what an incredible moment this is J J
No easy debut for “da boys, da boys”, facing off against the
CONCACAF powerhouse south of the border. Nothing personal, Amigos. Love that “bags
of urine” spirit:
You simply waited too long to get of the cursed Sven Goran
Eriksson. Pienaar grabs a brace and either Marquez or dos Santos prove an
inadequate answer.
.
THE LINE: South Africa + 1
Goal
WHAT TO WATCH FOR: Root for Siphewe Tshabalala to get the
ball as much as possible. Coolest name of this tournament. Matthew Booth is the
big white star for the South African team. Looking at his head, I’ve concluded
that Mr. Peanut fathered him. Please, everyone, NO SMART-ASS REMARKS ABOUT
ZUMA’S PASSION FOR EXTRA-MARITAL AFFAIRS DESPITE THE FACT THAT HE’S A
POLYGAMIST. Overall, I’m fairly satisfied with the job he’s done thus far
regionally. No, I do not care that he thinks a shower afterwards is as
effective as a condom.
Editor’s
retroactive notes:
RESULT:
South Africa 1, Mexico 1. The pre-kickoff festivities sadly claimed a
granddaughter of the iconic Mandela. She tragically died in an automobile
accident en route to an opening night party. Speaking in place of Mandela, Zuma
noted repeatedly that the ANC Founder insisted that match begin in accordance
with the pre-arranged schedule. Sepp Blatter added some chivalrous words before
riling up the crowd with the emphatic proclamation “Africa has waited long
enough!” Archbishop Desmond Tutu blessed the proceedings and the first- ever
African World Cup was underway.
Nerves
dominated an opening 45 during which the Vuvuzelas stole the show. In spite of
the fact that the Mexicans dominated possession, the yellow clad fans in
Johannesburg’s Soccer City bounced and danced with all the effervescence of a
group who’s side had already clinched the title. It was none other than
Tshabalala that set the entire country ablaze with a wicked blast ten minutes
after the restart. Masilela, Letsholonyane, and Teko Modise worked a
sensational sequence of passes to bring the ball out of the back and onto the
boot of Kagisho Dakgacoi just past the middle of the pitch. Dakgacoi alertly
noticed Tshablala preparing to outrun Aguilar on the left flank and provided
him a gorgeous diagonal through ball. Tshabalala was well up to the placement,
timing his run perfectly so that he would slip past the hapless defender to
receive the ball onside. Tshabala had only the keeper to beat. The only way he
could miss was if he took a poor shot.
As
Tshbalala sprinted twenty or so meters with Aguilar nipping at his heels one
simply sensed that this HAD to be it. Two strides into the area he powered a
laser-like drive past Perez into the top right corner. It was precisely the
cracking start Africa deserved. Within minutes the Youtube server was flooded
with uploaded clips of fans all across the country going ballistic over the
electrifying strike. Tshabalala and mates celebrated with a rhythmically
choreographed synchronized dance number on the right sideline. No one looked
foolish imitating it, not even the white boys. Africa had arrived in the most
stylish of fashions.
The
thirty-five minutes of additional play remain difficult to recall. Rafael
Marquez equalized twenty minutes later while Modise and (in the final moments)
Katlego Mphela struck the post. Though the hosts could have won the match were
it not for some rotten luck, not one single Bafana booster appeared to come
away disappointed. A truly immortal moment for the continent’s longest
suffering colonially subjugated population. Make a movie about THAT, Eastwood.
Uruguay vs. France
vs. 
vs.
Never a shortage of reasons to hate the frogs, particularly
if you happen to be a German EU proponent. This Greek crisis gave the other
half of the Frano-German Engine more opportunities to propose fantastically
stupid grandiose ideas that the Germans end up paying for. A European Monetary
Fund (EMF) to protect YOUR bond purchases? Solidarity always seems like a great
idea until you send us the bill. Naturally, I could go on and on, bitching
about the Airbus board, the Sarkozy-Villepin nonsense, anti-music piracy laws,
and continued West African oppression, Loads of stuff to love about the French
as well. Sometimes, however, it simply feels like having a hot, chronically
depressed, chain-smoking girlfriend who brings the thunder in the sack, yet
never shuts up and never picks up the check L L
Sorry Froggies, but you have no right to be here this time.
