Withdrawal
The first stage of World Cup mourning is denial. Ten minutes after the trophy ceremony and Spain's victory lap, we flipped through the channels looking for anything that resembled soccer. Volleyball? Sure, soccer with hands. The Dodgers? Sure, stick soccer. Five minutes of bad newscast soccer commentaries later (where we found the Channel 2 sports anchor, said "Congratulations to the... winner.") the sad truth stared us in the face. The 64th match was over. Shakira would dance no more. Someone take a vuvuzela and play the third movement from Chopin's piano sonata no. 2.
Wait, a rebroadcast of the notable goals of the World Cup, then a rebroadcast of Holland and Spain's shots on goal in the final game. All ten of us jumped from the couch and chairs and screamed as if seeing the shots for the very first time. Total denial.
For me the World Cup ended where it began, in Anita Martinez's living room in Lincoln Heights, surrounded by her brother, a co-worker from the L.A. Public Library and some of her other friends. Lincoln Heights cheered for Spain today.
I'd done some live reports for KPCC that early morning of June 11. Anita's Swiss friends told me they'd lived in Mexico and would cheer for the green, white, and red. I talked about the engineering of this year's World Cup ball with Anita's Caltech physicist friend. There was a lot of Chicano cheering that day for Mexico to beat South Africa, even if it meant making the host country look bad.
On a family trip to Swampscott, Massachusetts I cheered for the US to beat Slovenia with a bunch of teenagers. Jorge Leal, who takes the L.A. World Cup blogger trophy hands down, explained his refusal to back the Spanish squad over Germany at the Johnny Rockets across the street from the L.A. County Museum of Art. He'd pleaded with his supervisor to let him watch the semifinals match.
There was everything in this series, the busty Paraguayan promising to take off the few clothes she wore if her team won it all. And Paul, the German octopus with a perfect record in more than half a dozen World Cup predictions.
Meanwhile, the soccer fans in Lincoln Heights still squirmed from withdrawals like Frank Sinatra in The Man With the Golden Arm.
"Now what are we going to do?"
"PGA!" Anita's brother said.
Hmm, stick soccer with a hard, dimpled ball.
