No Words

I am on my back, on the living room floor, pounding the hardwood with my fists, tears running down my face, and I am laughing. The US has just beaten Brazil in the most wrenching, draining, tornado-in-the heart rollercoaster wreck with bombs thrown in soccer match you will ever see.

The web is full of recaps, so I won't reinvent the wheel here. Jesus Christ. I was completely with Sundhage and Wambach at the end there. There truly were no words. Just laughing and howling and being drenched with tears and sweat and disbelief and joy, the outcome still so improbable and tenuous even after the fact that I was afraid to watch the replays for fear that somehow it might turn out differently the second or third time through. There were no words.

But I do have three words now, plus a followup. The three words are: thank you, Erika.

Thank you for your ever-so-artful dive, with an added technical merit score given for walking away from play and furtively checking over your shoulder to make sure the ball was safely out of bounds before crumpling to the ground like you'd been hit with an elephant dart. Thank you for rolling around and twitching for a full two and half minutes before being stretchered off, because that was conveniently ten full seconds more than the US needed to score the tying goal. And thank you for definitively proving that such odious cheating theatrics not only lose you the respect of your opponents and every person watching from the stands, but also lose you the match as well.

Fuck off, Brazil. You have the most technically and physically gifted player on the planet and a supporting cast that can dribble circles around most of the US defense, but instead of beating us with your superior skills and instincts, you chose to bring the most repellant aspect of the men's game into your own and tried to cheat your way to a victory. That is not "gamesmanship." It is cowardice. The only person among the 26,000 in attendance who fell for your bullshit diving and screaming was the referee, so it almost worked. But in the end it didn't matter. You lost. Try playing straight-up football next time, because you're actually quite good at that.

Heavens to Betsy

What a fuck of a match. The solution is simple, of course, because I'm not the actual US manager. Play a 4-3-3 with Cox starting at left back, a midfield of Rapinoe-Cheney-O'Reilly (or Cheney-Lindsey-Rapinoe if HAO's still injured), and a front line of Rodriguez-Wambach-Morgan. Done and done. As opposed to one and done, which the US will be against Brazil if Pia insists on sticking with the tried-and-true 4-4-2 built around a dual smart but aging/young but stupid central midfield.

Fuck.

This is shaping up to be the torch-passing World Cup. Germany, England, and the US have watched, distressed, as their long-term marquee stars have shown their age and faded back into the woodwork. Birgit Prinz, Germany's all-time goals leader, now moving slowly and then being unceremoniously benched in the 54th two games ago and left there for the last one. Kelly Smith, England's best player ever, exhibiting a downward effectiveness curve culminating in being pulled in the 63rd in England's last squeaker. Abby Wambach, top scorer by a mile among currently active US players, nagged by a bad Achilles and failing to finish in just about every way imaginable short of a sniper atop the stands picking off the ball on its way to goal (finally managing to be in the right spot for the ball to carom off a defender's head onto Wombat's shoulder and thence into the goal, allowing the US to lose by only one instead of two). Time is relentless and cruel.

Meanwhile, Ali Krieger is my MVP for being far and away the most consistent player on the field for the US. Player most likely to crawl into a hole and never come out? At this point, Kelly O'Hara, poor child. God, what a debut. Fun to watch? Anonma from Equatorial Guinea for flash, Lisa De Vanna for incredible bursts of speed and the delicious suspense of wondering when she's going to finally punch somebody. Easy on the eyes? Krieger wins that all day long.

Two days off for recovery now. Bring on current events, I suppose.

Can the US Play With Two Keepers Now?

Two things. First, kudos to Equatorial Guinea for that revolutionary two-keeper alignment. And here we all wondered why the actual keeper came out in a kit that was only one hue removed from the field players. Were I Hungarian referee Gyonegyi Gaal, I would have dispensed with the curt "sorry, y'all" apology and simply walked off the pitch at halftime, leaving my reffy clothes in a sad pile on the touchline, never to call a game and quite possibly never to watch a game again. It was just that bad.



Tomorrow is a rest day, which unfortunately coincides with the one day I could actually sit at home and watch four matches. But no. That happens on Tuesday and Wednesday, so I get to write archaeology stuff at the same time now.

Second, squeeeeeeeee.




















Nespresso Pixie. Dear god, I did not need this, but now that I have it, I cannot live without it.

In other news, it was 118 in Phoenix yesterday, so Sheriff Joe grudgingly allowed the tent city inmates to have ice bags to sit on and possibly bury themselves under so that five-to-ten for marijuana possession doesn't become a capital crime.

It's fucking hot here.

