The piano (cont.); World Cup notes

The piano has been moved to the kitchen, its likely resting-place for as long as we live in this house.

Now we must learn to play the thing.

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What follows is highly selective.

Ivory Coast 1, Ecuador 0: An even, chaotic contest decided by an 89th-minute goal. Chaos doesn’t favor Ecuador. Our strength is tidy defending.

Piero Hincapié had trouble marking 19-year-old Yan Diomande. The goal came from an attack down that flank.

Thrice we hit woodwork. Our attacking woes continue. I will say, it’s hard when foulers aren’t penalized. The Ivorians were spared a couple of second yellow cards.

Brazil 1, Morocco 1: Has-been vs. emerging superpower. The same is true of their respective continents. The Moroccans were breathtaking in the first half; having established their superiority, they ceded the initiative. Brazil had a single brilliant moment.

Australia 2, Türkiye 0: The most entertaining game so far.

(Some would choose the Netherlands vs. Japan [2–2].)

I love watching the Turks. They attack at breakneck pace, slickly, all game long. But the Australians defended stoutly and landed two counter-punches.

USA 4, Paraguay 1; Germany 7, Curaçao 1; and Sweden 5, Tunisia 1: Three blowouts that tell little about the winners (and not much more about the Tunisians, who fell apart late but weren’t consistently bad).

Mid-half hydration breaks, twice per game: I am sick of them.

Mexico 2, South Africa 0; South Korea 2, Czechia 1

Karin came home from the office.

John-Paul: “So, are your colleagues excited that the World Cup is about to begin?”

Karin: “Oh, yes, it has been mentioned many times.”

John-Paul: “Really?”

Karin: “No, it hasn’t been mentioned at all. HA, HA, HA, HA, HA …”

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However competently the New York Times might report on the logistics, economics, and politics of the World Cup, I’m afraid the journal doesn’t credibly judge how well or poorly the sport is played.

How could any reader take seriously an article titled, “Re-ranking the 48 World Cup Teams after Day One of the Tournament”?

(As if two matches involving four also-rans warranted a comprehensive re-think.)

It’s the praise for Mexico’s curtain-raiser, however, that’s just bonkers:

An accomplished, drama-free opening victory against South Africa was pretty much everything Mexico hoped it would be. The excellent Julian Quinones’ early goal settled any nerves[,] and then came the emotive, heart-rending second from talisman Raul Jimenez in the second half. With potentially more to come from Edson Alvarez (left out as he builds up his fitness) and wonderkid Gilberto Mora, Mexico may feel the benefit of home advantage more than anyone, what with that unbelievably passionate Azteca crowd.

accomplished: Hardly.

drama-free: Nope. His side having assured victory, César Montes, Mexico’s captain, needlessly got himself ejected.

pretty much everything Mexico hoped it would be: I don’t know what Mexicans hoped for, but see the previous comments.

excellent Julian Quinones: (Is basic Spanish orthography too much to ask for? His name is Julián Quiñones.) He was decent, not excellent.

emotive, heart-rending second [Mexican goal] from talisman Raul Jimenez: (Ditto: it’s Raúl Jiménez.) These sentiments aren’t relevant to ranking teams.

with potentially more to come: Ditto. Not relevant.

The Mexicans then were catapulted up six places in the NYT’s rankings. If such effusion is lavished on the USA’s co-hosts, I shudder to think what will be written about the USA.

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Koreans and Czechs then staged a much better contest. Neither side oozes talent, but both at least operate with clarity, and each managed one rather clever goal last night. The pressure is now on the Czechs to make up ground against the Mexicans. Neither Czechs nor Koreans should have trouble with the South Africans, who are out of their depth.

June’s poem

Wilfred Owen’s:

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,

Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,

Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs,

And towards our distant rest began to trudge.

Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots,

But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;

Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots

Of gas-shells dropping softly behind.

Gas! GAS! Quick, boys! – An ecstasy of fumbling

Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time,

But someone still was yelling out and stumbling

And flound’ring like a man in fire or lime. –

Dim through the misty panes and thick green light,

As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.

In all my dreams before my helpless sight,

He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.

If in some smothering dreams, you too could pace

Behind the wagon that we flung him in,

And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,

His hanging face, like a devil’s sick of sin;

If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood

Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,

Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud

Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues, –

My friend, you would not tell with such high zest

To children ardent for some desperate glory,

The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est

Pro patria mori.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

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Better to chase glory in the World Cup than in war.

It’s Iran’s privilege to do both. The soccer team will be forced to fly into and out of the United States, each game day, to keep appointments.

Africa’s top-rated referee – a Somali – has been refused entry by the U.S. government.

The piano (cont.); bridging; teething

The good news is, we won’t have to keep our new piano in the garage, even if we’re never able to fit it through our front door. We’ve agreed on a “Plan B” destination for it.

The bad news is, that destination is the kitchen.

The other bad news is, we would have to clear a path through the garage and “mud” room to get the piano into the kitchen. A monumental task.

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Samuel completed Kindergarten. We attended his “bridging” ceremony. (“Bridging” is Montessori lingo for graduating.) During the ceremony, students crossed an actual bridge which had been set up in the gymnasium. This symbolized the passage from Kindergarten to the first grade. A first-grader greeted each graduate on the far side of the bridge.

Then the students sang two songs and their parents shot video.

One of the parents I spotted was R., with whom I’d gone to college. “Hi, R.,” I said, “remember me? I’m John-⁠Paul.” “Yeah,” he said, and walked away. A shrinking violet, R.

The next day, Samuel nonchalantly lost a tooth – his first. It lies among his Lego bricks somewhere. Already, a new tooth emerges from his gum.

He has been listening to Nick Cave & the Bad Seeds.

The piano; the sports

We’re not a musical family. Karin plays her clarinet sometimes, and a smidgeon of guitar. The children strum on toy ukeleles. That’s all.

BUT today we acquired a piano from my cousin, Annie, and her husband, Johnny, who are moving out of their house and distributing their possessions.

(I’ve long dreamed of learning to play the Rach. 3.)

Alas, we couldn’t fit the piano into our house. Our entrance is too small. We had to leave the piano in our already-too-cluttered garage.

This story isn’t over. (It had better not be.)

STAY TUNED.

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This morning, I wore my Chicago Bears t-shirt to a medical appointment and then endured a barrage of small-talk on that subject.

Caleb Williams is on the cover of this year’s Madden, said the doctor.

I did see that, I acknowledged.

Do you believe in the Madden curse?, said the doctor.

I told him I did not.

(We returned to the reception area.)

Don’t let Andrew know you’re a Bears fan, the doctor said in a loud voice, tilting his head toward one of his half-dozen flunkies.

Yes, the Bears are very bad, I said, attempting to nip the issue in the bud. (Actually, the Bears weren’t bad last year.)

But you’re loyal, right?, they all insisted.

I gave them a woeful look, to convince them of my bonafides.

(I am loyal to the Bears, but I do not respect them.)