Mr. Haaland’s Opus, or Stamford Bridge Redux: Tuesday Open Thread

So: with that, the World Cup Quarterfinals are set. All three host nations have taken their rightful place (the sidelines) after a mostly-dazzling Round of 16.

Mostly, I still don’t care. Can’t care. I recognize soccer as The Beautiful Game and all that shit, and I really enjoy watching the highlights/recaps. But beneath the outer shell of suave, sophisticated man-of-the-world urbanity I wear beats the heart of a True North American White Dude. I need action. I need stimulus. I need beef jerky, the more processed the better.

I was raised on The Big Four: football, hockey, basketball and curling. Wait, no: baseball. Football has lots of “dead” time between plays, but literally any play could result in a score (unless you are the Browns). Hockey averages more than twice the number of shots on target (55) per game as the World Cup (roughly 24 so far) in games which last two-thirds as long. Basketball averages something like 170 attempts per game, and requires that SOMETHING happen every 24 seconds. I legitimately don’t know how soccer fans can watch basketball without the stimulus giving them an aneurysm.

Baseball- well, baseball learned its lesson and instituted its own shot clock.

My little ADHD brain doesn’t get off on accurate passing or maintaining proper field spacing.  Soccer hits me as basically 87 minutes of televised edging with relatively low prospects of release. NOBODY LIKES BLUE BALLS, THIERRY HENRY! It’s a great game to have on at the bar while you are talking to your friends, but as a main focus of attention?

That being said, I did very much enjoy England making its short-handed stand against Mexico for the last forty-odd minutes at the Azteca. Part of that is that as the great-grandchild of English immigrants on one side, watching the British fans waiting in anguished suffering for the collapse they are bone-certain is coming connects me with my heritage. It is not a coincidence I root for both the Bills and Tottenham.

The other part is that there was genuine tension and heroics by both sides. ‘Arry Kane came out of that game sounding like he had gargled razorblades- appropriately so, given that they were playing on a knife-edge for a third of the game.

But England did what England has historically done well since 1066: defend, endure, and over-react to any perceived foul (especially by brown people).

In fairness, that last one is essentially universal in soccer- I legitimately don’t understand how women can be attracted to a guy who goes down like they got hit by sniper fire at the slightest touch.

Footballer After Tripping Near Another Guy.

/considers “How can women be attracted to a guy who goes down at the drop of a hat with incredible intensity”

Ok, maybe I CAN understand it…

Anyway, next up for England is a faceoff with Norway, a replay of the Battle of Stamford Bridge. For the less nerdly-inclined, this was the appetizer for the more famous Battle of Hastings in 1066; King Harold Godwinson of England marched his ass up to Yorkshire to repel what would end up being the last major Viking Invasion of England. Harold Godwinson defeated Harald Hardrada (variously translated as “the Strict,” “the Ruthless” or “the Hardass”)

Godwinson then had to immediately turn the car around and head back south, as a sneaky Frenchman had taken advantage of the distraction to take him in the rear.

/considers phrasing

Ok, so William the Conqueror was Norman rather than Frankish-French. The Normans, of course, had also been Vikings not terribly many generations before. So really, Godwinson was double-teamed by Vikings.

/considers phrasing

Which is also my prediction for this game. 3-1 Norway.