I've been crying a lot lately, weeping like a big fat baby. It's not funny. I've reverted to sucking my thumb and incessantly scratching my ball sack. It's all thanks to the heartless bastard who wrote me about his love of handball, which I hadn't thought of in years. After reading his e-mail, I spiraled into a high-pitched, whining nosedive and plunged into the phlegm of my lost childhood. I haven't played handball since seventh grade, the same year I first wore a jockstrap, started chewing Copenhagen, and had nine girlfriends--and it was the last time I had fun.
Even so, I'm not about to try to rekindle the memories of my youth by joining the Seattle goddamn fucking adult kickball league! Morons! It's NOT cool for adults to play kickball, or dodge ball, or fucking foursquare! We're not supposed to jump rope, or ride our bikes in figure eights, or play tag. Games like that are for children.
Another reason I'm crying is because last month the Iraqi National Soccer Team, led by German coach Berndt Stange, qualified for next year's Asian Cup in China, and may have a chance at World Cup qualification in 2006. In July of 2001 a U.S. bomb, or an Iraqi-fired surface-to-air missile (nobody seems to be sure which), killed at least 23 people on a soccer field in Baghdad. Since then, the nightmare that has become the U.S. occupation of Iraq has killed and maimed more potential Iraqi soccer players, and that is a serious crime against humanity! It may not seem important to the majority of Americans, but soccer is the world's game; it is understood by most other cultures to be as credible, if not more so, than politics.
Uday Hussein, may he rest in absolute misery, was the head of the Iraqi Football Federation. Soccer was Uday's favorite game, and since he was a lunatic, the national soccer team bore the brunt of his maniacal attention. He woke them in the middle of the night to attend his parties, where they were forced to play against a drunken Uday and his guests--making sure to let him win, of course. "They beat our feet, or they cut our hair, or they punish your spirit," said one Iraqi player named Mohaned Ali. "But now I can play free because I'm not thinking about those things."
Sniffle, sniffle. I'm also crying because there was a 12-car pileup at the Daytona 500 and I missed it!
