What not to love?
You get to run around for like an hour and a half, kick a ball, eat some orange slices at halftime (because that's what gives you energy), drink some pop or soda or Coke or whatever it's called wherever you live, and then fall down and roll on the ground when someone touches you. I know, I used to play the game. No. Not professionally. The only thing that stopped me from getting drafted? Not playing in college. The only thing that stopped me from not playing in college? Not playing in high school. The only thing that stopped me from playing in high school? Being short, fat, and not having much talent. Other than that, I was the next Pele. He played
kickball soccer right?
The older that I get, however, the more I appreciate the sport. I actually went to a(n exhibition) match at LP Field earlier this year. And, yes, I actually paid 60 of my own hard-earned USA
Fun Bucks to go to the match. The US men's team was playing some other country that had really good Mexican food. What? Don't all countries in Central and South America eat Mexican
food? What?! C'mon... Tell me how that was insulting. I dare you. Panama? Paraguay? Paris? Is Paris a country? It was one of them there places.
For as little as I know about men's soccer, I know even less about women's soccer. I can literally sum up what I know about women's soccer in two pieces of information. The first is, obviously, the cinematic tour de force Bend it like Beckham. Shut up. It's good. Shut up, again. I own it on DVD. Also, there was this one time where this chick scored a goal, took her jersey off and ran around the field and had her jubblies all a flubblin' and Queen started to play. Here's proof:
You know, if more soccer games were like that, I'd probably watch more of them. You would, too. Don't lie.
Apparently this happened at something called the World Cup. From what I understand this is a very big deal in the
kickball soccer world. Like the Olympics and like that time I went on a date, it happens about every 4 years and everyone acts like they care. Quick, without cheating, when was the last time you watched a women's soccer game? That's what I thought.
And that brings us to the present. As I type, the US women's soccer team is up on everybody's favorite underdogs, the North Koreans 2-nil. "Nil" means zero. Maybe in that crazy Parisian language. I don't like being a translator. Since it's shaping up to be a rather slow afternoon at work and I have ESPN in my office, I've got the game on. I'm also (*plug) listening to David Comes to Life by Fucked Up. Sometimes my job is pretty sweet. The only thing that I can think of, however, is how much the North Korean women all look like North Korean men:
Good luck sorting 'em out.
So that got me to thinking: "Why do all the North Korean soccer playing women have short hair?" Does Kim Jong Il hate ponytails and freedom? The answer, as it turns out, is YES. To both. North Koreans of both sexes [hey! that's a palindrome!] are encouraged to cut their hair short "in accordance to the socialist lifestyle." I can't make this shit up. Actually, I probably could. But this time I'm not.
I'm in my office, wearing my freedom shoes, drinking my freedom water, and typing on my freedom MacBook, and all I can think about is these women with short hair. Some people call that a fetish. I call it normal. I mean, it's like if someone tells you not to think about your parents having sex, what's the first thing you're gonna think of? If you said anything else other than "my parents having sex", you're a lying commie bastard. Also, if your parents are dead and you were thinking that, that makes you either disgusting or a big BIG BIG fan of zombie love.
And this all started out with soccer.