I gave up on the Spain/Netherlands game at minute 112.
I just couldn't take it any more: no plays were being made, it was nil/nil after 112 minutes of play, I was late for a dinner party and it looked like they were headed to kicks. As far as I'm concerned, as soon as you go to the penalty kicks (or a shootout in hockey), you might as well bring out the scrabble board, bocce balls, badminton racquets or pool cues, 'cuz you're no longer playing the same sport.
But really, four minutes? I couldn't put in four more minutes after all those other games I sat through, trying desperately to find a reason to like soccer? Was it the vuvuzelas, or as we called them when I bought mine in the 1990s, long plastic annoying horns? Was it the sheer boredom of the football equivalent of 'the trap' in hockey? Was it the pompous British announcers? I'll never know. What I do know is that when that goal was finally scored, I was on my way to a swimming pool, refreshment and a four year break from soccer during which I will forget everything I've learned about The Beautiful Game over the last month.
I'm just glad I picked Spain to win. (and I'm not bragging, but I did pick them, from, like, day twelve. I was distracted by the Slovenian shirts and Ronaldo's abs, but then went with Spain. honest, I did.) Me and a German Octopus got it right. Now, that's a distinguished pair, and both of us have about the same level of knowledge of the game.
No comments:
Post a Comment
These comments are moderated cuz I hate trolls and sealions. And, this should really go without saying, but please think twice and be nice when commenting.