whirled peas

I’ve become a little obsessed with the World Cup, not because I’m a huge soccer fan, but because the passion in this game, for some reason, resonates off the screen more so than any other sport I’ve watched from a million miles away.

It happened first with the game betwixt England and Portugal where one little penalty kick ended my British boys’ dreams and sent those beautiful accented men to their knees in tears. Oh, I wanted to be in those stands singing “God Save The Queen” in the hundred and tenth minute trying to rally those lovely boys to a victory. And then the devastation of the loss made me want to hop over the pond and into the pubs to drown my sorrows along with those who speak true English.

Why America reserves soccer for the privileged youth is strange to me because soccer just takes a ball and feet and it’s played in the poorest areas in the world just on the street, in fact, I believe that’s how Pele started out. I wish we loved soccer like the rest of the world and I also wish we called it football because it is.

Tomorrow is the world cup final with France and Italy going at it. I think I’m pulling for Italy because I know that little country will rock its boot off if it wins. They won’t sleep for days and that’s the kind of passion I can get behind.

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