On Saturday, I went out with some peeps to watch Germany play Sweden. Unfortunately, the only "watching" that I did was limited to the back of the heads of damn near everyone standing in front of me (curse this country of giants!!!). By the time news of a goal made it's way down to me, there was really only time for a brief, half-hearted "woo!" on my part. On the upside, I did get a nice look at the ZDF (tv station) logo and sometimes the countdown clock, so at least I was aware of just how much longer my torture was going to last.
The saddest part of all was that not even the beer helped. Not. Even. The. Beer. [Feel free to shake your fist at the skies and scream, "NOOOOOOOOO!"] For what it's worth, the beer did what beer is supposed to do (i.e. taste good and get me drunk). However, the magical quality of making me forget that I don't like this game had dissapeared.
I am, for all intents and purposes, soccered-out.
It didn't really occur to me until a few hours later when I was watching Mexico play Argentina and clock was at 100 minutes. Then, Wonfuzius explained that there would be 30 minutes of overtime and, then, my brain exploded. I was like, "Fuck this game" and left the room.
So, what this means is that I am done -- finito -- with the World Cup. A rectal exam sounds almost slightly more appealing than watching another soccer game.
There is a very minute chance that I would agree to watch the finale, however, if the plans for the dorm party at Rudolf Laun Haus* go through as planned, then I will (hopefully) be too hungover to care.
* = has been re-scheduled for July 8th, mark your calendars. André will be done with his exams and he really wants to do some DJing.
No comments:
Post a Comment