Even Coke cans have vuvuzelas.
America, F*ck Yeah!
I thought I would have a quiet morning to myself on Saturday, but no. Two of my roommates were P90Xing, which led to the greatest breakfast ever. One ate a chocolate protein bar, the other, needing far more protein, had pork chops. If he could have wrapped them in ham, he would have. My hero.
It was Day 2 of the World Cup, and Argentina and it's batshit crazy manager Diego Maradona took the field against a dangerous Nigeria side in the 10:30 match. There was no way I was getting up to see Greece vs North Korea at 7 am. I immediately made Nigerian CB Danny Shittu my favorite player of the tournament for childish reasons. Argentina has a boat load of talent, led by arguably the best player in the world, Lionel Messi. Damn he's good. I've seen him play before, but his footwork never fails to impress.
The 2:30 game was USA vs England. It wasn't the biggest game for the USMNT, last year's Confederations Cup semi-final against #1 ranked Spain and the final against the eternally great Brazil were bigger games. But this certainly was the most anticipated, partly because it was England, partly because we knew about the match for so long. I headed down to Little Five Points to meet up with a friend to watch the game. It was miserable out, I think the humidity odometer rolled over. On the way I stopped at an ATM and just standing there waiting I broke a sweat. It didn't help that the guy in front of me took forever, as it usually does at my nearby ATM. I think I'm done with that particular ATM location, because it smells like what I imagine a freight ship cargo trailer full of illegal immigrants smells like. I'm not sure how a piece of machinery can smell like that, and I don't want to know. I got there nearly three hours before kickoff and the place was nuts. Hoards of people randomly chanting "USA! USA!" I wager that 95% of them couldn't name 3 players on the US. But you know what? I don't care. They're showing their American pride and along the way maybe a few of them would turn into soccer fans. I'd be a hypocrite if I said otherwise. It's pretty much how I got interested, the 2006 World Cup got me hooked and slowly but surely my interest grew. Realizing the insanity would only get bigger as the game drew closer to kickoff, in conjunction with the oppressing heat and humidity, we decided to head to the air conditioned comforts of a house. It was a good decision, unlike Fabio Capello's line up for England.
I thought about wearing this hat to watch the game.
We watched some Telemundo pre-game, not really understanding what they were talking about, which was probably for the better. Their studio location was "El Bar" which was pretty cool, and one of the hosts copped a feel of one of the cheerleaders they had. A couple of people I was with were rooting for England. Back in the Revolutionary War they were called Tories, and they were shot for it. We've come a long way since then. I made it my goal to try to turn at least one of them around, and by the 60th minute I had. Great success!
It was a game that going in I had pegged as a draw, and with a few lucky breaks could see the US pull it out. That almost happened. Stephen Gerrard scored a goal of his own very early, and for the most part the US looked like crap for most of the 1st half. One bright point was US right back Steve Cherulondo, who ran circles around midfielder James Milner. Milner fouled the undersized Cherulondo hard twice, drawing a yellow card in the process and only lasted 30 minutes before getting the hook in favor of the diminutive Shawn Wright-Phillips, who did better in that he was unnoticeable. Then the amazing happened.
Clint Dempsey, one of the US's key players, fired a long range shot that went right to English keeper Robert Green, who somehow was starting over the ancient David James and Joe Hart, who had a fantastic professional season. Green couldn't get a handle on the ball (which was such a mundane shot that some of the people I was with looked away and missed it) and it trickled in for the equalizing goal. The super slo-mo replay showed Green going "oh fuck" as he realized he wasn't going to corral this ball, it was hilarious. He'll never live it down. He should be thankful he lives in England. In 1994 Columbia lost to the US on an own goal, ten days later the Colombian player who gave it up was murdered. Dempsey should be given some credit for rocketing a ball hard enough to give Green trouble, and after the match Landon Donovan felt that part of the reason Green couldn't handle it was the feel that the ball had. I felt it was fitting that Dempsey's goal was amateur, because at that point the US looked like a bunch of 'em. Although as I write this, the keepers in Sunday's games are having trouble with the ball too, maybe we should cut Green a little slack.
The 2nd half was much improved for the US, with Oguchi Onyewu, who hadn't played a full match since October due to injury, improving as the game went on; Michael Bradley played a solid but unspectacular game and Tim Howard was his usual brilliant self. Jozy Altidore absolutely whipped Jamie Carragher and nearly scored to make it 2-1. Jay Demerit continued his solid international form, and Carlos Bocanegra played well, as he always does. Robbie Findley got hosed on a few calls but was otherwise ineffectual, Ricardo Clark did a poor job marking on Gerrard's goal, I can definitely see Maurice Edu or Jose Torres starting in the next game. In retrospect, one of the things I liked about the game is that they got a favorable result with Donovan and Demspey, the catalyst for the offense, not having outstanding games. When they really get going, watch out. On the flip side, England's world class striker Wayne Rooney didn't do a thing. Frank Lampard was good but needed to be better.
When It Says "No Diving," I Read That To Mean Bellyflops Are Okay
It was a result I was happy to take. Also happy to take? A evening with a pool. Immediately after returning home I hit the road again with Colt. We went to a friend's apartment and spent a few hours in a pool. because why not. Some people canceled on us for reasons passing understanding since IT WAS FUCKING HOT OUT AND IT WAS A POOL. Colt put it best: "there's a lot of choads in the world. How you deal with them is what makes you a man." I filled a bag with some stuff and told Colt to put what he needed in my bag. "Everything I need is on the counter" was his response:
Oh hey look, Jameson. What can go wrong?
The water was a little chilly, but it just felt so good. A co-worker who lives in the complex stopped by with his (3 year old?) son, who commented that he "never wears shirts." Colt replied "And that is why you will make your daddy a grand daddy real soon." We played a game of football in the pool with some kids from the complex, and no one scored because well, football in a pool isn't easy. I floated a would be TD pass to Colt just a few inches high, and we had a couple of other near misses. (BTW "near miss" is a dumb term, if you nearly missed it then you made it.) We played many games of chicken fight, with me and whoever my partner was (it's not that I can't remember, it's that we rotated) standing our ground. It was of course fun, because pools are fun by default. But that's not where the real fun was.
Colt drank quite a bit of the Jameson, not there was anything wrong with that. I took his car keys from him, without much force. It could have been an ugly situation but thankfully it wasn't. Even when drunk he's got his head squarely on his shoulders. It wouldn't be worth writing about if the car ride home wasn't so funny. I don't even remember half the stuff we said, and I can't really talk about some of the stuff I do remember, but I remember it all being hilarious. One could mistake him for being high. For the record, I was sober.
Colt: We should have taken 85 South to (Georgia) 400.
Me: Nah, I already was on 400 today. I want to experience this part of 85 North.
Me: ...I'll cheer for you.
Colt: You can't cheer for me. You're my cheering section.
Colt: Oh man, I think I left my towel back there.
Me: You're wearing it.
He then examined the towel, not sure if it was his. It was.
I'm sure it was funnier for me than for you, but I write for me.
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