At the back of the hill

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Thursday, June 28, 2018


Try as I might, I cannot get into the World Cup spirit. Though everyone else thrills to the sight of well-formed lads in shorts running hither and yon across the greensward, in pursuit of fame, glory, and a ball with a circumference of slightly more than twenty seven inches, which therefore has a diameter of approximately eight and two thirds inches if you divide that figure by π.

The excitement is palpable.
Just not infectious.

I'm sorry.

Sports bore the living daylights out of me. It doesn't matter whether it's soccer, football, baseball, or basket ball. Cricket, while intellectually slightly intriguing, and field hockey, from which I have strong memories of combat with broken sticks with teenage psychopaths while the phys. ed. instructor was off having a smoke, are scarcely less dull.

The appeal of ice skating is that it gives Dutch people (like Jillert Anema) an opportunity to remind Americans that they aren't very good in comparison, and American sports are rather stupid.

"You have a lot of attention on a foolish sport like American football and you waste a lot of talent ( ) on a sport that is meant to kill each other, to injure each other. You're so narrow minded, and then you want to compete against the world ... "

As you can gather, ice skating has my thumb's up primarily because it clearly illustrates intellectual superiority. Unlike ice hockey, which is mostly Slavic types and people with Frenchy surnames bashing each other.

So now you have a bunch of Germanic types competing against mixed South Americans, with an admixture of Africans thrown in. And intoxicated fans whooping it up. Much beer is being drunk, and skirt is being chased.
There's also vodka, and traces of stuffed cabbage, beet soup.
Still three more weeks of this nonsense.

How insufferable.

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