July 1, 2014
I grew up with 5 brothers, naturally, I’m a tomboy. Name the sport, I’m there. But there’s something about futbol that brings out that passion in me. I scream, yell, my heart pounds with every missed opportunity. Yes. I’m
I’m a natural tomboy; it’s hard not to be when one grew up surrounded by boys. You see, I have 5 brothers and my dad used to coach futbol. I am often the one girl, now woman, sitting in a myriad of men glued to the television screen, screaming over every bad call, score, etc. I get the chills. I give the high-fives. I don’t do the burping or the chest bump.
While on vacation last week, I’d leave the beach to go watch whenever the USA was playing. Really, I wanted to stay and watch all the matches but one must know how to pick their battles.
During the USA vs. Portugal match, I was so dejected over the missed opportunity to win that match. I knew it would come to hunt us against Germany. And true, it did. You see, I got greedy. I wanted us to win the group. Not just move to the next round. I stayed glued to the television, I screamed, yelled at the television, the commentators, during half-time I had a conversation with Jurgen Klinsman and begged him not to make any substitution – this all happened in my head. Needless to say, he didn’t listen. I didn’t like the changes.
My heart pounded every time Germany attacked, I almost had a heart attack. The USA team was flat, understandable after a short rest against Portugal and playing under the extreme heat back to back.
Today, I am anxious. I want to watch the match between USA vs. Belgium. I believe the USA team can win, but damn it, I’m so nervous.
Ugh! I can’t take this.
Alright, it’s almost game time. Blame my madness on my dad for teaching me how to kick a soccer ball.