World Cup

About a month ago my life was overtaken by football.  And yes, I call it football, and I also call the game we Americans play with an egg-shaped ball football, too.  This is because I never watched or played soccer with Americans, but I have watched and played football with Europeans.  I also smell chestnuts and think of the word for chestnuts in Spanish, castañas, because I never smelled chestnuts until I lived in Spain.  Words code in your head, people!  Anyway, so I call both football, usually accompanied by either a mime of a kicking foot or a throwing arm.

So about a month ago my life was overtaken by football *mime kicking foot* as the World Cup started and my social life began to revolve around bars with good televisions.  And I sat with my friends, drank beer and fröccs, and cheered on the USA and Spain, and any other team that struck my fancy.  For the American match against Ghana, I even went so far as to wear a red shirt with stars, a white skirt, and blue tights.  I was decked out.  For the Spanish matches I wore my Real Madrid jersey.  I hissed, swore at the television in various languages, and generally had a great time.

I must admit that watching the matches at home alone was not as fun.  Nevertheless, I caught them all, including making so much noise at the TV during the semi-final match against Germany that Otto, my dog, jumped up on the treadmill with me and knocked us off the back.

And now España is the world champion, and a team made primarily of Real Madrid and Barcelona players made that happen.  And maybe that will make Spain a little bit of a better place.  Because maybe sports shouldn't matter, but they do.  Especially when you watch them with friends.

I leave you with a funny little image stolen from a friend.  ¡Viva el pulpo psíquico!