Soccer ramble
Last night at Ivan's was lovely. Fantastic dinner, a pregnant lady who is actually glowing, as per cliche (she's such a darling) and, even better, people to talk to about boxing, soccer, motorcycles and english lit with. All my favorite things.
Having people to rant to about soccer meant that the whole Ireland-France thing came roaring into the conversation, and we all exchanged "Fucking Henri"'s and exasperated sighs. I love soccer, and yes I call it that because while my dad is Irish, I am not, and can't get away with calling it football over here. In Scotland, sure. Montreal, I have to clarify that it isn't the kind of football where massive brutes smash against each other for a while, while an oddly shaped ball does other things elsewhere. (I only like live, university level american style football and the Superbowl, but only if I'm really drunk in the case of the latter.)
But France, this is unforgivable. Back in '98 when you beat Brazil 3-0 in the final, you were my heroes. You had Emmanuel Petit,Zidane, Lilian Thuram, Henri, Christophe Dugarry, Christian Karembeu, Patrick Vieira AND Barthez! You guys became the seventh nation to win a World Cup, and the first host nation to win the tournament since Argentina in 1978. You were beautiful to watch. Even at 12, I realized that.
But now...fuck. Ireland is my team. Germany is a VERY close second, (though now that Kahn's gone I might be slightly less enthusiastic) but when I heard that Ireland might get into the world cup I fucking brimmed with pride.
But Henri and his big hands. And he even admitted it after the game! Since the ref didn't see it and it meant they qualified, Henri did what anyone would do. But it doesn't make it right.
Argh. I wouldn't kill, but I'd probably maim if it let me be in South Africa this summer. Man.
Having people to rant to about soccer meant that the whole Ireland-France thing came roaring into the conversation, and we all exchanged "Fucking Henri"'s and exasperated sighs. I love soccer, and yes I call it that because while my dad is Irish, I am not, and can't get away with calling it football over here. In Scotland, sure. Montreal, I have to clarify that it isn't the kind of football where massive brutes smash against each other for a while, while an oddly shaped ball does other things elsewhere. (I only like live, university level american style football and the Superbowl, but only if I'm really drunk in the case of the latter.)
But France, this is unforgivable. Back in '98 when you beat Brazil 3-0 in the final, you were my heroes. You had Emmanuel Petit,Zidane, Lilian Thuram, Henri, Christophe Dugarry, Christian Karembeu, Patrick Vieira AND Barthez! You guys became the seventh nation to win a World Cup, and the first host nation to win the tournament since Argentina in 1978. You were beautiful to watch. Even at 12, I realized that.
But now...fuck. Ireland is my team. Germany is a VERY close second, (though now that Kahn's gone I might be slightly less enthusiastic) but when I heard that Ireland might get into the world cup I fucking brimmed with pride.
But Henri and his big hands. And he even admitted it after the game! Since the ref didn't see it and it meant they qualified, Henri did what anyone would do. But it doesn't make it right.
Argh. I wouldn't kill, but I'd probably maim if it let me be in South Africa this summer. Man.