Sunday, July 2, 2006

Wayne Rooney, Germans, & Love

[editor's note: since I just get home, these are my musings from this weekend that I'm just getting them posted now, so I'm dating them as of the time I wrote them]

from Sunday, July 1st, at around 3pm'ish, at Hamburg Airport

As I sit on my godforesakin plane in Hamburg delayed by at least 6 hours because of engine problems, I figure now is just as good as to reflect. Like so many things in life usually times of reflection occur when you're not really having fun. Rarely do you say "oh boy this is fun, lemme put try to put this joy in context with the rest of my life and try to create a framework of understanding that could be helpful in the future." Although technically speaking I had done that several months ago and even then I was able to depress myself about it ("this is the most fun I've ever had...surely this will not last and I'm just gonna be depressed for a long period of time."...and I was right!)

At this point you're probably wondering what reflection is noteworthy as to appear in this humble collection of thoughts, pictures, and music (i.e. this blog). As you'll recall of course, my previous notes have spanned a wide variety of pressing issues, such as how to spot desis, investigative work into a restaurant called Cafe Shit, and of course my recent work on the game theory involved in using urinals. Clearly only writings of the highest quality make it through the filtration process. So what am I gonna talk about?

Well lemme satiate this digression with another one: today as promised I'm wearing the red English soccer shirt of my beloved #9, Wayne Rooney. The 20-year old represents everything anyone who's a sports fan would want in their teams: tireless, always has a look of determination, he scores a lot (not at the World Cup though), and for whatever reason he always always always plays as though he's pissed. He could've scored twice on a team well on their way to winning a game and he still looks like he's ticked off. He's like a young English version of former Yankee rightfielder, Paul O'Neill.

Well I bring this up because after watching the England/Portugal match yesterday I decided to wear his shirt despite their loss. Real fans stick by their teams when they lose. The problem was that the German people did not view my gesture as sympathetic. If there's one thing no one ever accused Germans of having, it's emotions. Everywhere I went people teased me from the hotel to the airport. Hell even the security guy for another line came over to my line just to say "Hey how are you feeling? haha." This of course is after the passport control snickered at my shirt and just said "Wayne." I hate Germans.

But all this joking is okay, you have to support your team....which brings me to an interesting fact that most of you are aware of ...I'm not British, I never lived there, and I don't have any family there. Heck these are the same people who colonized my people in India (okay I know some bastard is going to call me a hypocrite because I've lived at length in India aside from holidaying, but you just shutup). And so for whatever reason, I loyally sit here in seat 10A wearing my Rooney shirt.

But in the airport it struck me, wearing my red shirt is a lot like dating someone (as opposed to "dating no one"). It really makes no rational sense. It just places you in a position of purposely being open to some pain and humiliation. Furthermore it's unclear if there's a good reason to go through it at all. Why put yourself through the misery when you can save yourself a lot of pain and heartache...and coming to think of it money too. I know if anyone is still reading this far they're probably thinking "but it's all worth it in the end when when it works out." Well, I'm not gonna concede that point because I'm a bit skeptical about the whole thing. Oh well.

I don't have a cute conclusion or resolution to tie up this up. It's just that the dating/shirt similarity seemed uncanny and kinda resonated with me. As it often happens in life, events which shouldn't be connected in any way whatsoever somehow morph together to form our thoughts on things.

If this all sounds perfectly depressing, then I think you've missed the underlining point in my dating/shirt metaphor. I was wearing the shirt.

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