Sunday, May 13, 2012

WM 2010--Third Place Match

Third Place Match:

WM 2010

A reprint of some rather disorganized thoughts written in a drunken stupor:

Do excuse me for one moment, as I appear to have a nugget of battered schnitzel stuck in my eye. Sob sob Once again a bunch of portly gentlemen named Hans, Holger, Heinrich, Helmut, and Uwe and waddling towards the exits sorrowfully mumbling “Na, ja. Ja, ja, At least we made the semifinals.” Bleh. Looks as if the Divining octopus has turned the daily German shower into a thunderstorm of despondent tears and hailing empty pfandgläser. I consumed no fewer than 13 beers (lost count at some point) watching the Spaniards dismantle my beloved Mannschaft for the second tournament in a row. And don’t even get me started on what I had to do to get an afternoon off work. LL

In spite of the fact that there is far “too much blood in my alcohol system”, I share the urge of Germans from Düsseldorf to Dresden. Einer geht noch rein!!! To the neighborhood pub, Karl-Heinz!  We must drink away mortgages one AND two. We must keep quaffing until our livers issue and emergency cease & desist. Heute ist mein leverwurst Tag. Heut ist mir die Lever würst! Es muss ja nicht…(belch)….es muss ja nicht, der letze sein!!

Losing always hurts. Not necessarily as much having to sit through one of your girlfriend’s poetry slams, but it still hurts. As you stroll back into the office hung over and unshaven the next morning, it hits you around 8:55. No more international football for another two years. Oh well. We can still ecstatically blow on our Vuvuzelas for a little while longer!  By the way, I will not be talked into another poetry reading unless I can bring my Vuvuzela with me! I don’t care how hot she is! Someone has to produce some less irritating clatter!

I issue an earnest invitation to everyone. Take some time Saturday afternoon to watch the German reserves beat the everlasting piss out of Uruguay. You’re sure to the squad unrelentingly demolishing a tiny nation when it doesn’t really mater. Back with some final thoughts and a championship pick tomorrow.

THE LINE: Mannschaft + 1

Editor’s retroactive notes:
RESULT: Germany 3, Uruguay 2. Fine farewell turned in by the Jungs. Starts for Cacau, Aogo, Jansen, Boateng, and….everyone’s favorite keeper: Hans Jörg Butt. Müller showed the greatest attacking intent early on with a fine header off an Özil corner in the 14th and s superb finish in the 19th ruled offside. He would score again within a minute, this time in compliance with the rules. Schweine, looking nearly identical to the audacious distance sniper from the same match for years ago, sent in a swerver from 40 yards that Muslera couldn’t handle. Müller scooped up the seconds for the early lead. Özil, Schweine, and Friedrich seemed determined to settle matters early by sacrificing any defensive positioning. Diego Perez, Suarez, and Edson Cavani made them pay in the 29th. Perez picked Schweine clean off the right flank and shoveled forward for the returning Suarez. Together with Cavani, the pair rushed forward on a scintillating counter with Mertesacker and Aogo playing catch up. Suarez waited until the last moment to link up with Cavani, who buried it after a deft touch.

Butt made the most of his audition, but could do nothing to save a Forlan tricycle in the 51st. After the Athletico Madrid superstar but La Celesta ahead shortly after the restart, the recently dubbed “Yogi Bären” took control never to relinquish until the full time whistle. Jansen put an arching Jerome Boateng cross to bed five minutes later for the equalizer. Substitutes Stephan Kießling and Tony Kroos flirted with the game winner, but Khedira provided the exclamation point. Another top class corner from Özil in the 81st found Friedrich, Lugano, and Godin before Sami drove it into the back of the net with an emphatic header.

Another tournament and another third place finish for my beloved Krauts. The World Cup bronze was their second in a row and fourth overall. Immensely satisfied and fully sated, I trudged into my office to write my final words to my most esteemed syndicate brothers. The terminal communiqué remains an emotional exercise, best completed under the light amber haze of one and half Keystone DryIceLites. The piece that follows contests the title of my finest work to date. I well up at the mere realization that I must re-read it.