The infamous “Henry Handball” is not forgotten. Not only did you rob the
deserving Irish of a spot here in King Zuma’s court, you also deprived us all
of Giovanni Trappatoni!! I cannot forgive you for this sweetie. You should have
done the honorable thing and replayed the match!! I’m picking you today, as an
inferior opponent has no chance against Anelka, Malouda, Gallas, and Govou.
Otherwise, I expect you to meet your demise fairly early.
Sois un ange er Va-t-en!!!
Sois un ange er Va-t-en!!!
THE LINE: France + 2 Goals
WHAT TO WATCH FOR: France does have more Star-power than any
team in the tournament. If you are considering following the Premiership next
season, I suggest memorizing the squad. Boo Djibril Cisse if he happens to
touch the ball. He beats his wife and is a world-class asshole. Not that the
Uruguayan’s have a completely uninspiring team, but trust me, you’ll derive
more inspiration from looking for their hot chicás in the stands J J
Editor’s
retroactive notes:
RESULT:
Uruguay 0, France 0. Then there was this piece of garbage. This fetid excuse
for a game will be remembered for the juvenile sneers of Nicholas Anelka as a
tight Argentine defense shut his selfish ass down. The Froggies did display
some heart, notably through the hard work of Ribery and Toulalan. For the most
part, however, Les Bleus were at sixes and sevens for the full 90. After the
result Anelka unsportsmanly blamed Diaby and Govou for not finding him. Henry
whined that the Vuvuzelas precluded solid on-the-pitch communication. The
retired Zinedine Zidane weighed in from a hemisphere away, saying that he had
never before seen such an uncoordinated effort. Domenech fired back that it was
none of his damn business. It was clear that ze French were about to implode.
The
Uruguayans hung in despite being reduced to ten men after a red card in the 65th.
Diego Forlan played an altogether respectable game, presaging how he would
place his team on his shoulders and carry them all the way to the semifinals.
The line about having a “hot, chain-smoking, chronically depressed girlfriend
who brings the thunder in the sack, yet never shuts up and never picks up the
check” elicited no fewer than a dozen “Amen brothers” from various male
readers. For the record, I don’t believe I’ve actually dated a girl who
precisely fit that description. Evidently a large number of syndicate members
have. Hang in there, guys.
Saturday-------
Korea vs. Greece
vs. 
No, I will not bitch about the Greek retirement age or outrageous militant unions. After all, is there anything left to say at this point? Let’s leave the Greeks in peace to munch on gyros and shave their uni-brows. Instead, we’ll focus on our Koreans, gung ho on going to war as soon as this tournament is over L L Looks as if last fall’s prediction that “Football Diplomacy” would prevail turned out to be more bone-headed than a Charles Krauthammer column. I suppose I over-estimated the power of football to trump the childish behavior of our useless DPR fucktard! Dammit. Oh well. Good luck, brothers. Take it from a German. You’ll find that incorporating a communist country into your own is a long, arduous, and above all extremely expensive process.
Set your alarm clock for this one. You don’t want to miss
the “Tigers of Asia” fan base, the “Red Devil Drum March” and all those
maddeningly sexy Korean girls. This seems as good a time as any to re-assure
unfortunate members who must tape/DVR/360 the games that I’ve got you covered. Ahem…announcing,
the “Hot Girls Alert Feature”. Behind on the games? Upset that you taped the
game and accidentally discovered who won? Relax. Vicey will provide you a list
of minutes to fast forward to. Have fun, you dirty old men.
Jumbi, ju-bi koh! Kick ass Koreans. By the way, LOVED, the
football-playing penguins. Top class stuff:
THE
LINE: Korea + 2 Goals
WHAT TO WATCH FOR: Park Ji Sung is quite possibly the best
Korean player ever! He’s the captain. Keep an eye out for him. It’s easy to get
confused with all the Lees, Parks, and Kims out there, but try to persevere.
Not many of note on the Greek squad besides Kyriakos and Samaras. Practically
everyone else comes from either Olympiakos or Panathinaikos.
