Five Times the World Cup

I haven't spoken of it much, and I want you to know that it is because I feared that if I opened the floodgates, the very foundations of the history of time would crumble void-ward. Nevertheless, now I must tell you that I love the World Cup. Yes, I love it the way a husband loves a wife, the way a horse loves a scratch 'n sniff sticker, the way the 80s loved Jheri Curl. Every day, from noon until midnight, I sit upon pillows of silken velvet, in my Television Entertainment Room, staring at my 60 inch high definition projection screen, and I watch match after match, I watch them until my eyes puff out of my head and fall into my lap. I watch until the sweat of non-movement seeps through the pillows and warps the polished wood floor of my hillside A-frame mansion.

It is like watching the cosmos being born. It is like watching the spark of eternity in the eyes of a newborn infant. It is like watching the blossoming purity of eternal springtime. It is the World Cup. Yes, it is the World Cup. Give me a moment or two, please, while I pause in typing this to go over into the corner of my bedroom and quietly weep....

...Okay, I'm back. Thank you for your patience. The World Cup is not just a bunch of people from all over the world kicking a tiny speckly ball all over the grass. No! If this is what you thought it was, please note that your destruction at the hands of Grandfather Fate draweth nigh.

On the contary, what the World Cup represents is a thousand multi-national Warriors of Liberty defying the sphere of tyranny by kicking it back and forth across the glorious Fields of Decision! Mark Northover would be proud, I tell you, proud! When Ghana blazed to everlasting victory over Namibia, it wasn't just one win, but it represented a thousand million wins, the victory of all mankind against the encroaching darkness of the Unmaker!

It is the World Cup, and it is Five Times Better than any event which could ever possibly happen in the history of human achievement. It is the World Cup. Yes, my damp-pantsed friends, it is the World Cup.

Excuse me while I recommence weeping.