My Obligatory World Cup Post

I thought it would be appropriate, as we near the midway point, to post something about what many consider the best sporting event in the world, the FIFA World Cup football (soccer) tournament.

Unfortunately, I really have nothing of substance to say about it; no commentary about the teams or the tournament structure; no analysis of the top players and their impact; no predictions about the final outcome; nothing. I just can't seem to care very much.

I apologize to the rest of the world for my apathy, because I know you all love the World Cup. I know you all are rabid football fans, which I think is great, and it truly pains me to perpetuate an American stereotype, but I just can't find anything about the game that appeals to me in a significant way.

And I've really tried, too. I really have. I mean I watched all the US matches, and I've also tuned in to several others. I've opened my mind and my heart to be won over by the spectacle, but so far there has just been no spark. There is no chemistry between football and me, and I think I know why.

The game moves relatively slow (I had to shave twice between goals during one match). Generally speaking, there is not a lot of offense taking place on the field --- well, not a lot of successful offense. Strong kicks at goal are rare, and softer, more accurate ones tend to be saved by the goalie or deflected by another defender. The plays develop far slower than say a basketball play, and more often than not, are thwarted by the defense. I'd say out of a full match, there is about 17 and a half seconds of real offensive action.

But there's more to it than even the low scoring. Some things about football I just don't understand.

Often, one player purposely kicks the ball out of bounds, which may be of some advantage to his team, although if it is, I can't figure out how. Perhaps they all need to rest or something, and a kick out of bounds briefly stops the action, allowing them to catch their breath. Or perhaps there are pretty girls sitting in the stands, and the players want to run after an out ball to do a little babe reconnaissance. It's difficult to say.

Also, I don't really know what "Offsides" means, and I can't understand why it's a violation. As far as I'm concerned, anyone on the field should be allowed to take a shot at goal from anywhere at anytime. And they should be allowed to shoot at either goal for good measure. That'd keep those no-field-running goalies on their toes.

Plus, I can't figure out if it's okay to trip a guy or not. Seems like it would be awesome for the spectators if players were allowed to trip (I'm all in favor of ramping up the violence). But as far as I can tell, only sometimes when a guys go down is a violation is issued.

And, it appears the officials only have to make a call if they feel like it.

In the American's match against Italy, the official seemed to be testing his whistle as well as his ability to do semaphore with his yellow and red cards every time the US was on defense. The Italians did some of the exact same things, but no violations were issued against them for it. I'm not saying the officials were playing favorites, or that they had it in for the US team, but there was no rhyme or reason to it. A little consistency in the calls would be nice for us novice viewers.

Now despite the fact that there are a few little things about football that don't sit right with me, and even more I don't understand, I'm going to continue to give the game a chance. I'm going to continue to tune in at every opportunity, and maybe someday I'll find the appeal that's got the rest of the world foaming at the mouth.

In the meantime, I am enjoying one aspect of the World Cup.

The most appealing thing to me about each of the broadcasts I've seen so far has been the enthusiasm of the crowds. The fans go insane, right from the beginning of the match.

At first, I thought the broadcasting company had dubbed in a canned crowd track, because the cheers didn't seem to fit with the action (or lack thereof) on the field. It was as if the crowd was watching a completely different match than the one right in front of them. But then the camera panned the audience and not one person had a portable television with something else on it. They were watching the exact same thing I was.

Then I thought perhaps European cheering protocol was different than American cheering protocol. I thought perhaps European crowds cheer when there is nothing happening and, I don't know, go out for a beer or to have a piss when a goal is scored. I couldn't figure out what they were cheering about. Turns out, they weren't cheering about anything. They were just cheering.

I love insanity, and a stadium filled with 20,000+ normally staid Europeans chanting, singing, and cheering in choreographed bliss while grown men in short pants run up and down a field chasing a ball may very well be the definition of insanity.

By the way, I don't mean to single out Europeans. It's just that the match I was watching featured a predominantly European crowd. And besides, I can't include the Brazilian fans and Latin American fans among normal fans anyway. Those crazy bastards cheer a cup of coffee; and if it's Brazilian coffee, they might just sacrifice a virgin right there on the sidewalk.

But the enthusiasm by football fans is infectious. I found myself watching the broadcasts just for the crowd noise, and for the occasional glimpse of a whole group of fans with their faces painted their team's colors. At least I hope that was paint. I'd hate to think a skin rash can manifest itself in the shape of letters or flames across one's cheeks.