Sorry, Peeps. It's World Cup for the Next Two Weeks

Did you watch the mugging yesterday in Frankfurt? The referee unfortunately lost control of the Germany-Nigeria match roughly ten minutes in, and it was downhill from there. Germany were lucky to escape with a one-goal win and no serious injuries. Nigeria were lucky to escape with only one yellow and not the several yellows and straight red that were warranted. Birgit Prinz had no fun at all in her hometown stadium and finally found the bench after an hour of having the holy hell beaten out of her. Does Lira Bajramaj possibly start in her place against France?

Christine Sinclair must really be looking forward to Canada's date with the hackiest straight girls on the planet. Speaking of Sinclair, well, holy shit, Sinclair. Canada never found their rhythm against France and the ball eventually and inevitably found Sinclair's already broken face, a blast from two yards away sending her to the ground with a bloodied forehead. She managed some lovely combination play very late in the match, but Canada never threatened. On the Bleu side of the ball, Sex Machine Abily shook off the opening-match blahs and showed her usual fine form. France overall played a lovely technical game and earned the big goal differential reward. Germany's back line may have trouble contending with France's speed, particularly if supersub Elodie Thomis sees significant minutes, and the Deutsche midfield needs to find somebody who can connect on passes into the attacking third reliably. Damn Barbie was just off against Nigeria, leaving Germany without much of a threat from the wing, and Garefrekes was almost as invisible. Somewhere in a German hotel room, Sonia Bompastor is licking her chops. Allez Bompy!

In US news, the grand Boxx experience may be mercifully drawing to a close. I love Boxx, I love Notre Dame women. But at 33, she doesn't have the wheels or gas tank to be a World Cup holding midfielder any more, and was a liability on the field rather than an asset. Bring on Lori Lindsay and hope she rekindles some of the old magic with Wambach. Also, NEEDS MOAR ALEX MORGAN.

In real US news, fucking hell. Abortion is history in Kansas, Ohio's going nuts, and the DSK maid is being run through the grinder. I am going back to soccer.

Tomorrow We Are All Reagan Republicans

Never let it be said that I do not have an open mind. Twenty-seven years ago, Ronald Reagan did something completely awesome and wonderful, establishing a legacy that has been handed down in successive years to all Americans regardless of party, color, or creed.

President Ronald Reagan proclaimed July to be National Ice Cream Month and the third Sunday of July to be National Ice Cream Day in 1984.

Kickass, St. Ronnie. Kickass.

Hum.

Hmmm. The Supreme Court ruled that a California law banning the sale of violent video games to minors violates the First Amendment. Read this particular line of reasoning and see if you can guess why I find it fascinating.

The justices said governments did not have the authority to "restrict the ideas to which children may be exposed."

O RLY? Does anyone else hear this and immediately start the stopwatch for suits to be filed against Tennessee's "Don't Say Gay" law, or, closer to home, Arizona Superintendent of Public Instruction John Huppenthal's ruling that the TUSD Mexican-American studies program illegally promotes ethnic solidarity and thus must be stopped immediately? How about local school districts that refuse to teach comprehensive sex ed?

On the other hand, does this seeming endorsement of exposure to unlimited ideas roll out the red carpet for creationists to mandate Intelligent Design for science curricula? Or will the Establishment Clause continue to have primacy over an unfettered universe of ideas? I think this has the potential to become way more interesting than maybe they expected.

On We Go

Since life insists on marching resolutely on, despite the dog-sized hole in my heart, we got up for the start of the World Cup yesterday shortly after sunrise. In the first match I pulled mightily for France, since no self-respecting lesbian shitass can cheer in good conscience for Nigeria in anything, ever again. France dominated possession on the wings but was surprisingly toothless in the box, partly due to Camille "Sex Machine" Abily having a sub-par match, to put it mildly. Les Bleus also showed vulnerability to the counter. Nigeria's inability to put away a couple of wide-open chances preserved France's 1-0 win.

The second match, between Canada and host Germany, was far more entertaining. The Germans ended up on top 2-1, although missed chances on both ends meant the score could have been more on the lines of 5-2. What hurts more today, Christine Sinclair? Skying the ball over the bar on a wide-open net, or having your nose rearranged by a Deutsche elbow? Germany's ball movement and running off the ball are impeccable, and that Damn Barbie is a force.

I'm DVRing the matches this morning, so don't tell me who won England-Mexico; I'm hoping for a big game from Casa Boltgirl favorite Kelly Smith. We will be watching tomorrow's brace live with a giant breakfast and hoping the US performance doesn't make us want to puke up all those lovely eggs and biscuits.

