Morning Routine Ruined--Thanks FIFA!

I am a man who enjoys, nay, cherishes routine. Whether it's walking Atticus the Wonder Dog on the same route each morning (he makes each right and left before I have a chance to guide him--i'm convinced he could walk himself at this point) or coordinating days of the week with alliteratively themed meals (Tuesday Taco Night, anyone?), I am happiest when I'm in a groove. Clapping on 2 and 4, if you will.

(Atticus the Wonder Dog, begging me to mix it up a little)

That's why this two day sabbatical that the World Cup is taking is absolutely unacceptable. Not because I love the damn games so much. Which I do. But, more importantly, this leaves an entertainment hole in my day that is impossible to fill. Have you seen what passes for daytime television? It is not a happy slice of humanity. On the contrary, most of it features an unholy combination of Luna carpet commercials and stories on 1200 pound shut-ins, who only recently have been 'rescued' from rooms in their house that they had become too fat to leave by a good samaritan with a reciprocating saw.

TANGENT: That always puzzles me, the folks who suddenly become too fat to fit through a door in their own house. That means, one night they were JUST able to squeeze themselves through the jamb with their bucket of fried chicken or whatever in tow, only to wake up the next morning and not be able to get out. Must be a surreal feeling. "I left the room yesterday, didn't I Helen? Did you shrink the doors when you were cleaning the house?"

Anyhoo, my adopted homeland of Portugal was not able to overcome rampant cheating by an inferior, stupider, and let's face it, a much less physically attractive Spanish side. No, I don't think my bias is clouding my judgment.

My analysis of the game, you ask? I thought the first half, the Portuguese side looked the more likely to score, and probably should have, if that waste of space Hugo Almeida could finish a chance. Or be arsed to chase down a cross in the box. Not a fan.

Defensively, Portugal were on top of their game plan. After all, to beat Spain, you force their attack to the wings, where they are obliged to hoof crosses into the box, instead of letting them play the ball to David Villa's feet, then hit on the counter. You're still living dangerously, of course.

Second half? Portugal's midfield didn't compete. Spain steamrolled the middle, played their possession game, and got their goal by playing the ball to Villa's feet. Damnit.

(Face I made after the goal)

Well, I'll try to press on with my World Cup excitement, now that all the teams I had a personal connection with are now on planes back to their respective countries. But it won't be as much fun. Maybe the Dutch can pull off an upset on Friday against Brazil. Lord knows I'll have plenty of time to sit and contemplate the ways in which they pull it off.

The Battle of Iberia--is that on 2112?

I am a soccer fan. This means that the past month has been, for me, the super bowl and the Olympics all rolled into one delicious, chipotle sized burrito of sports achievement and controversy and pagentry and excitement. And barbacoa, and only half-rice, please and thank you.

(splashing cold water on my face)

Where was I? oh yeah--the World Cup. As you already know, the US team crapped the bed this weekend, disappointing every one of their fans only four days after proving it can perform under pressure. Yeah, that hit me pretty hard, but to be fair, it was hot as balls this weekend in DC and I think I probably would have fainted from heat exhaustion in either case. Just not with an american flag painted on my forehead.

But, I've moved past it and am now focusing on today's Round of 16 game: Portugal v. Spain. Normally, this game would not mean more to me than all the other games that feature NOTUSA. However, we(as in m'self and Reba) spent a week in Portugal recently with my sister, who happens to live in Lisbon with my Portuguese brother-in-law, (Forca Sporting, irmao!), in which they showed us places that look like this:
and this:and fed us so full of good food and hospitality so as to head to the airport looking like this:that I now feel like an honorary Portugal...person. A person willing to defend the borders from the evil hordes of the Spanish, with their galleons and their delicious tapas and their flamenco, which everyone knows is just wannabe Fado. There, someone had to say it. So, eat 'em up you sons of Sintra!

In other news, I have just spent two of the last three evenings awake until 2:45 am, watching the latest and greatest of the many Rush documentaries that has been on VH1 of late: Beyond the Lighted Stage. Some obvious takeaways after the second viewing:

• Dorky musicians love this band--duh. From Billy Corgan to Jack Black. Okay, that's not much of a range, but you get my point.
• Women dorky or no, avoid Rush like the plague. Finding a woman at a Rush show is harder than...well, it's damn near impossible.
  
• Neil, although one of the forces of nature that rule over time and space and percussion, comes off as kind of a dick.

Check your local listings, i'm not a TV Guide.

Welcome to THIS

Let me just lay it out there: I don't know what the 'eck I expect to get out of writing this thing. However, lately I've noticed that my "need for attention and acceptance by relative strangers"o-meter has been below the slash for quite some time. This is a problem. Which, if you knew me, (and chances are, you do not, since I am neither famous nor particularly noteworthy in any way) you would realize that I have traditionally thrived (thriven?) on what strangers think of me.

When goatees were all the rage, I used to top off the ol' self-esteem tank by playing in a band. Then, during the age of the thick black frame glasses, it was by writing bad songs and playing them for anyone in the coffeehouse willing to shower me with polite applause. Now, in the epoch of the Urban Velocipede, i'm lucky if i can pay a handful of winos to listen to me fuck up the intro to 'Closer to the Heart' more than 3 times a year. How the mediocre have fallen.

So as to not become completely bitter and die alone, I hereby insist on having my part of the conversation. In future posts, expect me to touch on things that I find important, which would be music, baseball, DC, and people I admire. See? I'm already original!

Now, to get this page looking halfway decent.