Every four years the world goes justifiably insane. From Frank Deford…
The Olympics has embraced team sports more and more — but, even with celebrity Dream Teams, the games remain more of a variety show.
By contrast, like it or not, the World Cup is pure, raw, down-and-dirty unadulterated sport at its best. There are no World Cup hymns. There are no podiums for the runners-up. Losers walk.
Last night while eating dinner at the Whole Foods Pasta Bar, we were seated next to a brit, and struck up an amiable dinner conversation between us, him and the chef. “I’m actually a US citizen now,” he said with a noticeable amount of chagrin. “Oh so, Saturday,” I replied, “I guess that’s going to be interesting for you with England vs US?”
“Well on Saturday, respectfully you and your country can get fucked as far as that’s concerned.”
Ah sports, the great unifier. I plan to take the higher ground than our dinner friend: Saturday will find us at Fado or some equally worthy beer-serving establishment, beverage in hand at too early a time in the day, possibly in colonial garb, screaming obscenities at our cousins, the Brits.