I didn’t care much for the final game of the World Cup yesterday. I mean, I went to a bar and watched it – so I cared more than some of you. But I did it begrudgingly.
You see, I didn’t want the Europeans to be in the finals. I wanted to see all teams from the developing world dominate Europe. And that comes not from any interest in the sport, but that it’s a better narrative. I like underdog stories.
So yeah, I was rooting for countries like Argentina, Uruguay, Paraguay and Ghana. Because the colonial countries defeating their former rulers in the midst of a paradigm shifting economic collapse in those countries… I was salivating at the inevitable New Yorker post-Cup analyses.
Latin America and Africa all the way, baby.
Sitting in the 12th Street Ale House in Manhattan yesterday, clearly I knew my dream was dashed long before it started. Instead of South America and Africa I got Spain and Netherlands – the countries that dominated those continents.
So I had a hard time deciding which slave-trading imperialist nation to root for. Eventually I went with the Netherlands because, well, their abbreviation is NED. I’ve been rooting for Ned for years already (a true underdog story, by the way), so it seemed like a natural extension.
But then they cleat-kicked a Spaniard in the chest. And all the other brutal, yellow-card tactics. I can’t root for bullies.
So Spain won, and like I said, I didn’t give a hoot. It was a totally unfulfilling game enshrouded in a totally unfulfilling storyline.
I’m glad the shenanigans are over for another four years. Next time the only imperialist nation I’ll root for is the good ol’ U.S. of A. And since that team stinks, I’ll get behind my buddies south of the borders.
And that’s my Monday morning rant. Eat it.