Where in the world is Gary Lineker?

The man's a prophet.

I know where I am, at least, still on vacation -- seriously, not going to work whilst enjoying the quiet of a new neighborhood is a worthy pursuit, I highly recommend it. Did I mention that it's quiet? IT'S REALLY FUCKING QUIET -- but I'd be remiss (or maybe I'm simply tired of unpacking) in not throwing something up before the semifinals of the Footie Champion of the Universe Tournament, sponsored by FIFA® and Budweiser®, King of Swill®.

Alright, alright, I either slightly underestimated Deutschland -- sonofabitch, that Schweinsteiger ain't too shabby -- or, more likely, really, really, really overestimated the complete lack of suck inherent in the Argentine defense.

Aside: and a maddening inability to finish.

If memory serves, every German goal seemed to originate from an attack down the right of Atomic Zen Diego's XI. So, while [insert stereotypes of functionality and efficiency here] Germany, not [insert stereotypes of hot-blooded Latin bolero here] Spain, is the team that's scored 4 goals thrice in one Cup, the Iberians will prove a wee bit more of a challenge since they, you know, try defending.

Aside: is it me, or did Argentina take the Merry Dribbler thing a bit too far? Too many one-on-fives and they surprisingly came across a shade to the slow-as-molasses-in-the-Arctic. Must've been downing some of that swill with the English.

Of course, I was quarterfinal wrong, but fuck the Germans. The Spaniards gain their first ever final. Oh, make all the cracks you want about defensive football not being pretty, but in some bizarre way, possibly due to adult beverages, I found Paraguay to be pretty. No, wait, that's their famous fan who, sadly, will now not be strolling through the streets nattily-unclad. Sniff.






















I told you the Dutch would knock off the Dungians. Even though I didn't believe it for a single nanosecond of the first half. Comical that for all of the Brazilian defensive panache, the shortest dude on the pitch proved to be the assassin, via the skull, no less, hardee har har. Ruud, lucky and/or good and/or three foot six, doesn't matter. Be glad this Oranje edition isn't going to arrogantly taunt the ball around circa totaalvoetbal's crowning moment.

If you're one of the people going on and on about Luis Suarez's goal-denying handball, kindly shut your noisehole. It's a red card offense, he's going to miss the semifinal and frankly, if Gyan had did his job (believe me, I feel for the dude, too), then we'd be reading five billion column inches about the serendipity that is an African semifinalist in the first African World Cup on African soil in Africa. But beyond that crash n' burn of such a Hollywood story, what's up with those awful shootout attempts? It was as if they were channeling me or some other equally inept couch potato. Sorry Ghana, it's your own fault.

Anyway, The Other Diego will still be on the pitch, but I can't back down from my pre-tournament prediction of a Spain-Netherlands final. Being in the company of turnabout politicians (apologizes for the redundancy) is an icky feeling.

See you chumps later in the week.

Hup Holland Hup!