Strange Place, This America

The other day, during the France vs. Spain game, I'm watching in a bar and talking with some folks who don't really know soccer, but are trying to understand. I can't help root for France because I love Zidane and Henry. The 1998 French team might be my favorite soccer team of all time.

For those who read my blog and to the lady in the bar, this might come as a surprise. Who could possibly like the French?

Well, I do. I told her I liked how the team played, how diverse they are, with blacks, muslims, and lily white frenchman. She said, "What do the Muslims do, stop during the game and pray?"

I said, "I don't think they do that."

She thought she was being funny. I thought she was being an idiot.

And I realized I have peculiar sensibilities. In one of my writing classes, a guy asked me if I had a lot of European friends because he thought I had European sensibilities. I guess a fondness for soccer and cheese would indicate such. But yeah, I like British writers and Northern California is sort of as Euro as it gets in the states, I guess. I also like Swiss chocolate/watches and Club International.

But then there's the rabid American in me as well, who has absolute distain for political correctness and sensitivity towards others. I'm a classic American liberal in that I think people ought to be able to say anything they want and if hurts people's feelings....too bad for them. I'm also a hawk and turn into an Israeli when those words turn into harmful actions. I support sending in tanks and planes to wreck havoc over anyone who f---'s with us.

In this sense, I don't mind Jim Rome talking all the shit he wants about soccer, but I reserve the right to call him a pussy so long as he isn't willing to come out on the field and play against me, for I would love to slide for his ankles and watch him squirm on the ground, while he all the other American pundits watch him and say, "Get up he's faking it."