Editor’s
retroactive notes:
RESULT:
South Korea 2, Greece 0. Finally, on Day Two in Port Elizabeth, the Taeguk
Warriors provided us with a victory. The Koreans set the tone in the 7th,
when Lee Jun Soo headed in a corner that Kostas Katsouranis was simply too
short to clear. The Hellenes managed no memorable efforts on goal for the
duration and made countless embarrassing mental errors at the back. It was Luka
Vyntra with the appallingly woeful touch on a square ball played parallel to
the goalmouth that sent the ball directly into the path of a hungry Ji Sung
Park. Park didn’t bother glancing in the general direction of the gift horse,
finishing with flair, strength and precision. He would cement his position as
the best Korean footballer ever, becoming the first to score in three
successive tournaments. While you can still see him filling in for Nani of ManU
occasionally, his international career appears to be over. That is, unless
someone can coax this prolific talent out of retirement.
Argentina vs. Nigeria
vs. 
Yes, Maradona is in control and sporting the most hideous beard since Rasputin. Yes, Christina Fernandez de Kirchner is in charge and sporting the most atrocious bo-tox job since Nancy Pelosi. Cheer up, Argentines! You have the both the best footballer in the world AND the best team in the tournament. You are my pick to win it all, despite the fact that Maradona told me I can “suck it”. I stand by my assertion that Maradona has no clue what the hell he is doing. I’ve merely decided it doesn’t matter.
So sorry you had to debut against this team “Super Eagles”.
Don’t fret. You’ll be back.
Messi, Milito, Mascherano, and Messi again. This is going to
be brutal.
THE
LINE: Argentina + 3 Goals
WHAT TO WATCH FOR: Four years ago he dazzled us as “The
Kid”. Now, after meticulously honing his skills in an Azulgrana uniform, Lionel
Messi is back as the two-time world footballer of the year! A ridiculously
talented cast of teammates I didn’t even mention above including Maxi Rodriguez
and Carlos Tevez joins him. Watch this team! Watch it in Spanish for the full
effect. The “Super Eagles” are no slouches either, fielding a team with
Premiership stars Joseph Yobo and Nwanko Kwanu plus Bundesliga strikers Obafemi
Martins and Chinedu Obasi. Unfortunately, they’ll be fighting with the South
Koreans for second place in the group.
Editor’s
retroactive notes:
RESULT:
Argentina 1, Nigeria 0. Messi did his utmost to add his name to story of this
match, but it was Hapoel Tel Aviv’s Julius Enyeama who stood tall. Messi fed
Higuain in the 4th, but Enyeama’s brave positioning forced him to
finish wide. Messi tried from range in the 25th, but Enyeama
followed the dipping effort astutely to turn it aside. Four minutes later he
denied him again, this time with the slightest of touches from his fingertips.
The
“Super Eagles” were, at the time, coached by former Sweden frontman Lars
Lägerbeck. He did a typically poor job selecting a lineup, benching Wolfsburg’s
Obafemi Martins in favor of Malaga’s Victor Obinna. Hoffenheim’s Chinedu Obasi
also appeared a poor selection at right forward. Yakuba could do little as the
central striker with that supporting cast. He eventually came to his senses,
subbing in Martins and Odemwingie in the second half. By that time the
Argentine back four had the situation well at hand, controlling the tempo in
defense of their slender lead. In a virtual duplication of the 7th
minute corner that put the South Koreans ahead early, Gabriel Heine headed in a
sixth minute corner that proved to be difference in this one.
England vs. USA
vs. 
Cha-ching! We arrive what is, for many stateside betters, THE MAIN EVENT. Unquestionably, this is the best American Squad ever assembled. Unfortunately, that was also the case four years ago and four years before that. Nowhere to go but up for U.S. Football. It’s one damn long journey to the stratosphere, my gullible friends. I’ll admit Landon’s spectacular performance as an Everton loan this season nearly had me believing. Jozy’s amazing tour-de-force in last summers Confederation’s Cup had me ready to predict a breakthrough. Howard, Dempsey and Spector all had magnificent premiership seasons. You can absolutely get excited about your team this year, Yanks. You will definitely make it out of the group stages and perhaps all the way to the quarterfinals.
However, if it’s a “Miracle on Grass” you’re expecting on
Saturday, you might as well practice pulling your head out of your ass right
now. Exude all the “Sam’s Army Pride” you like, if feeling embarrassed is
something you enjoy. You will be crushed. In my many attempts to conjure up a
proper metaphor for this match up, I had to settle for Code Pink vs. a horde of
Mongols. The talent you’re up against is sick. The premiership is by far the
best league in the world. Unsurprisingly, England has fielded an ALL
Premiership Group. England will show you how the game is played. How THEIR game
is played.
