World Cup Fever, Chapter 27

Nuffy has the World Cup fever! Stew even has it, even if he slept through part of the U.S. game today whilst recovering from his marathon U.S. Open-watching sessions. Stew is one of the few people I know who celebrates a twelve-foot putt the way Italian players celebrate a goal.

The U.S. were splended today, despite the best efforts of the Uruguayain referee to turn the match into Reservoir Dogs II. Couple that with a smashing English victory on Thursday and I'm rather chipper, despite my heart stopping at least seven times during the match today.

The sending off of Pope was particularly harsh, today. I did scream "Goal!" at the top of my lungs when the Italian player put the ball in the back of his own net, and I also confess to loud chants of "Arrevederci!!" when De Rossi was sent off for a vicious elbow on Brian McBride (which required 3 stiches and half a tube of Krazy Glue to close).

It's the fever. I have it! Nuffy has it! Stew is succumbing! Even Chico y Jose called me the other evening to tell me he actually watched the U.S. vs. Czech Republic match (Despite his name, he is not a footie fan). Somewhere, in his Witness Relocation safehouse, Jorge is screaming at the telly for Portugal to beat Iran, not realizing it's a replay. I have no doubt that even Zimpter looked up from his intensive studies on Peter Brook's The Empty Space when he felt a sudden cool and refreshing breeze lasily drift across his face.

It's the World Cup, Zimpter! Catch the fever, lad!