Spain can Suck It

Wow, you know, I didn't know who I was going to be rooting for ("well I'm torn: my lady is half Dutch, but I'm about to go to Spain so it would be cool if they won and everyone was on a post World Cup euphoria wave when I got there") but as the match wore on, I ended up the drunkest most vocal supporter of the Dutch in a big fancy party full of Germans rooting for the Spanish (besides the fact that the Dutch had just knocked them out, Germans dont like the Dutch. Why, I donno, they are just on the list of "oh we dont like them." Why we don't root for the Germans in the World Cup, now that I understand.)

So anyways, my Uncle got me in this "Telecom" world cup party (I think Telecom is the same as T-Mobile). Unlike America, over here it is acceptable to have a big party for rich people and still have all the waitresses be smokin hot girls, straight up. There must be companies that advertise "need your fancy party to have waitresses that are only hot girls? Hot Girls Catering, 555-1212..." I am one of maybe 2 guys in a T-Shirt at this whole thing, but the other guy is wearing a pair of $300 ripped jeans and on his arm a smokin babe that looks to be from Barbados or something. Still, at these parties, if you are in, you must belong (they check your name twice on the list...once to get in the door, and then they send you immediately to get your wristband where your name gets checked again).

These Telecom folk have the biggest HD screen I have seen in my life. There was a moment where I stopped to think about it and was like "holy shit, the only time I have ever seen a TV that big, it was a bunch of littler TVs squeezed together." Not this thing, it was the real deal, and just fucking huge.

So we are looking at free food (thank god, I should have eaten more) and an open bar, and it is the World Cup finals, so since Gary has to make the rounds and be social at this party for his job, I am doing the only reasonable thing for me to be doing and making good friends with the bartender.

Ok about the game....I wanted to like Spain, I really did. I saw a couple of their games and thought "wow, these guys are modern day matadors, that is awesome" but guess what? When push came to shove, they are a bunch of pretty boy floppers playing ball control. The Dutch I thought had much better strikes, gorgeous things. Spain (oh I should probably just say right now, I know jack shit about soccer) does some nice things that are easy to appreciate...they defend the corner well, and of course the passing, but I think in this game the better team lost.

For me it was like I had entered a parallel universe where the 2005 USC football team had won or something. All the hype, a bunch of fucking pretty boys who cant handle it when the other guys want to play some soccer (I will say, when that guy got kicked in the heart, that was brutal).

Tell me if I'm wrong here, but for me 2 images stick out: 1, the Dutch have broken free and are about to score and there is a Spanish guy behind him yelling "Noooooooooooo!!!" and he just straight up grabs him with his arms. "We cant lose, its not supposed to happen like this!!" Where was the foul goddamnit??

The other image is of this Spaniard obviously flopping towards the end (the Dutch were awarded a yellow card). They showed the replay like 4 times and it was an obvious flop. I am making loud noises like a retarded kid while this is going on, and no one around me seems to be saying to the contrary. Just fucking bullshit.

Post game, Gary has left (he was there for the food, then back to work) and he has instructed me to go to an U-bahn down the way a little bit. It is a ploy to get me to see the city, which I am down for. There is this one really weird place where you can stare at this Old Ornate church and then 90 degrees to your right there is the Soviet radio tower space needle thing at Alexander Platz. Its totally a crazy disconnect. There is a big space there, and being as though the weather is perfect, I lay down for a bit, my sight phasing from the booze, but actually quite comfortably. Horns are honking from these Spaniard fans, and I think about trying to hop in a convertible that drives by with babes and Spain flags. I think a night like this you are supposed to let it take you where it goes, at least that's how I was thinking at the time. When the convertible drives by, I switch into backup plan mode, the time honored tradition of slurring "hey do yall smoke weed?" at whoever looks like a reasonable candidate. I get a laugh the first time and then the next guy I try it on has this long wavy hair like the drummer in Graffiti Monsters / Fiasco (he looks just like him) and is wearing a shirt that says "reggae jam" on it. Success. He leads me to a park in front of that church where there are 4 babes and two other bros. It is one of the girls' 19th birthday (this guy Albi turns out to be 25, I ask him later). We played some game that was very much like Sorry...it might have been the same exact game, actually now that I think of it, but there were a couple extra rules. If you could knock someone off but you dont see the move, someone else can say it, and you get kicked back into your base. We played this for a long time and no one was getting even close to winning so eventually we stopped. Everyone is drinking (not me, I'm doing A-OK) and this guy pulls out a giant J. I say something like "that is a giant J" to which he laughs and it starts going around. At some point we are partying, but also waiting for the first morning train. Then we do some walking to Hackesher Market and get the 4 AM to take me home. We have exchanged numbers earlier, so I think there will be a further report from this Bros flat later on...maybe it will be the location of the first "La Grange" show.

But yea, fuck the Spanish soccer team.