A Special FIFA World Cup Message

Over a month ago (one month already??), Mexico said ‘kiss my aztec’ to all the haters, beat hosts South Africa, and bleu out the cocky French. Even Bafana Bafana would springbok from a loss to Uruguay to beat the French.

Coached by that pampas windbag Maradona, Argentina turned a potentially messi situation into a dominating first place finish in Group B. The Greeks scored their first ever Big Fat World Cup Goal in defeating Nigeria, for whom things fell apart. South Korea had some Seoul searching to do after a tough loss in round 2.

Though England had an arsenal of stars, the US yanked away a tie and eventually first place in the group. Algeria was algiers and no cheers. And the Slovenians went home in shame and put their heads in the wood stove, a common practice that lent its name to the country: slow oven +YAHHHHH (the screams of one’s hair catching on fire).

In a big upset, the Germans GOT SERBED 1-0. But Serbia as a new soccer power in Europe? I wouldn’t kosovar as to say that. The fans of the Black Stars knew their team was Ghana win in round 2 and send the US home. Argh. Donovan ask about it. Poor Australia, sure they were underdingos…but I Canberra to watch a 4-0 loss. Socceroo fans are outback chundering.

Is this finally the year for the Netherlands? Dutch you think that’s exciting?? Every Holland van Goghs wild at the idea! Honda was revving up for Japan, but then his brakes failed and his team hit a wall called Paraguay. Denmark took their one win thanks to FIFA not letting a replay Cameroon the beautiful game. But their overall finish dane impress anyone.

Paraguay’s official mascot is the Night Monkey, but their unofficial mascots are the paraguayt bweasts in the picture below. Pardon me, did you just call Slovakia slow…fock ya! The Kiwis polished off an undefeated World Cup, scoring their first ever points in the tournament. New Zealand also left the Italians feeling auckward and sicily depressed after a 1-1 tie.

North Korea had a Brazilian to one chance in their opener, but at least they scored. Photos of a jubilant Kim Jong-Il dancing with three underage drag queens later appeared on DMZ.com. Just another Korea defining moment for great leader. Without Drogba, Cote D’Ivoire proved to be a white elephant. Although Ronaldo scored a touchdown for the Portuguese, in round 2 the Lusophones were lusers. (Lusophonies also accepted.)

The Five Stars showed Hondurance but it would be a Chile day in Hell before they could compete with Humberto Suazo’s squad. Spain was madridful than anything in losing to Switzerland. The Spaniards were the ones with Swiss Miss in their shorts that day. OOH, BERN!

If uruthinking that only Brazil would be the lone hope for South America, Uruguaaaay’s off. Nether speak of that again. Germany has bavaria active in developing their young players. But Spain…que golazo Spain. You’re tapas in the world today. Congratulations. El primero is always the best.

Quinnipiac University

16 Nov 2009. Quinnipiac! Small New England college par excellence!
Hiding behind Mt. Carmel and the Sleeping Giant, one student center, one quad from which you can see the whole campus in a Maria von Trapp twirl*, and one security guard checking his watch and eying my overstuffed German-designed, Mexican-built car with suspicion as I blatantly disregarded the 10 Minute Visitor Parking sign.

Ken Becker skated into the penalty box. The one-person wooden bench creaked under the weight of Ken in his full pads. The referee had accused him of hooking, a lame offense even when committed on purpose. Both Ken and his tripping victim looked surprised that it was even called at all.
Club ice hockey was populated with strong, talented players who lacked the time or discipline to play full varsity at their school. Fouls and violations were off the charts, but if the refs stopped play to call them all, a game would take twice as long. At regional tournaments like this one at Thornton Wilder Arena in Hamden, Connecticut, moving the games along was especially important.
Many players took advantage of this leniency.

Like Nick Cassavetes.

