Blues and Whites

Girls Soccer Team -- Blues and Whites (LOC)

English soccer team (LOC)

Alas, four years passed since we last had a proxy world war, where the tiniest nations have a chance to upset the world powerhouses. It's all very neat and clean with rules of law if not etiquette. Think what the world would be like if that's how wars were fought. Imagine, if you will, one of those charming announcers with British or Scottish accents they bring in to call soccer games in America to give them a particular gravitas* (unattainable by American announcers): Oh! There's a whistle on the American Colonial side. I have to tell you, he was just blatantly shooting the British player from the safety of the trees and I expect to see a... ah yes, here comes the referee to talk to him. As I was saying, I wouldn't be surprised with a red card for that little trick. And there it is! Red card for the Americans. They're going to really regret later on. They need every man on the field to even have a chance and that will certainly cost them a great deal. If that's how things went down, we'd all be British. Ah yes. So, the World Cup starts at the end of the week with the US taking the pitch in their first game on Saturday against England. Believe it or not, the Americans have a chance to move onto the next round at the top of their group. Don't call during the match please as I'll be too busy watching and fielding my Mom's phone calls about particular plays or calls. You think I'm kidding, but I'm not.

As a small soccer fashion side-note, I stumbled across the Girl's Soccer image the other and found yet another reason to thank my lucky stars that I was born when I was. Who wants to wear some Victorian bordella boot type thingy to run around in? Though I must admit, the bloomers on the girls to the left would probably be comfortable after a match.

One final bit, the above images came from the Library of Congress Flickr site. Go there. Explore. It's fun.

* Invariably the Scottish announcers, though not so much the British, are the equivalent of good ol' boys. It's like saying NASCAR announcers have gravitas.


treadmill carpet bomb

I've been to many gyms in my life, from fancy to not-so-fancy. My objective and goals have changed over the years, but the lessons I learned early in life are still there: people don't clean their equipment thus you clean before and after, free weights inexplicably allow grunts and yells a la Monica Seles, and sometimes people just stink (a lot). The character of a particular gym, of course, depends upon it's denizens (the ones who don't clean, yell, and stink), but ultimately the people a gym attracts is tied to its equipment, classes, and locker rooms.

I've been rather happy with the tiny low-rent gym I've been going to over the last 6 or 7 month. There are no classes, no fancy locker rooms, and the free weights mingles with the machines. You avoid much of the BS of fancier places, though you still see the guy still stuck in 1989 climbing out of his Camaro to lift weights and grunt (hair gloriously flowing down over his face) as well as some women who should really be going to the pizza place next door for a slice or two (and a new relationship with food and exercise). Anyway, I can move about doing as I please for the most part. Yesterday, however, reminded me of something I hadn't seen in awhile. The sweat carpet bomber, individuals who make profusely sweaty people seem like amateurs. Now, I'm not trying to say I don't sweat, but yesterday my only treadmill option was right next to a sweat carpet bomber. Dude had at least a 3 foot radius of sweat. I'm being conservative in my estimate. I'm usually not so squeamish about such things, but I was clearly in the path of destruction. I was mentally unprepared. Maybe those Cave Men running around NYC have the right idea after all. They would have just thrown a rather large stone at the carpet bomber.