Paradoxical as it may seem, I choose a day when I witnessed what was arguably the worst World Cup futball game ever played to offer a formal and deeply-felt apology to the billions of people I offended by characterizing their beloved game as akin to "watching paint dry."
I was wrong, wrong, wrong. Please note: that's two more "wrongs" in one short sentence than there were goals scored this afternoon in how many hours of play? How long was that game?
In the weeks I actually watched futball closely for the first time, I admit I saw things that were nothing less than astonishing. I saw men move their feet with the dexterity of Fred Astaire or, dare I say, Tommy Tune. I saw men use their heads in a manner which would have given Linda Lovelace pause. I witnessed painful injuries faked less convincingly than the days when Rowdy Rodney Piper climbed into the ring to grapple with George the Animal Steel. I saw acting performances which Sir Lawrence Olivier would applaud. I saw more real dirty play than anything Eric Nesterenko, Ty Cobb or Conrad Dobbler could have dreamed up on their most thuggish nights.
As a fascinated viewer, I experienced the unique magic of not having the slightest idea how much time was actually left when it appeared the half was over or the game itself finished -- not to mention the thrill of final victory as someone, seemingly by accident, indicated to the players that they should stop since the game really was over. I saw referee calls and non-calls that would have taken the Delphic Oracle to interpret. And I had the pleasure of watching all this occur in a stadium that sounded as if it was infested with a swarm of locusts come to announce The End Of Days producing a drone which plagued viewers from Alaska, to the Seychelle Islands.
So there you have it. All this wonderment I experienced thanks to the World Cup, except for those moments when I may have dosed off. Long live soccer! I mean futball. Congrats Espana! I can hardly wait for Brazil 2014. They don't have noisemakers there too, do they? Although I am a fellow of medium stature, I am big enough to know when I've made a terrible mistake. I apologize. Can you find it in your heart to forgive me?
(I, Richard Greener, make these statements entirely of my own free will. I want to assure futball fans everywhere that I have in no way been influenced by the fact that since I wrote my original disparaging blog, my wife has forced me to sleep on the living room couch. She is Dutch so, considering today's outcome, I have no inkling when I'll be allowed back in my bedroom.)