Nick, a young man whose body was immune to deodorant, greased his way from goal line to goal line. He trailed a delightful mixture of sweat, Gatorade, and protein gel.
"This scash is for you, K-Becker!"
Ken watched his University of Dayton teammate grin his way down the rink. Nick didn't follow the puck; he homed in an unlucky Quinnipiac defenseman. When he was a few feet from the boards, Nick turned his head to the side, lining up the side of his helmet with the back of his slower opponent's head.
The Plexiglas panels on hockey sideboards are built to be flexible and show some give. Under normal circumstances, that is. If a force is continually pushing on you, your body will absorb the full impact. If the force is a Nick Cassavetes, the impact is most definitely full-bodied.
The two players slammed into the boards. The bolts held, but the few spectators in the first rows still jumped back. Nick and his new buddy lost their balance, ending up on the ice. Nick got up quickly, ready for his timeout. The ref whistled him and gave him the expected full five minute duty in the sin bin. And, well, the other guy was woozy. He had to be helped off the ice by his fuming goalie.


Ken and Nick shared a glove bump.
"Welcome to the box, Nick."
"Sup, K-Becker." Nick gasped as he pulled his mouthguard through his black goatee.
"What were you yelling to me?"
"The scash is for you. Brothers in arms, man."
"Ah, right, scash. Scalp crash. You scashed him good."
"He'll live. Scash only dazes 'em. Haknotch takes 'em down."
Ken thought, For someone so open about committing penalties, Nick sure loves to use his secret code words. Ken couldn't recall hearing haknotch before.
"Haknotch, what's that one again...half kill on my watch?"
"Hard knee to the crotch, K-Becker! Hard knee to the crotch. Gotta be careful with that one though. Might get you tossed from the game for good if they see it."
"Then when would you even use it?"
"I'm always prepared to use it. But now..."
Nick and Ken looked up at the scoreboard: UD 0, QU 3.
"...I think I just might have to sacrifice myself to give us a chance."
Nick peered unblinkingly at the opposing goaltender, #50.
Ken said, "Nick, the goalie?? Why don't you stay away from the goalie, it's not even their first stringer."
"Exactly! We can't score against some replacement? I need to make them bring in the third stringer."
Ken's penalty time ticked down to zero. "You do what you do, Nick. Watch yourself." He popped out of the box and back on the ice.
For the last few minutes of Nick's time on the pine, he studied the home team's goalie. #50 wasn't on the roster; he came in when the starter was still vomiting from a Tabasco chugging contest the night before. The new guy was smaller but alert. He and Nick exchanged malicious looks several times. When Nick mouthed 'Go **** yourself', #50 blinked casually and turned his attention back to the rink.

When Nick was let loose, he called to Ken.
"K-Becker! I need a mess in the crease!"
Ken nodded, lazily skating toward their opponent's goal, drawing in QU's defensemen and UD's other wings. He flung a wrister which #50 easily handled. Nick let his momentum carry him into the back of two players, who then piled into the goal crease. Two UD players and another QU player joined the mix, jabbing at each other. The refs whistled a stoppage in play and moved to separate the two sides. Underneath the hubbub, Nick found #50.
"You're unstoppable for a new guy. Have a haknotch."
Nick set his left skate and pushed his right knee up into #50's groin. There was a little more space than usual. #50 didn't groan and collapse like all the others. Instead, he dropped his stick and gloves, pulled out the front of Nick's jersey, and ran his tiny hands inside and up to Nick's chest.
"What in hell you doin', you queer napsa-"
Nick felt a pinch, a severe twist, a fist to the gut. He tried to gulp air, but he could not breathe. He didn't even know he was on his back until #50 looked down on him, pulling up his massive goalie mask.
Make that her mask.
"Haknotch. Cute. How do you like my quinipac?"
"Guhhhhh." Nick's chest was on fire. #50 went back to minding her net. Without her mask, Nick could now see her long sandy hair.
Ken took Nick's arm and pulled him up and off the ice.
"What happened to the haknotch, Nick?"
"She...quinipacked me, K-Becker."
"Quinipacked you?"
"Quick nipple attack...Can't believe it...a quinipac from Quinnipiac...just beautiful."
"Wow. So you're all right then."
"Ha. All right? I'm in love."

*To counter this Broadway musical reference, I submit for your approval: Megan Fox in a wet t-shirt contest holding six mugs of Miller Lite and a Husqvarna.