Start whimpering about the Jabulani (Official World Cup ball
now). Also, learn the words to “God Save the Queen”. Consider that your song of
submission.
THE
LINE: England + 2 Goals
WHAT TO WATCH FOR: The “special relationship” means that
every U.S. Soccer fan should be able to recite the English team by heart.
Discover more than Rooney and human freak-of-nature Peter Crouch. By the end of
the tournament, know the clubs of Lampard and Gerrard. Jostle with me about
which team Shaun Wright Phillips played better for, where Joe Cole will end up
and if James can help Pompey back up next season. This game is a family affair.
We share intelligence with one another. It’s about damn time more football was
shared.
Editor’s
retroactive notes:
RESULT:
England 1, USA 1. Well, well, well. Lost a fair amount of money here, but no
bother. It was an afternoon of constant chatter with U.S. fans verifiably
enthralled by their team’s big day. Whenever Americans get passionate about
football, I cannot say that I’ve lost.
After
some shockingly poor ESPN hype that featured, for some unknown reason, Will
Ferrel, Mark Wahlberg, and Russell Brand, the biggest match in U.S. Football
history was on. Both sides trotted out a 4-4-2. Heskey and Rooney led the
English attack with Altidore and Finely the U.S. counter. The respective back
fours also appeared equal to one another, Cherundolo, Demerit, Onyewu, and
Bocanengra seemingly up to the task of neutralizing Terry, King, Ashley Cole
and Glen Johnson. The real mismatch was in central midfield, where coach Bob
Bradley erroneously elected to pit his son Michael and Ricardo Clark against
Steven Gerrard and Frank Lampard. Lampard and Gerrard (with a bit of help of
Heskey) ran circles around their confused markers after a throw-in in the 4th.
Eventually they found Gerrard astride of Bradley for a superb finish and an
early lead.
Donovan
would establish himself as a world-class set piece technician with two
excellent deliveries to be headed wide by Altidore and Onyewu respectively. One
sensed that the momentum was shifting with a breakthrough to come. No one could
have predicted the “Hand of Clod” fiasco that would ensue. Dempsey fired a
bouncing effort of the side of his foot just outside the area in the 40th.
England keeper Robert Green was crouched down, preparing to pick up the ball
off the bounce when it took something of an eccentric hop. Unanticipated spring
or not, he should have gotten in front of the ball and secured it with both
hands. Somehow he failed to clasp it and the Jabulani ricocheted off his right
shoulder and into the net. One of the most bizarre plays you’ll ever see. I
sincerely doubt you’ll ever see something like that again. My cell phone
immediately exploded and it took the rest of the match to call everyone back.
Most every conversation went as follows:
Syndicate
Member: Did that just happen?
Vicey:
Yes, I saw it too.
Syndicate
Member: So I’m not going insane?
Vicey:
Can’t speak to that. I can however confirm that, yes, that did just happen.
You’re eyes do not deceive.
Syndicate
Member: And you’re sure you saw it?
Vicey:
I saw it. The entire world saw it. Robert Green’s life is over.
Odd
that such a conversation would take place in the absence of any drugs. Green
lost his starting spot never to recover it again. His erratic and rattled play
was a significant contributing factor to West Ham’s relegation from the
Premiership in the subsequent season. I cannot enter the man’s mind ala
“Inception” in order to corroborate his worst nightmares, but I’d lay safe
money on the likelihood that he his stirred awake every night around 3:30 a.m.,
drenched in sweat with the smells of the Rustenberg pitch faintly situated in
his nostrils. Once again the incident has replayed. Every sensory neuron in his
frontal lobes has reactivated once again. The sights, the sounds, the heckles,
and the tingling around the base of his cranium. Yikes. Worse things have of
course happened to people, but don’t discount the ability of the mind to
continually remind you of your worst hour. I’ve been stirred awake by the
horrifying hallucination of a class that I didn’t realize I had registered for
until finals week….every goddamned night…for at least the past eleven years. As
preposterous as such an illusion is, the mind renders it so potent that I often
don’t convince myself that it never happened until well into the day. In poor
Robert Green’s case, there are no such reassurances. It ACTUALLY DID HAPPEN.
