You've seen the news reports. All too often lately, people just seem to go off the deep end and do something outrageous. Theories vary on what might cause otherwise "normal" people to do such things. Years of abuse, religious fanaticism, too many hours of watching Judge Judy/ Dr. Phil, or perhaps even reading this blog on a regular basis are definitely possibilities. But I have my own theory.
It's soccer. Sometimes it's enough to turn anybody into a ticking time bomb.
Yours truly tuned into ESPN's "Sports Center" to catch the recaps of the day. But evidently, due to some sort of programming mix up, that wasn't on. Instead, they were previewing the upcoming men's soccer match between Mexico and the United States that would follow shortly. Well OK. While soccer has bored me silly in the past, maybe this time would be different. I'll hang in there and give it a shot. Besides, the game was being played in Glendale, Ariz., pretty much a neutral site. Ahem. Plus, the place was packed with people waving flags, and feverishly chanting while wearing goofy clothes. Kind of like the entire United Nations general assembly on mind altering drugs.
This was a contest called a "friendly", which in soccer-speak means it's an exhibition game and doesn't count for anything. Either that, or perhaps both teams agreed to keep the head butts and groin kicks to a minimum. What could be friendlier than that?
So let's go with the game, already. But no. The announcers have to give us a half hour of history and statistical gibberish that might well drive the Pope himself to contemplate locking and loading. Tick, tick, tick.
After yet another commercial break, surely the game is about to start -- right? Oh, hell no. First we have to get a complete rundown on the players for both teams -- for an exhibition game. Arrgh. And what is it with these soccer players going by one name only? Only superstars are worthy of such lofty status. Like Cher, Bono, Oprah, Lurch, and (uncle) Fester. These guys just run back and forth kicking a spotted ball around for a few hours. Tick, tick, tick.
At last, here they come walking onto the field. But wait a minute. All the players for both teams are holding hands with a 5-6 year old child as they enter. What's up with that? Worse yet, every single one of those kids is wearing identical red McDonald's tee shirts, complete with the golden arches. Was this a shameless promotion, or do they perhaps get them started mighty early in life cooking fries and McWhatevers down in Glendale? No idea, but I hope this ploy doesn't morph into super-sizing itself in other sports. They already take long enough as it is with all the time-outs, commercials, replays and rhubarbs.
Don't get me wrong. It's great that the kids get the thrill of being on TV in a stadium packed with nut jobs, while holding hands with somebody they've probably never heard of. And it's also great they get to do so before that pesky acne sets in that often results from working in a greasy workplace. But c'mon, get these future assistant managers off the field and let's see some soccer, for crying out loud. Tick, tick.
Of course, the Mexican and American national anthems had to be played. Cue the flag waving, chanting, delirious throngs mentioned above. Tick.
And a game wouldn't be a game without a coin toss to determine matters of utmost importance -- like which team tries to go east in the first half, and west in the second. Assemble all the "captains" and full crew of refs at midfield. This is critical stuff. Even the announcers are holding their collective breaths on the outcome. And it can't just be a penny or a peso that gets flipped. Oh no, this has to be a commemorative coin of some sort -- for an exhibition game. When that matter of national security has been decided, all 4 captains for each team have to shake hands with each other, plus all 4 members of the officiating crew. That's a lot of handshakes. At least they weren't into the European cheek-kissing thing, much less some of the ridiculous routines some American pro athletes typically feature. If every one of those combination of guys had to do a high-five, then a low-five, then a chest bump, then stick your left foot in, take your right foot out, do a 360 and shake it all about hokey-pokey style, this could have gone on for hours, days, or until the Detroit Lions win the Super Bowl. Basically forever. Tick, tick.
Then finally, mercifully, the game began. Wow, that was a long wait, but I hung in there. Sure, it was still only going to be a silly exhibition game, and I'm not a big soccer fan anyway, as you may have gathered. But after putting up with all the above pre-game nonsense, it became a matter of principle. I'm going to watch this game, whether I like soccer or not.
Just a few seconds after it actually started -- WHAM -- the network switched coverage. The game is gone, and here comes another ESPN talking head to offer the same sports recaps I tried to tune into in the first place. That was the final tick. I now understand how some otherwise normal people can sometimes snap and do crazy things.
I have no idea who actually won that game, nor do I care. Right now, my main concern is any videos that may surface showing me running naked through the streets blowing my vuvuzela, and chanting death to the infidels at the 4-letter network.
Funny, or maybe not, how those things work out sometimes.
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