Saturday, July 01, 2006


Most researchers in learning and behavior would tell you we all tend to seek pleasurable activities and avoid those things that cause us pain.

So what explains why I sit down and put myself through another World Cup loss?

I'm not going to be mad at the boys for not being able to get it done in penalty kicks tonight - I'm not going to pretend I know what it feels like to run for 120 minutes and then stop, place the ball on the penalty spot with everyone watching and score (granted, the ball is only 13 yards from the goal) but - I'm not going to judge.

I'm pissed. And by pissed I don't mean, "drunk", although that wouldn't be such a bad thing right about now. I mean I'd like to lean out the nearest window and scream the cuss word that sounds an awful lot like "duck", being careful to linger on each letter of the word, you know, "FFFFFFFFFFFFF- " Well, you understand.

I'd also like to say duck-you to the Argentinian ref who sent Wayne Rooney off in the second half.

To anyone who likes to remind me soccer is boring and will never really take off in this country - duck off.

To our waitress at lunch today, you don't really deserve to be told to duck-off, but you do suck at waitressing and we waited forever for our food.

To you condesending ducks that like to say outloud that perhaps it's better that Ghana, or Brazil, or Costa Rica win these games, "because that's really all they have..." Duck. You.

Oh, and a giant duck-you to every ducking person who openly root against the U.S. or England - without really supporting a team of your own - as if our loss, against anybody, it doesn't matter, is a small victory for.... who really? Duck off.

Well, that's it really. Can't say that I'm even mildly interested in watching a World Cup Final between Germany and Brazil, or Italy and France, or any combination of the four.

I apologize if this blog comes across as, well - bitter. But I feel better. Thanks for listening.


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  2. Anonymous10:31 PM

    Duck may be a bit strong for me but I will say "Bugger those Bloody Buggers, the World Cup is over for me. I still have me memories of 1966.

  3. Another fine Kingston f-bomb tirade... I love how it just spirals...I mean, the waitress? You need the hate book? I'd FedEx it, but it sounds like you might rip it apart with your mouth. Oh, man.