“Oh
thank God it was only a dream…..now I can go back to sleep….er wait a
second…..NOOOOOOO!!”
The
saddest part of this sordid tale concerns the fact that Green’s conscious would
not be steadily devouring him had the Three Lions managed to dig out a victory.
Historic flub or no, all would have been forgiven under the auspices of three
points. To their credit, they did push hard to preserve their keeper’s
life-long sense of peace. With the exception of a Jozy Altidore near post
effort, the second 45 was all England. They simply couldn’t get anything past
man-of-the-match Tim Howard. Howard stonewalled Heskey from point blank rage
with a stupendously brave save minutes after the restart. He acrobatically
tipped over a Lampard bullet ten minutes later. He would later deny Wayne
Rooney and Shaun Wright Phillips after the found the sort of space that an
ordinary keeper would be defenseless against. Howard presently may be considered
one of the top three keepers in the world. Check him out on the other side of
Mersey sometime. You can’t miss him. He’s the one who refuses to take off the
camouflage shirt.
Sunday--------
Algeria vs. Slovenia
vs. 
U.S. demoralization leaving you feeling a little hung-over? No problem! You have my full permission to snooze through this lame match. Not only will you likely see not one player you recognize (maybe Bougherra and Belhadj for diehards), I’d venture to guess you won’t see one gorgeous girl in the stands. If eye candy is your thing, a choice between North African and Eastern European women is the equivalent of choosing between liquorices jellybeans and wedding cake. Ugh.
Way to qualify Slovenians! In case you missed it, the third
smallest nation ever to qualify for the World Cup knocked off the Russian
juggernaut and cost me a nauseating sum of money. Make me proud. EU
brothers!
THE
LINE: Slovenia + 1 Goal
WHAT TO WATCH FOR: Errr….a streaker perhaps?
Editor’s
retroactive notes:
RESULT:
Slovenia 1, Algeria 0. As much as I enjoy reflecting on how wrong I turned out
to be, there shall be no reversal here. With the ball stuck in the middle of
the park for much of the first hour, we witnessed our first bit of excitement
when Abdelkader Ghezzal was sent off on double yellows after a handball in the
73rd. The extra space by no means ignited the match, ultimately
decided when Algerian keeper Faouzi Chaouchi let in his own howler in the 79th.
With two egregious goalkeeper errors in two consecutive matches it was no time
to talk about the tournament ball….again.
Serbia vs. Ghana
vs. 
Wash that previous game out of your mouth and prepare for…. another sub par game. Actually, this one’s not as bad as it might first appear. With Essien out, we’ll have to make due with Muntari and Appiah. No matter. Serbia is competing as an independent
country for the first time! They’ve brought some great
talent along with them including Stankovic, Jovanovic, and Stojkovic.
Presumably, they also brought along some players whose names do not end in
“itch”, but who cares about them?
Of course, the most important Serb in this one is Ghanaian
head coach Milovan Rajovac.
Chalk another one up for the Africans.
THE
LINE: Ghana + 1 Goal
WHAT TO WATCH FOR: The Germany vs. Australia preview.
Editor’s
retroactive notes:
RESULT:
Ghana 1, Serbia 0. A good game all around turned in by the Black Stars. Asamoah
Gyan and Kwadoe Asamoah produced several quality efforts during the first half
while Prince Tagoe, Kevin Prince Boateng, and John Paintsil engineering fine
spells of possession. Some will recall that Kevin Price Boateng, then a
Portsmouth player, was responsible for injuring Michael Ballack, then a Chelsea
player, with a clumsy tackle late in the season. Ballack would miss the entire
tournament. I had expected to be perturbed every time he touched the ball. He
had formerly played for the Mannschaft alongside his half-brother Jerome. After
finding himself left off the squad all to frequently, he switched allegiances
to play for his father’s country. Not only had he abandoned us, he took out our
talismanic captain. Still, there was no hatred to be found. I thoroughly
enjoyed the match, a Ghanaian-dominated affair won with a spot kick after a
flagrant handball from Zdravko Kuzmanovich inside the box. I suppose it’s
simply impossible for me to hate Africa. Everything else is fair game. On day
three, the continent beheld its first African victor. All were pleased.
