I have watched almost none of the World Cup, but I did watch some this afternoon, and exciting it was. Also exciting was a Met production of “Turandot” on PBS, which I watched at the same time. Talk about high drama, on both channels! Only on one they were running around very fast, and on the other, they were singing. Skill, passion, phenomenal dedication and hard work, on both channels.
I was sorry for the Dutch, but though I know absolutely nothing about sport, it seemed to me that Spain were the better team. Or maybe just handsomer. The end, when they’d finally won, was spectacular – all those incredibly fit and handsome men in little shorts leaping about hugging and kissing each other, and the goalkeeper dissolved in tears. And the poor Dutch, in their brave vibrant orange, so near and yet so far.
Okay, that’s over. Enough is enough. As I watched, I just saw little boys in the neighbourhood park, kicking, running, kicking, running, kicking. As here they are skating, passing, skating and passing. There is nothing as beautiful as the male body in motion.
Except the female body in motion.
A dramatic day here, too. A beautiful morning turned into an overcast afternoon, clouds gathering, rumbles of discontent in the sky, darker, darker, clouds boiling, here it comes … I rushed out to bring in the laundry I had drying in the sun, and soon, yes, there was rain. No. There was a tiny sprinkle of delicate droplets, and then the clouds cleared and it was brilliant sun again. Stormus interruptus – very disappointing, after that melodramatic set-up.
College Street, they say, is impassable, everyone who’s Spanish or who has ever been to Spain or who has a crush on someone Spanish or who likes to party is dancing in the streets.
Here in C’town – the sun is shining, the birds are singing, and all is calm. I’ve had a large glass of rosé, and I am calm too.