Dog

We forget from time to time, but this story only ever ends one way. I don't know if I will want to pick it up again later.

Soccer Prep Guide

Welcome, soccer fans and "abby wambach girlfriend" and "abby wambach boyfriend" googlers. The World Cup starts on Saturday, and you still have a few things you need to do in preparation.

1. The absolute number one requirement is to zip over to The Equalizer and buy the WWC preview they put together with All White Kit. At 82 lovely searchable PDF pages, it's a bargain at 5.95. Both sites are daily must-reads even when the Cup isn't just around the corner, particularly if a big portion of your regular entertainment intake comes from following the trainwreck that is magicJack.

2. Next, march down to your local purveyor of fermented beverages and plead for some Four Peaks Hop Knot IPA. This might be easier if you live in Arizona. Yes, Arizona. Hop Knot is one of the things that makes life in the state of John "Illegals are Pyros" McCain not only tolerable, but downright magical at times. Lay in a stock; it only comes in 12-packs of cans.

3. Got a spare couple of minutes? Go read about brilliant England manager Hope Powell.

4. Lay in the bacon, eggs, and potatoes. Live games in Germany mean breakfast start times here in the Pacific Time Zone. Suggested opening game breakfast bakey thing:

Rinse three or four leeks and thinly slice the white and pale green parts. Caramelize these in a pan with a healthy pinch of salt, deglazing the pan from time to time with broth. While the leeks are cooking, simmer a cup of broth with a bit of garlic and rosemary. Thinly slice some potatoes into rounds. Layer the potatoes in a baking pan with the leeks and some sliced cheese (gruyere is lovely), topping each layer with a sprinkle of salt and a few grinds of pepper. Add sliced ham to each layer if you're a meat person. Strain the broth and pour enough over to make it a bit soupy on the bottom. Beat a couple of eggs with a touch of milk, salt, and pepper, and pour over. Top with one more layer of potatoes and cheese. Cover and bake at 375 for 45 minutes or so, then uncover and bake long enough to brown up the cheese. Remove from oven and let rest a bit, then shovel it out onto plates and NOM.

5. Ali Krieger. 'Nuff said.

Boltgirl is a Curmudgeon Yet Again

You may have noticed that about half of Arizona is on fire at the moment. If you live in Arizona, you have probably also noticed that it’s really fucking hot and dry and the only clouds on the horizon are made of smoke. And if you live in Tucson, you have certainly noticed the goddamn fireworks stands popping up on vacant corners and in parking lots, and probably seen the billboards and basic cable ads from some major firework outlet store just across the New Mexico border, presumably in a spot that hasn’t gone up in flames yet.

What the hell, people?

The Pima County Board of Supervisors is sorta kinda thinking about enacting a ban on private citizen knuckleheads setting off fireworks in their back yards, and possibly a ban on the resorts holding their own shows. The city of Tucson is planning on going ahead with their annual show over A Mountain, despite a track record of setting large portions of the mountain on fire every year. This is the first year you can legally buy fireworks in Arizona—thanks, legislature; we need that like a goddamn hole in the headso I am expecting even more idiocy by my neighbors than usual.

I have no intention of burning down my own house, my own yard, or anyone else's. I just want a little taste of the America where I grew up. Believe it or not, even back then we knew how to work a garden hose.

U-S-A! U-S-A! I hope that garden hose is a full-bore fire hose hooked up to a hydrant, buddy. I will be spending the weekend clearing the easement on the side of the house down to dirt, just in case your good intentions don't fly as far as your fucking bottle rockets.

Song

Trying to keep our suddenly food-averse, lung-infected geriatric beagle mix alive and kicking until the girlfriend gets home next Tuesday may wind up being the most stressful extended event I have had in my adult life. Well, maybe coming out to difficult family members was worse, but it's close.

That stress chose a singular soundtrack for itself that manifested first in my brain and then out loud when I came home after work today. I do not know where it came from.

I opened the door and met the unmistakable smell of an accident.

Just hear those sleigh bells jingling ring ting tingling too

The non-beagle old dog had apparently had some trouble standing up sometime during the afternoon and then laid back down in the resulting pile.

Come on it's lovely weather for a sleigh ride together with you

I snapped on her collar and pulled her outside, soapy rags in hand, to hose her down and scrub her off. I left the rags in the outdoor poo bag to throw away later.

Outside the snow is falling and friends are calling yoo-hoo

Back inside, the beagle mix turned his nose up at liver treats and turkey, his eyes dull.