The crowds are such a cool part of the World Cup, FIFA officials should consider an experiment to draw bigger American audiences next year, or in four years, or in 76 years, or however often they hold the tournament: Put the crowds on the field, and let 'em go nuts. The most raucous, unorthodox, off-the-wall crowd wins, as voted on by the players, who would of course be in the bleachers smoking pipes and drinking chicory.

And if the players don't want to drink chicory and judge, they can dress up like their favorite hooligan. Because let's face it, one of those bloody football riots is bound to break out with all the fans already on the field, and if the players are dressed like the most popular hooligans, the viewing audience will know whom to root for, and a career in hooliganism will finally get the notoriety it deserves.

Until that happens though, I'm going to watch the World Cup with interest, and try like hell to figure it all out. Of course there's good chance I'll be distracted wondering who would win in a fight between the Brazilian fans and the Aussie fans . . .

. . . Ohhh . . . Wait . . . I'm going to need a bracket for this.

The Saga of the Homeless Oak Ridge Boy (Part VI)

We had some severe thunderstorms hit us last night and this morning, and with the saturation from the previous two day's rain, the streets flooded quickly.

Needless to say, I was a little worried about the homeless man that usually throws trash at me when I come out to go to work in the morning. You remember him; the one who looks like The Oak Ridge Boy with the long beard.

He and his homeless buddies and wino friends usually shack up at an abandoned building down the street when the weather's bad, but guess what. They tore down the abandoned building last week. They leveled it, and left nothing but an empty lot.

I'm not really sure who the "they" is in this case. Usually when I use an ambiguous "they" it refers to an unseen authority on some specific subject, as in "Well, that's what they say". And we all know that the "they" in those cases is actually an acronym --- it stands for The Hearsay Experts and Yahoos. I'm assuming the "they" that tore down the homeless Oak Ridge Boy's and his friend's shelter is the property owner or perhaps the city of Houston. I'll report further as details trickle in.

At any rate, I was expecting to see my trash hurling friend hunkered safely under the eaves of my apartment building to avoid the torrential rainfall, but alas, he was nowhere in sight. One of his friends, however, was out and about, and was in a dire situation.

I've mentioned this particular friend of the homeless Oak Ridge Boy before. He seem's an industrious fellow who wheels two shopping carts around the neighborhood each of which contains a very eclectic collection of items. I'm sure he doesn't make very good time getting anywhere with the two carts, but I've seen him miles away from my neighborhood, pushing one cart ahead and pulling the other aft, so apparently he travels far and wide for his treasure.

Well, the shopping cart guy was trying to cross at the intersection, but it had rained so much, he was caught in a fairly strong current of water rushing to one of the few inundated gutters on the street. The water was really moving, and the rain wasn't letting up. In fact, he was clutching tightly to only one shopping cart --- the other had presumably been washed away by the rushing water.

Without thinking, I darted into the floodwater, and together we pulled his remaining cart out of the current and up onto higher ground.

Out of breath and looking at the soggy items shoved into the cart in no special order that I could discern, I had a brilliant idea. I could ask the shopping cart guy if the trash hurler had ever been in The Oak Ridge Boys!

If you follow my blog entries, you know that it's been a mystery I've wanted to solve for a long time. And I had just saved the man's life --- well, I had help save his blankets, someone's pair of tennis shoes, a yellow and red knit cap, and plastic bottles that might have been full of water, might have been full of his urine, but you get the idea. I had helped him. Certainly, out of gratitude, he would tell me what he knew about the trash man, right?

So I asked him, "Hey, is your friend with the long, gray beard the same guy who sings with The Oak Ridge Boys?"

The man looked at me with red-threaded eyes, the rain dripping off his matted afro in beads. He then looked at the items in his cart, and reached in to offer me one of the plastic water/pee bottles. And when he held it out to me, he was shaking his head, and he said through a curl of unkempt black and gray whiskers:

"Merzy Jezuz. Da Lorb is pleased for you. You's done good in da eyes of da Lorb."

Well that was very kind of him to say, and the offered gift was touching, though for some reason I didn't feel comfortable taking it. Unfortunately, I sensed I had hit another dead end in this ongoing saga. So I politely declined the water bottle, went back inside to change my clothes, and then went to work.

As you might expect, I'm a little disappointed I didn't get any information about the homeless man that throws trash at me, but I feel good that at least today I did good in da eyes of da Lorb.