Something Great

Arsene Wenger cobbled together starting lineups with spit and duct tape and Denilson and somehow the team dragged its ass over the finish line in third or fourth.

Thursday, June 14, 2018

The World Cup Is Here (Thank God)

When Juan and I started The Legend of Carl Awesome in the twilight years of the George W. Bush administration, we never dreamed that someday, ten years later, the blog would still exist exactly as it did back then - with absolutely zero audience, intermittent flurries of activity followed by years of dormancy, and a style and appearance that was somehow outdated even in 2008. Back then we were living in Washington, D.C. and New York City, respectively, and while I don't want to speak entirely for Juan, I think it's fair to say that we were not doing a ton with our lives. We were living in the weird holding period of life that immediately follows college; trying to figure out the next move. And while there was no real hardship in our lives, there was some anxiety.  Soccer (and occasionally blogging about soccer) seemed like an excellent way to pass the time and, at least for me, suppress some of the lurking anxiety about WTF I was going to do with my life.  It's not a coincidence that the vast bulk of our posts came during those first few years after college when our lives were more uncertain: we had something outside our lives that we could fixate on, analyze, obsess over, joke about. Something constant and comforting, like Arsene repeatedly trying and failing to zip up his coat or Jose Mourinho being a tremendous jackass.  Something that provided beauty and art like Cesc Fabregas playing a perfectly weighted pass to a runner that only he could see. And something that reminded us of the possibility of great joy in the world, like David Trezeguet scoring and smiling his incredible, enormous smile that spoke a language that needed no interpretation: yes, life really can be this good.

Over the years, we occasionally dropped in to write something silly or celebratory, but it's been awhile since we even did that. And to be sure, a lot has happened since our last post in November 2014. At this point, I imagine myself talking to 2014 Jim and Juan and not even knowing where to begin. Let's see... Jose Mourinho manages at Manchester United now.  It's not quite as bad as you might think, but it's not great. Messi and Ronaldo are ageless and still outstanding in every way. Arsenal won two more FA Cups but lost their familiar, comfortable grip on the Top Four trophy. There was actually a season where Arsenal finished ahead of United, Citeh, Spurs, Chelsea, and Liverpool and didn't win the League. (Don't ask.) Arsene Wenger retired. (It was sad and overdue.) Real Madrid embarked upon a Champions League dynasty that I did not see coming (and still find hard to understand/fathom even now). Portugal won the Euros over a French team that was superior in almost every single way. (Eder scored; it was extremely weird.) Chile, Italy, and, most devastatingly, the United States, somehow failed to qualify for the World Cup. Lionel Messi and Argentina picked themselves up from their heartbreaking 2014 World Cup loss and bravely made it to the final of the 2015 Copa America, only to lose in heartbreaking fashion; they then picked themselves up from that disaster and bravely made it to the final of the 2016 Copa America Centenario, only to lose in heartbreaking fashion, and here is where I'd pause so 2014 Juan can stop laughing and wipe the tears of mirth from his eyes.

Other non-football things have happened. Juan became an ER doctor; he's about to start his medical practice in Miami. I started practicing law in New York, moved to Sacramento, and am now about to relocate to London for at least a little while. Both of us have married beautiful, intelligent, accomplished women (that indulge or at least accept our love of soccer). I have a daughter, and Juan and his wife just welcomed a son to their family. Our parents and siblings are doing well. We have good friends. Arsenal fandom aside, at this particular moment in time, I think our lives are pretty great by just about every single measure. 

Despite all this, over the last couple years I find myself occasionally feeling the old anxiety that used to creep up in that uncertain time after college. Only now, it's not related to my personal or professional life (or at least not usually). I think we all know why. Maybe you, our nonexistent reader, have felt it or feel it, too.

It's hard to argue that the world isn't noticeably more crap than it was when we wrote our last posts in 2014, the year of the last World Cup. In a way, it feels right that the USA isn't playing in this year's competition. As a nation, we're having a go at genuine isolationism, so it seems altogether fitting and proper that we should find ourselves locked out of this great global party.  When the subject of the World Cup has come up with friends and acquaintances, a number have laughed it off and admitted that they won't be paying any attention. Some shake their heads ruefully and joke about Fox getting what they deserve by spending a fortune to broadcast a competition to a nation that won't even be participating and therefore won't be paying attention.

But I don't really care that the USA isn't here. And I will not be deterred from watching and enjoying this by the fact that everything is awful. The current political situation is precisely why I need this World Cup so badly. I need Olivier Giroud--wearing the only blue shirt that looks right on him--holding the ball up imperiously and laying it off to the Young God™Antoine Griezmann as he bursts into the area like Hermes on winged feet. I need Luis Suarez doing something insane, thus completing his own Three Flavours Cornetto trilogy of wacky World Cup controversy (and so we can all find out just how far Juan's parents will go to justify the actions of a madman so long as he wears the shirt of La Celeste). I need Iran and Morocco and Sweden and Iceland and Costa Rica and South Korea and Australia and all the other underdogs absolutely parking the bus in their best Mourinho homage and trying to kill a game dead, only to have their resistance broken by some late moment of magic from A Big Name or The Next Big Thing. I need Mexico getting out of their group and playing well enough to fool their fans into thinking "this is definitely the year we make the quarters" before some unbelievable calamity a la Maxi Rodriguez or Arjen Robben befalls them and sends the nation into a period of mourning befitting an actual tragedy. I need to see if the new (fake) Trezeguet from Egypt has a smile with one tenth the wattage of his namesake. I need Cinderella Runs and Heavy Favorites Flaming Out in Spectacular Fashion (hello there, Spain!).  I need furious texting sessions with friends and family as we all pretend to know everything about some 20 year old attacking midfielder from Panama or Senegal who comes off the bench in the 85th minute and scores a screamer ("Eredivisie and Ligue 1 teams have expressed interest.").  All of the cliched narratives, constant and comforting, and yet unfolding so as to provide surprise, excitement, and feats and outcomes never seen before. I need it all. Life really can be this good.