As you should, Americans across the country are feeling hung-over
(four shots of whiskey, six beers, and a baker's dozen Yagermeister night caps,
hung-over). The effects from our month-long binge into universal culture
have caught up to us. With Spain's victory over the Netherlands, our
European inspired global holiday has come to an end.
Do you hear that? I don't either. It's silence.
We may never hear the soothing sounds of the vuvuzela ever again.
Thanks to their Gulfstream IV jet engine equivalent sound pressure, we
might not hear anything else either. But, that would be a blessing.
What earthly sound could ever replace those heavenly horns, the screams
of intoxicated, Harry Potter scarf wearing fans, or grown men's cries of
Shakespearian agony as they plummet 27 inches down to the unforgiving, grassy
surface below? Anything else would leave us feeling empty and longing for the
good old days when soccer was futbol and a 32 year-old heterosexual American
male need not feel shame in ordering a pint of Birra Moretti.
So, my dear friends, the sun has set on our utopian paradise.
Our freakish tans from shotgun-like sun block application juxtaposed with
our "jealous of Caucasian" skin are fading. Please turn in your
Universal Citizenship cards at your departure gates. It's time to put
that Adidas track suit back in the closet until Halloween, stop using that fake
British accent to impress the girls at the pub, start using that fake
Australian accent to pick up the ladies at the bar, and do what the Greeks
won't do - go to work. And if you want to make good on your promise to
perm your hair like Carles
Puyol, that's your call, but don't expect me to be your wingman. I
already have plans that year.
Until 2014, we must don the cloak of Americanism and press on,
pretending not to pine for the world's acceptance and resigning ourselves to
watch other "sports" with much less drama. I’m referring games
that brutishly score much more than once within a 190 minute period. As
unsophisticated as baseball and American futbol may seem, we must break open a
case of Coors and fool one another into thinking we are having a better time
than the rest of the world, one inflammable hot wing-flavored belch at a time.
What's that? Yeah, I know we have a professional league
here, but let's face it; Dick’s Sporting Goods Park in Commerce City, Colorado
lacks the international zest of a Nelson Mandela Bay Stadium in Port Elizabeth,
South Africa. It also lacks the vuvuzelas.
The World Cup is like the Olympics - a competition between
sovereign nations every four years. When national pride - and potentially
nuclear war - is at stake, anything can be interesting, like Ping Pong.
The MLS is the equivalent of a U.S. Gymnastics League, if such a
league existed. Would you really want to watch the Topeka Springers take
on the Chattanooga Chalks in a regular season Pommel Horse match? I
didn't think so, but throw in Kim Jong-Il and a sponsorship from South Korean
based Samsung, and hot-shit we got ourselves a battle. I'll go grab the
red, white, and blue tights and you get the hand wraps - we wouldn't want to
sprain our wrists slamming down the pints.
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