love is all football

And yes, I can write here like this. On the porch. Two lawn chairs. My legs stretched out as I hammer away at my laptop. On the drive back home I had the windows down and was listening to the Purple Summer album. I didn’t know there were some good songs, and those songs matched very well with an evening like this.

The thing about very hot days is that you know it will be nice in the evening.

I have always preferred the Euro Cup over the World Cup.

In Euro 1996, Germany beat Czech Republic in the finals. That summer, I took jersey #18 after Jurgen Klinsmann, my favourite player at the time who won the golden boot of the Euro tournament. That summer, I met a girl who had a liking toward sweaters of a turquoise tone. Instead of a school bag she carried an LV handbag to class. It was summer school. The class was Grade 12 Physics. This girl became my first girlfriend, and the infinite inspiration of my artistic expressions.

In Euro 2000, France came back to beat Italy with two very late goals by Wiltord and Trezeguet. I never thought I would root for Italy but I did because I was so inspired by Italy’s shoot-out semi-final victory and the hyper celebration of Francesco Toldo, the keeper who really stepped up. That summer, I turned 20 and had my first teaching job.

In Euro 2004, Greece beat Portugal. I was rooting for Portugal because I liked wicked five of Figo, Maniche, Deco, Lui Costa, and a young Ronaldo down the left wing, plus a very stylish Nuno Gomes as super sub. That summer, I had finished university and had no job. I had money, a car, and the whole apartment to myself. I had a tenth floor balcony facing northwest that allowed me to watch the colours of the sky change in the early evenings. That summer, I started writing a memoir that went nowhere (but I finished it). I had no TV, so I had to book the TV room to watch the games. This girl from my condo watched some games with me. The two of us watched several games together yet I had never gotten her name, and it had only crossed my mind afterwards that I could have gotten to know her better, and then who knows. She was rooting for England when Portugal beat them in shootouts. She lay on the couch during the shootouts and said it was too exciting she couldn’t watch. She was so cute. Her favourite player was Oliver Kahn. Not Beckham, not Ronaldo, but Oliver Kahn. I thought her choice was very refined.

I ran into her a few times in the elevator. Few months later I moved out of the condo.

This year, I think Germany will win.

Tonight, as I was driving home I asked myself if my poetic temperament is all vain. I know also that I need not worry about it. It will evolve as I age. But without doubt, as I was driving, I did not want to go home. I thought about going to the Korean supermarket to pick up some exotic desserts. But I decided not to go because I would only have myself to enjoy it with. Yet, had I gone, I could have met some cute Korean girls, and on a night in which I feel so at myself, why not give it go? Such is my temperament and I’m aware of it. I observe myself in different angles. The more I get to know him for who he is the more I love him and someday someone would concur.


Written on a fine Saturday evening on my porch at 9 Macgregor Ave.