Kind of a Big Deal

This post is in honor of Wes’ brother, Neal, who asked me to write a post about the World Cup.  And who also once brought a dead beaver to Thanksgiving dinner.  Hi, Neal!

So I guess there’s this soccer game going on right now?  Between a bunch of teams?  And the whole world really cares and is all excited about it?

I don’t know.  I looked into it, and apparently the most common score in a World Cup Finals Match is 1-0, which gives me the impression that watching these matches must be frightfully dull.  They score once in how many hours?  And they’re not allowed to bare their chests because FIFA doesn’t allow them to anymore, so we red-blooded females don’t even get to ogle the muscley men dashing across the screens.

But, according to people who know things, the World Cup is a huge deal.  Because everywhere other than America regards soccer as a Very Big Deal.  Therefore, this is like a global Super Bowl.

Now, I’m a huge fan of the Super Bowl.  It’s like mini Thanksgiving for me, what with the gratuitous food and encouragement to constantly stuff your face while not moving.  The football game?  Meh.  Sometimes it’s exciting, sometimes it’s a snore, and sometimes it makes the people watching the game around me shriek in outrage while I snap my attention back to the game and try to figure out why everyone’s so angry.

From what I can tell, though, only America cares about the Super Bowl, because Americans are really the only ones who play football.  So essentially, we as a country decided to thumb our nose at the world’s favorite past-time and invented our own special game.

In the global playground, we scoffed at the kids playing Four Square and took our ball, squashed it flat by sitting on it, and then coaxed all the biggest kids to beat each other up trying to steal it from one another.  Which I suppose is better than if we’d had all the biggest kids beat up the Four Square kids first, before playing with our weirdo squashed ball.

So I guess what I’m trying to say is that this a post about the World Cup.  And about football.  And somehow it’s also an allegory on foreign policy, with the moral being that perhaps our politicians would do well to remember that the other kids can play Four Square all they want as long as they stay on their side of the playground.

See?  We can all learn so much from the World Cup.  And for that, we can thank my brother in law.

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