When does the Football World Cup end?
Press journalist, Christchurch mum and part-time soccer widow Vicki Andersen is already sick of the Football World Cup. Here's why.
The World Cup Football thingy has been turning men into ball-obsessed zombies, more than what they usually are.
I went to the The Pegasus Arms yesterday. It was full of football zealots festooned with colourful scarves, drinking pints and yelling at the screen.
Why do men yell at the TV? What possible satisfaction is there to be gained from yelling at a screen? I'm sure your knowledgeable approach to the corner kick would have been beneficial to the obviously blind referee, but... He. Can't. Hear. You.
The World Cup has been unavoidable, especially at work, where clusters of men often huddle around the TV like flies on decayed fruit.
Yes, it's a beautiful game (e.g. Cristiano Ronaldo).
It's watched by millions, gives children heroes, and offers a source of entertainment and pride. I respect it, really I do. Sport can unite people and football is a game of great skill and tactics.
But it's barely begun and I'm already wishing it would end.
Soccer (because that's what it's called) seems to be a dainty game, featuring lots of flopping about theatrically whenever anyone lightly brushes anyone else in the vicinity of the ball.
Anyway, yesterday someone was flopping about on the pitch, something bad happened - I still don't know what - and there was a lot of team hugging. I'll give it to them; these soccer players seem to be in touch with their feelings.
Then a commentator started droning on about the last time (date, year, millisecond) that this bad thing had happened. There were endless action replays.
I joined a Facebook page called Football Free Zone.
During the last World Cup I came home to the following note on the kitchen bench:
"Picture this: You're in a shoe store, second in the line. Behind the shop assistant on the counter is a pair of shoes you have seen and must have. The female shopper in front of you has seen them also and is eyeing them with desire. Both of you, however, have forgotten your purses. It would be totally rude to push in front of the first woman if you had no money to pay for the shoes. The shop assistant remains at the till waiting.
"Your friend is trying on another pair of shoes at the back of the shop and sees your dilemma. She prepares to throw her purse to you. If she does so, you can catch the purse, then walk round the other shopper and buy the shoes. At a pinch she could throw the purse ahead of the other shopper and, 'while it is in flight' you could nip around the other shopper, catch the purse and buy the shoes. Always remembering that until the purse had 'actually been thrown' it would be plain wrong to push in front of the other shopper."
Apparently this is some sexist pig's way of explaining the off-side rule. Got me off-side, anyway.
Please note these comments are not intended to rile soccer fans. You're an unruly and passionate bunch (I know because I have stood teetering on the precipice that is the doorway to the Pegasus Arms).
Apparently the spherical odyssey that has the world on its toes will end on July 13.
No matter who wins, to me rugby will be the winner at the end of the day.