We had to deal with that plenty on Wednesday. What if the U.S. men’s soccer team loses to Germany? What if Ghana win by five? What if someone fouls Cristiano Ronaldo’s hair? Is that worthy of a yellow card? What if I forget to wear red, white and blue on game day?
What if I had a TV screen the size of Uganda, maybe, and a barbecue chicken thigh and a fistful of hummus and a tall cup of Diet Coke during that World Cup match?
Well, that sounds kind of excellent, doesn’t it? And for 70 minutes of the match, it was. About 80 of us rooted for the same team and hated the Germans for a day together, some of us in Team USA soccer shirts and one guy with Old Glory draped over his shoulders.
Fellow Coloradan Amy of Run Write Hike chronicled a hike through a place called 40-mile gulch. I got nostalgic for trails. It’s been years. I think my inner Coloradan yearns for it. Like a shepherd dog does for sheep. Or a sparrow does for McDonald’s French fries.
Amy told with pictures and words what her hike entailed. I’ll do the same today, about our hike, to Davidson, for the second round of the state 1A girls soccer playoffs.
So, this whole Ke$ha scandal has really rocked me.
Should it matter what a musician drinks, even if it’s filtered through her own kidneys? Maybe I’ve overreacted. Maybe it’s like I’m tossing out the butter-heavy southern celebrity cook with the racially insensitive comments from yesteryear.
Anyway, the readers have spoken, and they’ve crowned Norah Jones as my new Music Muse.
With thoughtful, soulful lyrics, an angelic voice, and music chock full of poignancy and positivity, isn’t Norah Jones the perfect anecdote for the Ke$ha mess?
But as Grace and I ran errands today, “Crazy People” came on the radio.
“Hello … wherever you are … are you dancing on the dance floor or drinking by the bar?”
“Daddy,” she said with a smirk. “It’s your girl, Ke$ha. Aren’t you going to turn it up?”
“The crazy kids, them crazy, them crazy kids …”
I did. I turned it up. And smirked, too.
“It’s Ke$ha in the casa, baby … Let’s-let’s get-get loco!”
On with the questions:
1. Has that cheerleader’s hair grown back?
Megan M.’s chromedome days are over.
Presumably. Megan, the Indianapolis Colts cheerleader who made good on a promise to shave her head if the team’s mascot could raise $10,000 for cancer research, is seven months from a tight buzz cut, administered at the Colts’ stadium.
But, there’s no word online about how her locks are recovering.
Man, I’m just two questions in, and I’m beat – these are tough ones this time!
By FIFA rules, it’s a red card, and expulsion from the match, for being guilty of violent conduct. This goes for opponents, officials, team moms, etc. A goalkeeper in a Ukrainian league got sent off after he nailed his teammate with a left hook.
Their opponents had to bust up the scuffle. Apparently a knuckle sandwich is a delicacy worth sharing in Ukraine.
3. Why did you say “thank you” to that lady in the deli after she was so mean?
Did it look like I was trying to be nice?
I wasn’t. When that lady scowled at us for asking for cookies after she’d started cleaning up, but before the deli closed, it ticked me off. When grown-ups get ticked at things like that, we counter with what we call “passive aggressive” behavior.
We sound like we’re neutral or nice, but have a sting of mean behind it.
She’s working. We’re customers. She should be nice. If she has no cookies for good little girls, fine. Don’t scowl at customers. Her boss would’ve been mad. She didn’t know if we weren’t picking out lunch meat for a platter for a loved one’s wake.
Or that I’d be deployed tomorrow, and this was our last day together.
However … I didn’t consider that she might have just lost a loved one. To death or military service. Or both. So when I snapped back with the sarcastic “thank you” to her perceived bitterness, I was stitching a seam in my own issues, it seems.
If I had it to do again, I might act with compassion, not callousness.
Given her the benefit of the doubt. Thank you for reminding me.
4. Is your brain solid, liquid or gas?
It depends on which blog I’ve just written.
Lately, my vote would be for gas. Solids have shape and don’t flow. Liquid flows without shape. Gas has no shape, but flows. A human brain, mostly water (I’ve seen soccer fans that might prove it something of a higher proof), would be solid.
Mine often feels as if it’s in that expanse between Alfredo sauce and puddin’.
Is Eminem white?
White M&Ms?
No, I know better (a colleague in the sports-writing world once referred to the Caucasian rapper as “M&M” in a basketball story, proving once and for all that pop-culture references have no place in the guild of day-to-day sports reporting).
Eminem, also known as Marshall Bruce Matthers III, is white.
He’s often angrier than a deli/bakery associate just before closing time, though. Will listening to too many of his lyrics put your brain in the “gas” category quicker than you can knock out a teammate? It depends on the song.
Should it matter what a musician drinks, even if it’s filtered through her own kidneys? Maybe I’ve overreacted. Maybe it’s like I’m tossing out the butter-heavy southern celebrity cook with the racially insensitive 
Just a dad ... 