The requisite 0.35 cents on the World Cup…

Posted on June 12, 2006


Yesterday I was hanging out with my boyfriend when he said cheerfully, “Come on. Let’s watch the World Cup.”
“What, on TV?” I said, like an idiot. I was flabbergasted that my most Canadian of boyfriends, specifically chosen for this quality, should sell me out and watch the World Cup like every other man on the planet – outside North America. And everyone of colour inside North America. I thought my sufferings at the hands of the NBA, the NFL, NHL and Major League Baseball were QUITE sufficient – but it all paled in comparison to the spectre of a man enslaved by the World Cup. I’ve weathered many World Cup seasons, scorned by all with a Y chromosome. I had thought, through my careful selection of boyfriend, to avoid another such spell.
“Yes! Let’s see who’s on!”
It was Mexico v. Iran. There were some gay-ass Canadian commentators who were killing it, smashing it to tiny pieces of brain, even for me. M assured me that when the break was over British commentators would actually cover the game, and I subsided. I reconciled myself to leering at the various players and remarking on their physiques, a sure way to destroy any pleasure M (who is a pretty jealous guy) might be experiencing. However, he did not desist from watching and I had to go off and get on MSN.
Walking through Sears today, I passed by the electronics section, where there was a plethora of TVs in every size, all set to a football match. I looked over, my attention attracted by the roar of the fans (football fans, unlike those of other sports, have their gullets open to their fullest extent for the ENITRE game) to find a couple dozen guys of every stamp staring transfixed at the largest screen, all with their mouths open. They were just standing there in a crowd, all facing the same direction, as if they were waiting for sustenance in the form of beer-covered women-chips.