I now know what it means to be a football widow. The World Cup rules our schedule. We have out of town guests (hence the short blog posts this week), and on a day we’d planned to take our guests for a hike, I was informed that the hike must end before 12:30 or start after 14:30. Or, we could just leave my wife at home. Portugal was playing North Korea right in the middle of the day, and there was simply no way she could not watch it live. (I asked about recording the game and watching it later, and subsequently learned of my extreme ignorance in these matters. Apparently that is not an option.)
We left without her. Toward the end of our hike, I called the house to see if it was safe to come home. She said, “Portugal is up 2-0! I’m in a good mood!” But there was still most of the second half to play, so anything could happen.
By the time we drove home, the game was over. My wife swung the door open and beamed at us. “We won 7-0! I’m in a very good mood!”
Whew. Thank you, Team Portugal.
And the US squeaked through today, with a last-minute goal! My wife, who had been saying all the way through that “they’d better score, or they’re out of the Cup,” then shouted, “YES! Now they’re first in the group!”
How can one single goal make the difference between being first in the group and dropping out altogether? The World Cup is a mysterious business, requiring comparative mathematics and attention to detail. I’m learning, though. It seems to be practically a requirement for European residency.