AncienTrails

Beltane                                                                    Summer Moon

The World Cup. Is the time when the rest of the world shows why their obsessions matter more than ours. Now that’s not hard to understand when our World Series goes global by having a left coast team play an east coast team. Or, when our Superbowl refers to a match among paid giants whose fight is not gladitorial only in that it is not to the death. At least not usually. It’s also easy to understand the attitude that soccer, played in outfits suitable for a day at the beach, has a more human tenor than one played in flannel or  hyper-padded spandex with gloves and helmets.

And, granted, in a more globalized economy, in a world with jet service to anywhere in less than a day, an event that includes 204 teams from six continents (presumably Antarctica is too chilly for shorts and polo shirts) has the right to call itself the World Cup.

Still. If I understand it right, soccer is hockey played on grass. Here’s my first hurdle. In spite of 40 years a Minnesotan, hockey has not become even a little interesting. I know. I know. A venial sin, but a sin nonetheless. However, if I don’t like it on ice, grass doesn’t make it better. Plus, what’s with the beach outfits? Are those really any costumes for grown millionaires to wear in public? At least basketball is played indoors. Or something.

Anyhow. I liked Brazil. I hope either Brazil or Argentina wins. Why? Because I’ve been there? Maybe. On the other hand, and I do know what this means, are you ready for some football?