Germany vs. Australia
vs. 
Want your money back, Yanks? Here’s your chance to trash talk me. As you well know by now, I will not bet against die Mannschaft; not even with Neuer in net. Well…. f I live until 2050 I might consider wagering on the robots. Anyways, I’ll give the Socceroos a generous spread to cover. As usual, I’m nervous about this one and you can take advantage. Yes, the talismanic captain had a history of choking in the Finals, but it was still a devastating loss L L Joachim Löw did as poor a job picking a squad as he does his scarves. Klose AND Podolski AND Friedrich?!? What? This is football, not nostalgia night! If you were going to pull this shit, where the hell is Hitzlsberger?
But enough of the self-deprecation. Cacao and Super Mario
are poised for a breakthrough. Boateng
Kroos, and Müler were intriguing choices. Löw deserves credit for having
the courage to bring out the young guns.
THE
LINE: Germany +2 Goals
WHAT TO WATCH FOR: I certainly hope it doesn’t happen in
this game, but I’m definitely looking forward to watching Timmy Cahill doing some
“Kaiserslautern Kick-Ass Flag Boxing”. I also look forward to doing that after
I score a goal myself again..one day (sigh)
GENTLEMEN,
ENTER YOUR WAGERS.
Editor’s
retroactive notes:
RESULT:
Germany 4, Australia 0. Such a magnificent day in Durban. Löw showed us all
that he was capable of putting a great team together. Klose started as the lone
striker in a 4-2-3-1, with Podolski at his natural Left Wing position. It was
Müller plugged in for the injured Ballack and Badstuber replacing the retired Schneider. What was truly a sight to behold regarded the new midfield
triangulation of the two central mids Schweine and Khedira spearheaded by
anchoring mid Mesut Özil.
Dazzling
and brilliant football from the Jungs all evening long. Özil had the match of a
lifetime. In the 8th minute he found Müller with surgical precision
near the touchline on the right side of the penalty area. Müller himself pulled
off an ingenious and immaculate cut-back for Podolski who punched it in first
time from just inside the 18. Twenty minutes later newly named captain Phillip
Lahm launched a gloriously attractive arcing cross that Klose met with a
perfect glancing header. Though the first 45 ended with the Krauts up 2-0,
their inventive and sublime lateral use of the pitch left one with the
impression that they possessed infinite ideas and would soon bust it wide open.
Frustration
set in for the Socceroos ten minutes after the restart. Cahill slid towards
Schweine with a dangerously late challenge that earned him an expulsion. The
curiously creative Krauts were given yet more space to work with. In the 68th
Müller came charging into the area and spontaneously opted to put on the
brakes. The move left two Aussie defenders flailing and even Müller struggled
to maintain possession. Somehow he was able give this innovative move the
exclamation point it deserved, finishing with a flourish from fifteen meters
out. Two minutes later it was Badstuber pulsing forward up the left flank in
the manner one had come to expect from Lahm. He hit Özil in stride, who in turn
quickly squared for Cacau. 4-0 fatherland. By far the best game I’ve ever seen
the Jungs play on the big stage. Receiving a laudatory SMS from a close friend,
I could help texting back the most profane line of the entire tournament. AVERT
YOUR EYES, YE OF THE SENSITIVE ILK!! No peeking? Already on to the next page?
“Germans
know how to shit on someone.”
Yes,
yes I know. Direct your hat email to the usual address. Remind me what a vile
and puerile bozo I am. Tell me all about how sickeningly crass and patently
stupid this entire project has become. Please go ahead. About all I can say in
desperate defense is that if you’ve once laughed at a blue joke, you’ve no
right to judge. Don’t go repeating something like that at the office or in the
company of people you barely know. There was once a contest sponsored by a
legitimate news organization to find the best barb of all time. The eventual
winner was something so lame that I would personally be offended to transcribe
it. Humor shall never be universal. Context is everything. If you find yourself
laughing uncontrollably at something, chances are you’d be too frightened to
repeat it in a majority of quarters. Delivering quips yields the same
proportion of success as Edwin Edwards reminded you about women you outright
ask to sleep with. Two out of ten. Twenty percent at best. Sometimes one just
has to drop ones balls and try. Living life as if one has too much to
lose…..well it’s not really living isn’t it?
