World Cup 2010: The Grieving Process Begins

By 2:30 PT yesterday, the World Cup was over. While I may have spent yesterday with an Oranje scarf around my neck, jiggling a foot adorned with bright orange polish, it's almost impossible to be a football fan and not appreciate Spain. While this may have been the year of Jose Mourinho, with many teams seeing no shame in concentrating heavily on defense, the Spanish style is enchanting--an observer can easily be hypnotized by the ball gliding from foot to foot. While yesterday's final would've been better without the karate chopping and the incessant rolling about on the pitch, it was still football--and 30 minutes of free football, which is even better!

And now it's Monday, and there is no football today. No soccer on the TV. Well, apparently there's some FIFA beach soccer going on but it's just not enough to get me out of bed and in front of the television. After a month of having a reason to get up in the morning, I now feel lost. Confused. Adrift in a sea of confusion.

This was my yesterday:

Denial: It's not over. I'll wake up tomorrow and hear vuvuzelas and the melodious sounds of John Harkes' voice. There will be footballers roaming a pitch and unfair refereeing decisions and amazing long-range goals.

Anger: I hated the World Cup anyway. How dare it take away my life for a month, forcing me to wake up at 4am and write too many stories and not see my friends. I envy the people who can just shrug their shoulders and walk away from a match, valuing sunshine and health over the need to watch players half a world away compete for a golden trophy.

Bargaining: Ok, God, how about this: I'll surrender everything in my savings account if I can have the World Cup continue for another month. Let's just have a do-over, shall we? Two cups back to back? No? I'll give up my pretty new condo with its view of the mountains, too--would that be sufficient? I can throw in a bottle of Lost Abbey Cuvee de Tomme as well. Anything to have soccer to watch tomorrow.

I went to bed hoping for a miracle. God probably loves Cuvee de Tomme, and considering the limited supply, I doubt they've got a lot of it up in heaven. Surely there would be football on in the morning. But apparently God also loves a good practical joke, and so he gave me beach football, and he still wants his bottle of beer. And so we come to today, and...

Depression: It's 9am and I'm still curled up in bed. I'm not sure what to do today, not sure what to pay attention to on the internet, not sure what to write about. While I could catch up with the friends I haven't spoken to in a month, I just don't want to talk. They wouldn't understand what I'm going through. No one gets it. I'm just going to pull the covers up over my head and go back to sleep.