Look: I don’t like sports. I don’t like engaging in them, and I don’t think watching them is particularly interesting. But every two years, for a few weeks in summer, I make an exception for the boys in orange. So tonight, I was sitting there yelling at the screen with the best of them, my hopes soaring with every attack from “our” side, my heart beating faster every time a ball came way too close to the hero-like Edwin van der Sar. I cheered and I whooped, and while my francophile side tried to murmer a faint “Allez Les Bleus” every once in a while, I quickly shut it up.
I repeat: 4 fucking 1 – excuse my French.
This, of course, following a 3-0 against the reigning world champ, a match I unfortunately did not see because I was… otherwise occupied.
Which brings me to the dearth of updates lately. It’s a combination of factors: my thesis talk got scheduled two months from now (which means I truly should get a move on), a math assignment from hell that has me throwing up my hands in despair ten times a day for the past three days, and… well. there’s this boy. And it turns out that when it comes down to it, I’d rather snog than blog. At least for now.
Anyway, Hup, Holland, Hup, as we say, and I promise there WILL be updates again. I’ve given up hope for a weekend double feature (for last weekend, as you might recall), but I’ll try to get a Sunday reading up, I have unfinished pieces about Logan’s Run and Point Blank, and I’ll be watching Touch of Evil with faithful commenter Kaj this Monday.
Oh, and if you have no idea what this whole piece was about? There’s a European Championship going on. Of football (I refuse to call it soccer). And while I’d pretty much given up on the team before it started (I wasn’t the only one, either, bookies had us at 14:1), we might actually get somewhere this time. And when the whole nation gets up, dressed up in the ugliest color, and cheers, who am I to stand aside, uncaring?
