OMFG I love David Villa (figuratively).

So, yeah, there’s been this whole “World Cup” thing.  And so, like, yeah, I’ve kinda gotten into it.

At first it was mostly just going to the USA/England game in and English pub and hoping no one would kill me.  We (as in all three Americans in the group) went to the City Arms which is the best burger/sports pub in Oxford, and runs a friendly crowd.   I learned things about football there:

1. You must paint yourself as the country flag of your supported country.  If you can’t paint yourself, you must dress entirely from stem to stern in the country flag of your choice.  If you can’t dress as your country flag you can never, ever, ever, show yourself at a public game.
2. Once you have chosen your country, you must learn to sing that national anthem at the top of your lungs and completely out of key.   If you can keep your pint of beer intact, extra points.
3. Then, you take the name of your country, in this case, “England” and make up chants which, when written, look as follows:

England, England, England

England!

England, England, England

ENGLAND!

England, England, England, England, England, England, England, England, England, England, England, England, England, England, England, England, England, England, England, England, England, England, England, England, England, England, England, England, England, England, England, England, England, England, England, England, England, England,England, England, England, England, England, England, England, England, England, England, England, England, England,England, England, England, England, England, England, England, England, England, England, England, England, England,England, England, England, England, England, England, England, England, England, England, England, England, England,England, England, England, England, England, England, England, England, England, England, England, England, England,England, England, England, England, England, England, England, England, England, England, England, England, England,England, England, England, England, England, England, England, England, England, England, England, England, England,England, England, England, England, England, England, England, England, England, England, England, England, England,England, England, England, England, England, England, England, England, England, England, England, England, England,England, England, England, England, England, England, England, England, England, England, England, England, England,England, England, England, England, England, England, England, England, England, England, England, England, England,England, England, England, England, England, England, England, England, England, England, England, England, England,England, England, England, England, England, England, England, England, England, England, England, England, England,England, England, England, England, England, England, England, England, England, England, England, England, England,England, England, England, England, England, England, England, England, England, England, England, England, England,England, England, England, England, England, England, England, England, England, England, England, England, England,England, England, England, England, England, England, England, England, England, England, England, England, England,England, England, England, England, England, England, England, England, England, England, England, England, England, England,England, England, England, England, England, England, England, England, England, England, England, England, England.

ENGLAND!

Anyone who follows the World Cup in England knows that England is the best footballing country in the entire universe up until they actually play a game.  Then, they are the most horrific team of over-paid pansies on the planet, and everyone should be beheaded and placed on pikes on London Bridge as a warning to anyone who dreams of playing football.  England’s team is run by an Italian man named Fabiano, proving that you can only be Italian in order to have an awesome name like that.  They also have a striker named Wayne Rooney, and a goalkeeper named Green that doesn’t exist anymore due to him letting in a USA goal.  There are also some guys who sleep with each others wives, and a fellow named Beckham that people might know about who injured himself.  His job during the World Cup was to sit on a bench in a suit and look concerned.  The USA team was made up entirely of a man called Donovan, who got passes from a fellow named Altidore.  Thanks to them they tied the England/USA game and I got to walk out of a pub intact.

Now my whole experience would’ve stopped at this pub experience, mostly because England and the USA lost their knock-out games but… but… I did something insane.

I joined not one, but two fantasy leagues.

Suddenly, all the games were interesting because I was in it for points.  Now I’m figuratively in love with David Villa, striker for Spain.  This Latino upstart, along with an Argentinian named Tevez, catapulted me from 200,000th place to 150,000th (I’m playing with 895,000 others thank you).  I love watching the German games because the broadcasters love saying SCHWEINSTEIGER, a midfielder who passes to Klose or Podolski or for fun – scores on his own.   I revel in the bright orange of the Netherlands, and I want Brian Blessed to do all my motivational speeches. (Or at least all my snooker commentary.)  I’ve been incredibly fascinated, extremely frustrated, upset and relieved.

In short, I’ve gotten hold of the European idea of football.

This has, of course, lead to discussions of me picking a Premier League team to which I will pledge my life’s blood, but that idea scares me.  Sure, I own a Chelsea jersey and have not a bad thing to say about them (least those who gave me said jersey read this), but I may very well stick to international leagues and cheer away for the USA and my adopted land.

Pending that there is David Villa, who alone makes it worthwhile to cheer for Spain.  Not that I’m in it to watch the pretty men run around and rip at their shirts, oh no, it’s all sport to me… yes… all sport to me.