snippets from a game...
Leave it to the Americans and the Italians to produce the most dramatic game of the tournament.
The restaurant/bar in the Flatiron district was posh, but rowdy; the Italians were in the back, but somehow Cass and I got stuck with the Americans. We could barely hear each other for all the obnoxious "U!S!A!" chanting.
With so much blood - actual blood, and symbolic blood in the form of red cards - on the field, it wasn't surprising that the drama seeped through the skin and into our own blood.
Me, screaming at the screen, at the blood-streaked American, after de Rossi accidentally (look at the replay: totally an accident!) jabbed him in the face with his elbow, and got sent off: "Be a man! Suck it up! Or go back to your wussy baseball!"
Cass, softly, across the table: "You're gonna get us beat up."
Me, texting Sal, after the two more red cards were dealt out to the Americans: "I think I might start believing in god."
Sal: "Such is the power of footie."
Me, when Italy, although one man up, and despite my man del Piero's beautiful efforts, still fail to score: "This is the most stressful thing I've ever been through."
Sal: "You should start liking beer then. That will help."
It was a horrible game. I'm still carrying the tension in my neck. This makes the next two games in this group incredibly important. It is now a point of ifs ands and buts. And, for the record, before anyone asks: Yes, of course I'd love it if both Ghana and Italy went through, but I'm not willing to waste my new-found penchant for prayer on anyone or anything but the Italians, the English, and the blessing of a roach-free household.
The restaurant/bar in the Flatiron district was posh, but rowdy; the Italians were in the back, but somehow Cass and I got stuck with the Americans. We could barely hear each other for all the obnoxious "U!S!A!" chanting.
With so much blood - actual blood, and symbolic blood in the form of red cards - on the field, it wasn't surprising that the drama seeped through the skin and into our own blood.
Me, screaming at the screen, at the blood-streaked American, after de Rossi accidentally (look at the replay: totally an accident!) jabbed him in the face with his elbow, and got sent off: "Be a man! Suck it up! Or go back to your wussy baseball!"
Cass, softly, across the table: "You're gonna get us beat up."
Me, texting Sal, after the two more red cards were dealt out to the Americans: "I think I might start believing in god."
Sal: "Such is the power of footie."
Me, when Italy, although one man up, and despite my man del Piero's beautiful efforts, still fail to score: "This is the most stressful thing I've ever been through."
Sal: "You should start liking beer then. That will help."
It was a horrible game. I'm still carrying the tension in my neck. This makes the next two games in this group incredibly important. It is now a point of ifs ands and buts. And, for the record, before anyone asks: Yes, of course I'd love it if both Ghana and Italy went through, but I'm not willing to waste my new-found penchant for prayer on anyone or anything but the Italians, the English, and the blessing of a roach-free household.
posted by j | 9:29 PM
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