I’m not much of a sports fan. Watching enormous men in tights grunt and tackle one another or shirtless guys in gloves bash each other until they’re stupid just doesn’t do it for me. And baseball? Well, it’s just too boring for this here narcoleptic to stay awake for. So imagine my delight when I discovered I love soccer! Well, kinda. I like soccer. I love watching cute foreign men with great legs and silly headbands run around for ninety minutes. Sure, it’s a little rough at times, but I prefer the “hey, please kick me the ball, will ya?” feeling of soccer over the “I’m going to fucking kill you” feeling of other sports.
So, last Sunday, I decided to watch the World Cup with about a thousand people who actually care about soccer. And boy was it crazy.
I live in Queens, one of the most diverse counties in the nation. Maybe only South Africa itself had more countries represented in one venue on Sunday
The fans were completely nuts. Some were so determined to make as much noise as possible with those those crazy horn thingies that they resembled babies with their very first rattlers more than excited men cheering for a team.
I’d say about 90% of the crowd was pulling for Spain. They wore capes and clown wigs the color of Spain’s flag and soccer jerseys of their favorite players. The Dutch showed up empty handed, with the exception of a couple teeny-tiny flags, which was sad yet adorable.
They ranged in ages from like 2 to 82. My favorite was this old guy in the Spanish jersey who celebrated Spain’s win with a fat stogie.
No, I take that back. My favorite-favorite was this cute guy next to me.
This brings me to the real reason why I loved the World Cup. The only thing better than watching hot foreign men playing soccer is watching hundreds of hot foreign men watching hot foreign men playing soccer.
I watched all of this from the “garden” part of the beer garden, which seemed like a good idea at the time.
until Spain won that is. See all these empty pitchers and cups?
That’s what the tables looked like after 1000 people in unison threw beer at each other like kids in the most intense snowball fight ever.
I thought the beer shower was just an impulsive “we won!” moment, but no. It lasted for at least a least a half hour.
I wish I’d been smart like the girls next to me and brought my umbrella.
Even though I don’t drink anymore, it was pretty cool to celebrate such an underrated sport while soaked from head to toe in cheap beer. There was somthing very carnal about it all. I know that I, like most Americans, will probably go back to not caring at all about soccer for the next four years. World Cup or not, though, I will always be a fan international crowds coming together for an event. And of course, of excitable foreign men.
(I think this will be my last post about hot men for awhile.)