When you look at it, it all seems innocent enough. It's just a ball, after all.
Imagine the Superbowl lasting for a month. Then throw in 32 countries - not states where everyone theoretically has the same nationality and official language, but countries around the globe. Now make everybody wait 4 years for it. And finally, just for a little added spice, mix in a controversial, overextended war being conducted in the middle east by powers from North America and western Europe.
This is the recipe for the 2006 World Cup which opened last night in neighboring Germany. While the rest of you over stateside are hunkering into the Stanley Cup or the NBA finals, or perhaps brushing off your mitt and whetting your appetite for hotdogs and lemonade, allow me to assure you that the REST of world is fully focused on the goings-on in the former land of the Third Reich.
The rest of the world includes my humble abode, and, my husband. I didn't even know him during the last World Cup in 2002. They say your first year of marriage is one of discovery, and my recent findings are that all the rules of your household change once this tournament of all tournaments starts. My Day One report is this: last night, at 6pm, my husband walked thru the door, a good hour earlier than usual. I had had some friends over for tea and peach cobbler (which I've made twice in 4 days, some sort of maniacal pregnant soul-food reaction to something as I approach my due date). The four of us looked up, surprised.
He was pleasant, said hello, gave them all the traditional double-cheek kiss - but he seemed slightly off-balance, jumpy, his eyes darting around and he manifested a delayed question-answer time ratio that seemed longer than usual. I kind of felt like Lucy Ricardo, eyeing Ricky when he walked in the door because he might have been sacked from the night club and his gigs with 'Babalou". My French version of Ricky picked up the remote and began tossing it lightly between one hand and the other while keeping up smalltalk. The light bulb went off and I said "Why are you home so early?" There was a pause. I took pity on him, surrounded by anglophone girls. I gave him a break: "When is the opening match?" I asked. His relief poured out in an quick exhalation with the one word "Now--" and with the flash of an eye he was on the couch watching the Germans start to beat the Costa Ricans.
Today - Day Two - The match between England and Ecuador took 2nd burner to the Roland Garros Tennis Finals in Paris, and the French Rugby Cup Final.
June 13th is the date of the lips of every Frenchman - not because it is my birthday, but because it is the first match for l'équipe de France. This bodes unwell for a timely celebration of the arrival of my 36th, which risks postponement. Stay tuned.
