Magic Jewball

all signs point to no

 

Magic Jewball, sporting fool

Filed under : Sports
On July 14, 2006
At 11:55 am
Comments : 19

I rarely eat my blogwords, but I have to admit that I did get into the whole World Cup hoopla towards the end. It sucked me in slowly slowly. Here’s my problem. Even with a sporting event I care nothing about, I can’t help picking favorites. Then my favorites lose and I feel depressed about it even though I never watched a single game. I started with the US (I do live here, no matter how pathetic they are). That lasted for the two days they were actually in the tournament. I then moved onto Ghana which has some players who play in Israel normally. So I had to go for them. Yes, another crushing defeat. Then I had Argentina. That was for David Nalbandian. When he’s happy I’m happy. I don’t need to tell you how that ended. Finally, I had France. Enough said.

I never did get what’s so beautiful about the game. I will say that even though there are fewer goals than those “Macarena” guys had hits, there are more near misses than you’d think. Plus, I spent the last two games in downtown bars with my friend Lisa, who’d recently returned from a French vacation and would have taken home the whole country in her suitcase if she could have. So she was quite enthusiastic. And the bar experience was really cool. The first one we went to, versus Portugal, was more like a library than a bar. I have never heard such silence in a bar in my life. Everybody had the intensity of combat fighters in that place. But it was fun and the scene in the street was brilliant, unless you were Portuguese. But I’ve never seen a Portuguese person in NYC and I didn’t really see any here either.


The atmosphere at the final was a little different what with Italians outnumbering French people in the New York area 13 to 1. Lisa, her family, and I were in the distinct minority. I won’t give away the ending in case you haven’t gotten around to watching it on your Tivo, but suffice to say, we kind of felt like we’d been headbutted in the sternum. I did see those same guys from this picture, and the Italian girl who’d been sitting in front of us yelled “losers!” at them. Nice.



I should also say that I began that day by waking up at 9am to watch the Wimbledon final (my guy, Nadal, lost) and then later went home to watch the replay of the Yankee game (they lost too).

So, should you be an athlete and wish to buy me off so I won’t support you, please e-mail me with your bids. I am, as always, for sale.



Beck – Loser

 

19 Comments for this post

 
Sarpon says

I’m commenting before I read, just to be first.

 
Jan says

There are no Portuguese people in NYC? Really?

 
Sarpon says

Well, now that I’ve read it, I’m certainly glad I got in there and won the time trial for commenting today.

 
Becca says

Jan, no, none! No, I kid, I’m sure there are but they don’t seem to wave flags from their cars or have a parade or open up Portuguese restaurants like all the other ethnicities in the NY tapestry.

Sarpon, that so doesn’t count.

 
Jan says

They must all be up here instead, then.

(Not that I have anything against the Portuguese, other than their insistance on using baccala in any and all dishes. Baccala is an evil invention and should never ever be eaten.)

 
Becca says

Well that’s where they all are. I wondered.

 
Sarpon says

Not only should it count, I should get a couple of bonus seconds for having the prescience to realize that being first in posting would relate the blog entry.

 
Becca says

Yeah, hm, no.
Wait! Someone sent me a Nelly Furtado CD. Can I interest you in that?

 
Sarpon says

I don’t think I’d be interested in a singer whose name sounds like what my kids would call Mexican food that tastes like shit.

 
Becca says

Your kids are spot on.

 
Culotte says

As a Portuguese person, I’m feeling a little underrepresented in NYC. ~tilting head~ Perhaps the Portagees are a bit underrepresented on J-Ball, too.

And WTF is Baccala? I know Bacalhau, the nasty-ass fish my husband was obsessed with in Portugal.

And I’ve never been an athlete, just an athletic supporter.

 
Becca says

Represent, Culotte, represent. But of couse I knew there were Portuguese in New England. I did see Mystic Pizza, after all.

 
KP says

There are many Portugese people in CT and RI. One gave us a peach tree. Another gave us a bottle of Port. Anyone who gives me gifts is a-okay in my book.

Baccala smells bad, really bad. I have been told it tastes wonderful but I am not willing to put anything in my mouth that smells that bad.

I have standards you know.

 
Becca says

Well, this has been a real education. An education I would have preferred to do without.

 
Annoyingmouth says

Ok I offer ten dollars to support italian curling team. Maybe five dollars more if you send me a photo of you smiling and washing the floor with a curling broom.

 
Becca says

Well, of course I already have several photos like that. But fifteen bucks? That buys you a sandwich in New York. Next!

 
KP says

Yes indeed. It is nasty dried salted codfish usually purchased in a wooden box or out of a burlap sack. Now that’s just wrong on so many levels. It is a staple of the traditional Christmas eve fish feast Italians love to have, along with many other creepy smelly fishy things I care not to remember in detail right now.

Suffice to say, there were many a Christmas Eve where KP’s dinner came out of a Stouffer’s box.

Double blech.

 
Becca says

Excellent, Psycho. I wait with great anticipation.

 
psycho says

i lost the bubble here.