Soccer Fever - I Don't Got It

This is sure to rile up all of my international reader, but I have been trying to follow this World Cup of Soccer thing and I honestly don't get it. I've tried, believe me. But there are a number of things about this game I just don't understand.

• First of all, if, as a fan, all you want to do is drink to the point of incontinence and destroy the venue you are in regardless of whether things go your way or not, why don't you just petition the powers that be for another Woodsock festival. I think even for me, seeing Limp Bizkit would be more optimal than watching Moldovia and Trinidad and Tobago wrestle to a "nil-nil" draw.
• Which reminds me. It's a "zero", or "nothing". It's not "nil". Call it the same as all the other sports. The only one that gets a pass is tennis. They can still call it "love", because it was derived from the French word for "egg" and I like eggs. And I like love. See? I'm not a total bastard. So there.
• Why the hell can't anyone score?! Let's look at this more. The field is approximately 8 miles long and 4 miles wide. The goal is the size of the Great Wall of China which looks like it is being guarded by one of the Lollipop Guild. It takes a team about 45 minutes to get the ball into the area where the goal area is actually in the TV shot and then they shoot it wide and out of bounds. This happens about twice in the span of an entire match. If the ball actually reaches the goalie, the crowd goes fucking bananas. Sounds riveting.
• Any sport where a two goal lead is "insurmountable" and when the headlines read some team was "crushed" 3-0 is just flat out dumb. These teams score even less than me in high school. It's not fun to experience and it's sure as shit not fun to watch.
• And in the rare, once in a Hale-Bopp comet visit occasion that someone does score, their methods of celebration are completely lame. In hockey, you raise your stick and your teammates skate up to you and pat you on the head. In football, you spike the ball, do a little dance, make a little love, get down tonight. In baseball, you get grab-assed, high five your teammates, or do the congratulatory hand jesture du jour, the fist tap. In soccer, you put your arms out to the side and run around like a mentally disturbed airplane, trying to avoid your teammates who, like fucking idiots, are frantically trying to chase you down like you are on fire.
• Sorry, I have been kicked in the shin before and I didn't go down like I was shot with a bazooka.
• And after they have been shot with heavy artillery, there is no motorized cart that takes them away once they smarten up and realize that there's no friggin way they want to run around like a chicken with its head cut off anymore. Instead, the Three Stooges (wooo...aaahhaaa....ahhheeee...ahhooo) scurry out to the field, throw you on a stretcher, and carry you off, ne'er to be seen again. I actually think they take the injured player behind the stadium and shoot them. Which is the same fate suffered by those players who regrettably score on their own goal. For real.
• The penalties are called by referrees who produce different colored cards in the face of the offender. Lame. If I need a decoder ring to figure out who's in trouble, you need a different system. REVERSE! SKIP! UNO!!!
• The hair styles. Apparently, the eastern hemisphere didn't get the memo that mullets are no longer "da bomb".

There are probably a bunch of others. I'll update the post as I think of them. In the meantime, I think I'll go watch a tape of this. At least you can use your friggin hands.

Viva Italia!

- D.