[out loud now] Come on, it's lovely weather for a sleigh ride together with you

I heated some profoundly vile cat food in the microwave. The beagle eagerly downed three whole mouthfuls and then went to stare out the front door at the girlfriend's car, empty and marooned in the driveway until she comes back.

Giddyup giddyup giddyup let's go, let's look at the snow.

After some coaxing, he halfheartedly lapped up some more, then mouthed some biscuits, and chewed on some roast beef before spitting out half of it.

We're riding in a wonderland of snow.

Then it was out the door to meet friends who are going out of town and need me to water their plants, and then back to Costco for more roast beef (please eat it) and tasty treats (please eat them).

When I came home the beagle was perkier than he has been in days. Apparently the combination of weird proteins he managed to get down did something beneficial. He did seem pleased about the new treats and beef. I hope it's the start of an upward trend and not just a blip.

Let's take the road before us and sing a chorus or two

My mom used to play Sleigh Ride a lot on the piano when I was a kid. She was never too sure about the lyrics, so she made up whatever came into her mind at the moment, and it was usually comedy gold. Maybe that's where my brain fled to when I didn't see any solutions in front of me and caved in to frustration and desperation.

Come on, it's lovely weather for a sleigh ride together with you.

Come on.

Special Occasion du Jour, Tout Les Jours

I bought this bottle fully intending to save it for a special occasion. After all, the first time I sampled this particular brand of magic was at my step-daughter's college graduation dinner a couple weeks back--if you're ever in Ithaca, do drop into Stella's and get a table in the delightfully Mos Eisley-esque basement cave bar, and then try the cilantro chorizo seafood dish--and it was such a perfect capper to the dinner and the weekend that I decided it would become my go-to quaff for toasting family and dear friends in memorable moments.

We got back to Tucson and I bought a bottle and stuck in on the shelf and then started wondering what exactly I was saving it for. The last time I put a bottle away for a special occasion--blackberry wine from the Oliver Winery in Bloomington, Indiana, possibly tromped into existence by Dionysus hisself and maybe Jesus too--the special occasion failed to materialize before the wine sadly shuffled off into vinegarhood. The time before that, the girl I was hoping to share the bottle with moved away before I ever got around to grabbing the corkscrew, much less a second kiss.

So what future am I betting on against the present by stashing the bottle on the high shelf?

I went for a walk this evening as the sun set and watched the bats wheel over the streets. As night settled in, the dogs were still breathing and nothing was on fire, and the breeze was downright pleasant.

Special occasion enough.

Slainte.

Rage, and an Antidote

This week in Things that Make Me Angry:

1. Elvis

2. kale

3. Catholic Charities screaming discrimination in their adoption arm in Illinois. Seriously, people, this is not a difficult concept. Do you want to take public money to perform a public service? Do you want to refuse to provide that service to a specific segment of the public? You can’t do both. Hello.

4. it’s used as a possessive. College rugby sevens championship, I’m looking at you.

5. websites with auto-play video

6. websites with auto-play video and no mute button

7. my right knee

And just to keep it fair and balanced, here’s something that makes me happy:

Funfetti cupcake with dinosaur sprinkles, which totally outweighs 1-7 above. How many of these do I have to eat to get Sarah Palin out of my head? I'm willing to go pretty high here.

Back, Sorta

Oi. Ithaca is indeed incredible, and felt very much like my midwestern home with the thick beech-maple forests, omnipresent creeks and rivers, and familiar wildflowers nodding in the breeze like old friends. I put a hefty number of standard-issue postcardy pictures on the Facebook--if you're truly dying to see them, leave me a note in the comments--as well as a bunch of Android Polaroid emulator shots of Cornell campus architectural details on my tumblr.

Rudy Giuliani gave an eminently forgettable speech at graduation. I declined to take photos. Short version: the terrible tragedy of a Cornell senior dying in a fire three weeks before graduation = 9/11!

Jesus.

We came home to 105-degree heat and a dog with a lung infection. In short order thereafter we were served a heaping dish of Idiocy Two Ways, courtesy of Sarah "Ring Them Bells" Palin and Anthony "I Am Behaving Like A" Weiner. Neither requires more comment here.

I am easing into summer, which means lots of stone fruit with yogurt, chilled light wines (moscato! oh my!), and waiting for fall. The World Cup is coming in a couple of weeks, at which point I will be blogging around the clock. Meanwhile, well, sit, watch, reassess, think. I am getting old.

Vacation

Jetting off to Ithaca tomorrow for the step-daughter's graduation from Cornell. Never been there, but I hear it's gorges.


Haaaaaaaa hahahahaha. Back in a week.