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Saturday, June 15, 2002

 

There Would Be a Polish Joke in Here Somewhere Involving Lightbulb Installation If I Knew How Many Soccer Players Were on a Side


The Polish National Team drilled Team USA 3-1 early Friday (all the games are "early," as FIFA rather inconveniently situated the Big Soccer Tournament half the globe away. On the East Coast, people are heading out to bars to take in some footie action at 5am. Out here on the West Coast, one's options are limited to pulling an all-nighter to catch the 2am start time or avoiding all media outlets and watching the TiVo'd version after work. A futher option, of course, is to ignore the scores, close one's eyes, and listen to the din of a city full of bandwagon Lakers fans (this is Bandwagon City, after all) relishing a title won in the most lopsided series since Grenada.

[I really have a hard time believing that I made a Grenada reference here. What is this, the Dick Cavett show? I suppose I could have gone with Desert Storm, but come on. Retro is probably a little better than the near-past rehash. Yesterday, I actually made an Amway joke at work. Then I stopped myself, in a similar fashion as what is on display here, and had to ask if Amway even exists anymore. Like I said, I think I watched way too much late-night TV in the '80s. I shall finish this parentheical {or is this a brackethetical?} with a round of fist-pumping and woofing. Take that.]

Despite that fact that the Poles rolled over the good-ole Yanks like Soviet tanks through Gdansk, the US still advances to the second round of World Cup play. This is a feature of soccer (or maybe just the Cup) that I never really understood--you take a beating, then get word that someone else in your Group has crapped out, then celebrate the moment when you realize you still advance, instantly forgetting about the humiliation in progess. Italy and Mexico actually STOPPED PLAYING when they found out they both were moving on to the second round and the score of the match became meaningless. Being a baseball fan, this soccer nonsense drives me to the clicker and I flip on the latest Yankee game, basking in the elegance of the designated hitter, the Infield Fly Rule, the ground rule double, and that thing where you can run to first base if the catcher drops the ball on the third strike, resulting in a strikeout but not an out, but only if first base is open.

Simplicity itself, amigo.



About this site

This is the internet home of Mark Lisanti, a Los Angeles writer sometimes known as Bunsen. He is the founding editor of Defamer, a weblog about Hollywood, where he now serves in the nebulous capacity of "editor-at-large."
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