Don’t Cry for Me (Argentina)

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So the Germans shocked the Boys from Brazil yesterday afternoon. It was nothing short of astonishing. I had turned the match on at Big Pink, finishing off a decent swim under clear but hazy skies. Kulik the lifeguard was bummed- he had no way to watch the match, and once I left there was no one to supervise in the pool.

I got dressed to go over to Willow and walked around the corner of the living room to see the Germans were already up a goal, and my eyes widened as they knocked in another as I stood there. 2-nil (we are supposed to say “nil” right?) and the game had just started.

I didn’t want to miss any more of it than I had to, so I headed out, pausing only to yell the score across the pool.

Old Jim and New Steve were in position when I arrived, and NS kept an eye on Jaz, a remarkable young woman I did not recognize who was watching the match with rapt attention. She appeared to be a body-builder, and Steve was frankly enamored with her.

Then the Germans scored five more goals. I remember the Brazilian teams of yore, and I had never seen anything like it. Even the consolation goal for the home team late in the closing minutes didn’t alter the humiliation. I was wearing my Deutsch Fussball-Bund shirt (jersey? sweater?) and the white wine was crisp and delightful and the crowd fairly raucous for a Willow afternoon.

It was a marvelous afternoon, with plenty of speculation about things we known absolutely nothing about. Sammy the Tunisian bartender- it’s Ramadan, so he was feeling a little faint- was the local expert, towering over us at six foot four with jet black pomaded hair and a wolfish grin.

“Tomorrow we see Argentina go down,” he said. “It is the Netherlands all the way.”

Not having much of an opinion on the relative merits of either team, I looked it up when I got home and after pouring a generous nightcap. The skies had opened up and the thunder crashed. It was a great evening, all things considered. And looking at the side-by-side for the Archies (isn’t that what the Brits call them?) and the Dutch (which is what Jim calls them) it seems like a no-brainer.

Go Netherlands!

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(Graphic statistics courtesy FIFA).

Copyright 2014 Vic Socotra
www.vicsocotra.com
Twitter: @jayare303

Written by Vic Socotra

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