Quarterfinals 1 and 2 – the best day of the World Cup; December’s poems
I am in awe of the Croatians. They are BALLERS. I doubt I could think more highly of a soccer team.
Brazil, not so much.
The key contest was between Casemiro and Luka Modrić. (Casemiro is Brazil’s grownup.) Modrić outduelled Casemiro all game long, including during the building up of Croatia’s goal.
Other pundits have highlighted Marcelo Brozović, whose job it was to subtly close off Neymar.
The Brazilian fans sang and danced, and I was like, don’t you understand that your team is getting schooled? That the Croatians are better than the Brazilians with the ball (and, certainly, better without it)? That they are doing what they like to do, which is strenuous and sophisticated: doing it with steel and style: and the Brazilians aren’t?
Great soccer nation or not, these colorful fans are just that: fanatics.
The second quarterfinal, between Argentina and the Netherlands, was made wild by some erratic refereeing, as well as by the Netherlands’s launching long, high passes into the box in a desperate attempt to even the score. It worked; but the Argentinians, who were briefly unsettled, gathered themselves, seized control again, and won the penalty shootout.
Messi is right to complain. The ref hurt Argentina. Even so, the Argentinians used the ref to mess with the Dutch. Their breaches of etiquette – deliberately handling the ball, kicking it into the Dutch bench – were so brazen, the ref didn’t know what to do about them, and the Dutch were put out of sorts. It behooved the Dutch, who were down by two goals, to put the Argentinians out of sorts, and they did, but then the Argentinians made sure the Dutch were put out, too, and the Dutch came out worse.
Two of the day’s goals – one scored by Neymar, the other assisted by Messi – were exquisite. The Dutch worked a stunning free-kick goal.
♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦
This month, the poem is by me.
Apologies to Tammy Wynette.
I had to change a diaper while Morocco and Spain contested their penalty shootout in the octavos de final. I did a wipe, watched a penalty kick, did a wipe, watched a penalty kick …
All right, that wasn’t much of a poem, so here is one from The Atlantic: “Ode to Not Watching the World Cup.”
I am not convinced …
Brazil, not so much.
The key contest was between Casemiro and Luka Modrić. (Casemiro is Brazil’s grownup.) Modrić outduelled Casemiro all game long, including during the building up of Croatia’s goal.
Other pundits have highlighted Marcelo Brozović, whose job it was to subtly close off Neymar.
The Brazilian fans sang and danced, and I was like, don’t you understand that your team is getting schooled? That the Croatians are better than the Brazilians with the ball (and, certainly, better without it)? That they are doing what they like to do, which is strenuous and sophisticated: doing it with steel and style: and the Brazilians aren’t?
Great soccer nation or not, these colorful fans are just that: fanatics.
The second quarterfinal, between Argentina and the Netherlands, was made wild by some erratic refereeing, as well as by the Netherlands’s launching long, high passes into the box in a desperate attempt to even the score. It worked; but the Argentinians, who were briefly unsettled, gathered themselves, seized control again, and won the penalty shootout.
Messi is right to complain. The ref hurt Argentina. Even so, the Argentinians used the ref to mess with the Dutch. Their breaches of etiquette – deliberately handling the ball, kicking it into the Dutch bench – were so brazen, the ref didn’t know what to do about them, and the Dutch were put out of sorts. It behooved the Dutch, who were down by two goals, to put the Argentinians out of sorts, and they did, but then the Argentinians made sure the Dutch were put out, too, and the Dutch came out worse.
Two of the day’s goals – one scored by Neymar, the other assisted by Messi – were exquisite. The Dutch worked a stunning free-kick goal.
♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦
This month, the poem is by me.
⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯
Sometimes, it’s hard to be a daddy
He changes diapers all day long
He changes Danny’s
He changes Sammy’s
And, as he does, he sings this song
⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯
Apologies to Tammy Wynette.
I had to change a diaper while Morocco and Spain contested their penalty shootout in the octavos de final. I did a wipe, watched a penalty kick, did a wipe, watched a penalty kick …
All right, that wasn’t much of a poem, so here is one from The Atlantic: “Ode to Not Watching the World Cup.”
I am not convinced …