Behold the power of the mind.
It's me. It's not you, it's me, isn't it?
Got my cold beer water (it was the mid fucking 90s yesterday, sheesh), my pizza rolls, my not-as-comfortable-as-it-used-to-be couch and I's ready for Brankomania! I is.
A little backstory: in my post LeJerk LeDespair, I was on the lookout for a fresh addition to my cadre of annual rooting interests, one that wouldn't shatter my heart into soul-perforating shrapnel as consistently as all these Northeast Ohio bastards. After much deliberation (mostly the promise of a free beer), I had decided to adopt DC United, a team with a short, albeit successful, history. Oh sure, they were off to a poor start this campaign, but at 2-3-1 with an even goal differential in their last 6 matches, coupled with the emergence of young (dude can't even vote for the next Honduran pretzeldent yet) speedster Andy Najar -- and, bien sûr, new signing Branko! -- things were looking up (not really, but I need to work on my lying).
Until the first unsuccessful shot on target.
And the second.
A little help, please.
And a near, ultimately unsuccessful, Najar breakaway.
And another, though at least they're attacking, unlike the last time I saw them.
A Keller save.
Fuck, defensive lapse -- whew!
Another lapse -- whew!
Another Keller save.
72nd minute, begone noted novelist Stephen King. Stop! Brankotime! Sure, he may have booted that long pass into Pennsylvania, but what raw power! Socrates, Rivelino & Jesus rolled into one!
Oh well, one point is better than no p -- HAHAHAHA!
Giving up the winning goal right before the end?
How Cleveland.
Aside #1: even though this is 21st century America, the stadium, and all her attendant rituals, remains a place where a certain level of state-approved dissent is permitted. That said, I was shocked to catch, late in the second half, an acrid whiff of the notoriously unruly barrabravas: the achromatic cloud of either a firework or a smoke bomb. I'm well aware that a metal detector wouldn't have caught that, but where were our uniformed first responders and their busy hands? This is the seat of American power, dammit. First, lighters & wicks, next, tactical nukes in suitcases. For shame, Washington, D.C., for shame.
Aside #2: I'm contemplating taking up scrimshaw.
Friday, July 16, 2010
Plus le sport change...
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15 comments:
Have you given any thought to the possibility that perhaps YOU are a jinx, sir??
Everything gets very "Cleveland" once you begin liking it. Ever noticed that???
I'm kidding of course. :P
Whatever!
((Hugs))
Laura
I thought for sure that after the world cup you'd be back to baseball. Oh that's right....the Indians...second to last.
Nevermind.
Najar might turn out to be pretty awesome. Why Onalfo doesn't design play more to put the ball on his foot is beyond me. Wait, that's a lie.
Smoke bombs. And dope!
I waved! Hope you saw me.
Would not Scrimshaw entail the knowledgable usage of a sharp instrument? I thought Cleveland banned those years ago.
sunshine, I did in the very first line, but by the end of composing this post, I decided to blame the rowdy DC fans.
demeur, they're so fucking awful.
BDR, absolutely. He should be getting a Messi amount of shots on goal.
All that smoke obscured the stands!
mrmacrum, I was thinking of going in a different artistic direction and using a hammer.
Hey.... is it football season yet? I mean, like the 'real' football, the one with the pointed ends. Hey.... I heard that Cleveland may get a pro team this year! Wowsers! That would be exciting!
"It was in the mid fucking 90s" -- oh, good, a cooling trend.
Your missing first responders were probably all still out celebrating with their Canadian cohorts at parties funded by G20 largesse.
109 degrees here. I am too hot to say anything clever. p.s. Are people in Cleveland fans of the Price is Right? Is Drew Carey considered a son made good. If this makes no sense I am blaming it on the aforementioned heat.
Graves, you swine!
We have a local soccer team, The Earthquakes. Donovan used to play for us, so maybe someone here knows something about soccer.
Look at your Ouija board, please, and tell me our fate. I will bet opposite of course, but I need the bucks.
Regards,
Tengrain
Well, what have we here?
Why, it's another post designed to shatter my heart into soul-perforating shrapnel. That would leave me in no shape to cope with the untamed wildness of your thoughts and reminiscences about doing scrimshaw.
Would you cut it out with this ersatz football? The World Cup is over, the MLS All-Stars will most likely be pummeled next Wednesday by the British Mercenaries, and the Hall of Fame Game is just around the corner.
The enshrinement of Jerry Rice, Rickey Jackson, John Randle and some Emmit guy, will be here soon. Now, are you ready for some football? Don't make me send Hank Williams Jr. to your house!
okjimm, Cleveland? A professional football team? Where did you hear such a ridiculous rumor?
tom, I know, but now I've gotta get my parka out of storage.
susan, more proof that all the world's ills originate in Canada.
LBR, 109°? That's gotta be the hottest spot on planet earth outside of Phoenix, Saudi Arabian city squares/capital punishment zones and CIA black sites.
tengrain, San Jose shall win the MLS three years in a row! I also see wedding bells for Dick Cheney and Robbie the Robot.
SWA, c'mon, give scrimshaw a chance.
cormac, I've been ready for football for years, but I'm stuck watching the Browns.
Beer and rolls are the best, and my couch is like yours but I have come to appreciate the embedded valleys and lumps.
Ha-hah! Touche'!
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