Since I've been gainfully employed for just over two months now, I didn't want to jeopardize my status by calling in tired to work, just so I could get drunk before breakfast and shout obscenities at unfamiliar members of the US squad. Instead, I listened to the game from an outdated mp3 radio with a coat hanger for an antenna, all while 'supervising' 6 to 12 year-olds. In no way was it enjoyable.
As I type this, I am watching the replay of the US/Algeria game on fucking Telemundo because ESPN/the stinky deuce is playing the college baseball world series and a gaddam Mets game. To add piss to my punchbowl, the stereo is cutting in and out. I'm so mad, I've ground my teeth down to tiny shards of off-white pebbles.
To be fair, the broadcasters seem pretty talented, but I can only understand every tenth word. I think there's somebody on our team from a town called Boca Negra. Sounds like an enchanting fishing destination. This seems like a pretty good time to sum things up so far.
*I've just been informed that I'm lazy. I'm not going to give you a wrap-up of all the games so far. I actually work for a living and my time is more valuable than you can imagine. Besides, you can get that somewhere else. But I will comment on this flopping bullshit ...
This is an old sport: almost as old as Larry King. It's been around since the buck-toothed English invented it after one of their shitty tennis nets fell over. For about thirty years now, instant replay has been a mainstay in the sport (for the fans, at least), yet players clutch their ankles, writhing in apparent agony after being barely touched. Why hasn't the attempted manipulation of the referees stopped? Do we hafta send Roger Goodell over to the capital of Europe to straighten shit out?
In September when American football starts, we can show the world how to officiate games. Also, boobs.
Algeria: This is an Arab state that speaks French. I didn't think it would be possible to suck in the power of two, but somehow these assholes have done it masterfully. Eat our saturated-fat-saturated shit, Algeria.
Cameroon: Your flag looks like we might bomb you someday. Go home and think about that. Also, talk to the flight attendant about getting a seat far from the lady with the live chickens.
France: Their stellar team collapsed under it's own poofyness. After a scathing mutiny and humiliating losses to teams that scrub France's bidets, they're sent home to suck on their own stale baguettes. For your viewing pleasure, here's every one's favorite American bully from a sad Frenchman's YouTube channel.
Greece: These oily shitheads got way too far into qualifying. They got into the tourney before their economy collapsed and all their fellow leeches got ripped from the teat of their cushy entitlements. They are now available to sell gyros to all the bums in line at the employment office.
Honduras: This sounds more like a scooter than a country. I picture some fucking hipster with a fashionable scarf motoring down the street, mangina clutch matching his crinkly hemp shirt ... go ahead ... swerve into the next lane and send him into that big ass tree. No one will know but us.
Ivory Coast: Am I the only guy who imagines beaches there populated by endless deposits of elephant tusks? No? Well ... you suck, Ivory Coast! I watched the game Sunday versus Brazil; they called themselves Cote' d Ivoire'. My research assistants tell me that's French. See above.
Nigeria: the singer Seal a.k.a. Mr. Heidi Klum is originally from Nigeria. They have a reality show in the works where they're hunting for a mansion to settle into. They suck.
North Korea: They have the funniest names in asia. How can anyone take them seriously?
Serbia: Barefoot skiing enthusiast and holocaust franchisee Solobodan Milosovic used to be the head cheese over there. How did that work out for ya? Hey, Serbia: we saved you from ethnic cleansing yourselves. The thank-you line starts back there, behind France, England and Louisiana.
Slovakia: pig rapists.
Finally, I think it's important to note the icy, steely-eyed glare of US coach Bob Bradley. If this guy doesn't look like a Bond villain, then I'll eat my vuvuzela and shit out a French horn. How is it the oft-ridiculed sport of soccer has one of it's most bad ass of men? I would voluntarily and happily splinter both my shins with a rusty pickaxe than be on that guy's shit list.
Not getting the imagery? OK, let's take it to a HO ... NUVA ... LEVEL here: Coach Bob Bradley on a dias of glimmering titanium, stroking a giant hissing komodo dragon. Let's call him Marco.
Sweet dreams, Ghana. See you on the pitch.