[Although it sucks that NZ didn't make it through. They were just so precious.]
Two words: Jan. Durica.
Wait, do names qualify as words? Would a name be one word? Whatevs, the grammar nazi within you has got to be distracted. Congrats, Slovakia: hotness like that doesn't let you down.
[Recently Kardashianless! All hands on deck, girls.]
Oh, I do love a good excuse to post photos of Reggie Bush. I'm guessing this one's probably as good as it's going to get around here. Reggie twittered this shot amidst the post-Algeria part-ay-ing.
And with that, Italy help the World Cup achieve a new point in history: this is the first tournament in which neither finalist of the previous one has made it out of the group stage. Who knew that when, full-time diving cheat and part-time Italy midfielder, Daniele De Rossi warned that Italy could go out like France, he was actually looking into his crystal ball rather than making a pathetic attempt to manage expectations? Somewhere Zidane is laughing his little head off.
Diving header. Meh. Why is it that people are always running to credit John Terry with all sorts of things? Passion, drive, and the ominous 'world class'? (I've heard that last one so much that I'm not sure what exactly it's supposed to mean. You play for Chelsea. Be world class. All the time. Simple as.)
"The Chelsea defender said he was “born to lead”. And do you know what? He was spot on. Terry played this game like his life depended on it. He was everything his manager needed him to be – fearless, inspirational, simply brilliant."
The worst are those suggesting he be reinstated as captain. He was stripped of the captaincy, people. STRIPPED. And not even for being a crap defender or moronically speaking out against the manager at a time when the team needed unity more than anything else, like he conveniently did last week. No, Terry was dismissed for generally being a dirty scoundrel and a sh*t friend which has to say more about his character than any of the stereotypical english-hardman tripe the press are now selling.
How we're supposed to feel about John Terry is confusing. He's like that friend or acquaintance we've all got who's constantly making catty comments about your clothes or hair and then apologizes 'if your feelings were hurt'. She gives the most complete bail-out apologies that only leave you feeling unqualified in your anger. I get to be annoyed by you, damn it. Let me have that, at least. JT's got a knack for acting like a complete gentlemen, making the blinding off the line clearance (flashback to Trinidad and Tobago at the '06 World Cup) that sticks in your head for ages until, of course, he spits in someone's face during a Champions League final and hounds and screams at referees on the pitch. The moment you start liking him he does or says something so pompous and prick-like that you've got no choice but to go back to hating him again.
The Yank bandwagon has never looked so tempting. The whole thing almost makes me forget how annoying I actually find Landycakes. This is officially going down as a point in the 'good' column.
TIET TMI du Jour: In usual wandering-eye fashion, please play special attention to :25 of this clip where Jay DeMerit does a back-flip onto the man pile. Seriously? I'm amazed there aren't more injured that result from goal celebrations.
Also, this sign is kind of awesome. Predictable, but awesome.
That, my friends, is a face begging to be punched.]
Due to life incessantly getting in the way of dedicating my entire existence to the World Cup (funny how that happens), I've not been able to watch the whole France/South Africa match yet. I wasn't so lucky, however, to fully escape the final act of the Shakespearean play France is putting on over in South Africa. As the highlights were being inflicted on a half-empty bar patio midway through my morning, I happened to be passing by. Wrong place, wrong time. The mental effort that was gathered to coax myself into avoiding having my day spoiled by sitting down to watch France's formality of a final group match today was expansive. I'd resolved to wait to watch the match when I got home tonight where I could sulk, groan and shout at my television undisturbed. Sometimes you just need those ninety minutes to yourself; to exorcise your angry-and-disappointed-supporter demons away from the view of, er, normal people.
But here's the main thing to understand about actively trying not to watch your side play at any point during the world cup: it's viscerally impossible. The patio's television screens seemed to pop up out of no where and they flickered brightly with the impending doom of it all. They were irresistible. While the commentators were setting up the first clip of the highlight reel, the loudest thought on loop over and over in my head was 'WALK AWAY! WALK AWAY NOW!' It was like a car accident and I was that annoying jerk that cranes her head out the window to slow down and scope out the full extent of the crash -- truly awful.
Now, if you'll excuse me I'm off for another evening of piecing together any semblance of motivation to truly give a sh*t about the rest of this tournament**. Yes, and to actually watch the rest of the South Africa game.
**Oh, I get to be a bit dramatic today okay? Relax Spain, I'll still be around to root on your eventual collapse. I'm devoted to the cause.
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