Soccer? I Hardly Know Her!
The World Cup. There was a time in my life when if you’d have mentioned the prestigious international soccer championship to me, you would have gotten a pinch on your soft parts. “THE WORLD CUP RUINED MY LIFE!” I’d have sobbed, while possibly sipping some sort of bottled liquor encased in a brown paper bag. I may or may not, in this scenario, also be wearing ragged clothing and have declined to shower for approximately 4 weeks in a row. Why? To make a point. And because I have a flair for drama.
Ah, 2006. I was an idealistic young lass dating a wannabe rockstar with a band who played music that sounded like the soundtrack for mass-murder, more guitars than books, and penchant for all things German. Apparently, the wall-eschewing Eastern European utopia has the best beer, the best food, and the best death metal. And I just thought they had the best regimes. Anyway, I gamely nodded when Rockstar said these things, because he was good in bett (German for bed, because that’s how I do), and, well, a musician. I was mad about him but he was casual about me, saying his last breakup had really turned him off of true love. So, I did things that would make me seem true love-worthy, like making my eye rolls look like flirting and singing songs from the Annie soundtrack in my head when he wouldn’t shut up about how he couldn’t wait to live in Germany. Someday.
Then came June of that year, and, suddenly, Rockstar was all like “I am so psyched for the World Cup! I totally love soccer, don’t you?” and I was all “I do if you do!” We started frequenting the same dark, crappy bar day after day to watch men run around a grass field for an hour and a half, not scoring. But people were excited. Drunk and excited. Even about tie games. Even when that tie was 0-0. After a while, I didn’t hate it. In fact, I kind of liked it. The camaraderie, the beer, the guys in tight shorts and jerseys. I was enjoying the rare time with Rockstar when he wasn’t abusing something with strings and I was becoming a bandwagon soccer fan. At least, until SHE came around.
Fräulein Soccerpants waltzed into the bar one night, looking plain and a little tired. She was makeupless and bespectacled. Her skin was fair and ruddy, with frizzy hair that matched the color. Now, when I tell you these things, it’s mostly to juxtapose the fact that I am a shiny, sparkly, perpetually-overdressed, cleavage-baring bombshell. This girl was my exact opposite. But, when she stepped up to the bar within whispering distance of rockstar’s ear, she let let loose with “Bier, bitte!”* and all the shiny, sparkly, overdressed cleavage in the world couldn’t have gotten his attention.
“Excuse me, are you German?” he asked her.
They talked for the next thirty minutes or so and, after five of them, I finally stuck out my hand and introduced myself in a sort of ugly way. She wasn’t interested and he didn’t bother with so much as an “Oh, yeah, this is my date”. I went from girly pout to downright pissed as time went on. Finally, I faked an “I’m leaving” huff that went unchallenged. I sat in my car in the parking lot, waiting for him to come after for what seemed like forever before realizing he wouldn’t be making that Hollywood-style gesture for me. My heart broke a little.
That was it. Our last date. I waited for him to call and apologize. Then just for him to call. He dumped me by text message three days later with a very honest “Sandi and I have decided to date. She doesn’t want me seeing other people and I don’t want to.” No “I’m sorry”. No “I hope you’re not mad”. No “When can I pick up my cd’s?” I guess he wasn’t really sorry, concerned if I was mad, or interested in getting his stuff back. His bold honesty felt like salt in a wound that was still only a few days old.
Rockstar and his Fräulein married soon after that. I ran into one of his bandmates at a party and he told me he wasn’t sure if it was true love or the fact that her green card was expiring in two months. Either way, he said, they seemed happy. The wound was a scar by then, but still had a weird sensitivity. Because he couldn’t commit to me, didn’t mean that he couldn’t commit. What a hard lesson to learn.
I’m zen about the World Cup now. I don’t pretend to love soccer, but I really like when people come together for things and the world feels like a Coke commercial. I can look at my life and realize that it is not ruined but I can’t think of him, her, that time, and that lesson without feeling a very real pang. Heartache is the same in any language.
* I don’t know what her exact words were. There was a soccer game going on with quite a bit of drunken cheering. But she got a beer and my computer’s English-German dictionary says that means “Beer, please!” so it’s gotta be close. If you were there and know what she said, feel free to contact me. Danke.
Twitter: subWOW
/ Jun 21 2010
Oh… You made the story funny as usual since you are a master storyteller, but my heart broke a little for you.
The guy sounds like a loser anyway. He clearly has a fetish. He would have gone for Frau Farbissina in Austin Powers even. So consider this a WIN. But you already have, right?
Twitter: mrsnotouching
/ Jun 21 2010
2006? That’s not that long ago… but then again I think the saying goes “we may forget what people have done or said, but we never forget how they made us feel”…
Twitter: x_rook_x
/ Jun 21 2010
Aww. I am sorry my love. Oh, guys. Guys are so insensitive sometimes.
Rook´s last blog ..Today is pizza day!
Twitter: jennytalia2009
/ Jun 21 2010
ouch, I’m sorry that he was such a dick to you
you know he did you a favour, right?
still, that doesn’t stop the way it made/makes you feel
cunt
JT
x
Jenny Talia´s last blog ..giggles
Twitter: pattypunker
/ Jun 21 2010
fraulein can have the fuckface. you’re better off and found a fondness for soccer. all good.
pattypunker´s last blog ..happy summer (one week early. because i can’t wait. because i’m a child like that.)
Twitter: L8enough
/ Jun 21 2010
Um, were you at Penny Lane? Because when the US soccer team lost, I was the über pregnant lady in the back crying. I don’t love soccer, I love hormonal outbursts. And I probably would’ve remembered your cleavage and shininess.
Alex@LateEnough´s last blog ..I Fought The Librarian Mafia
Oh, the grass is greener thing. We have all been through it, being left for or cheated on for another, usually lesser attractive, woman. After much therapy I “felt sorry” for him, since he was all unhealthy and shit, which drove him to it. Yeah, it hurt. But I ended up in a better place. Oh, and I recently staked him online- unmarried and looking ooooooooold. Ha!
The Sweetest´s last blog ..Succulent Scallops with Farfalle and Peas
Twitter: alotofnothing
/ Jun 22 2010
The Sir likes to watch soccer even when it’s not the World Cup but only the international teams. I think it makes him feel like he’s worldly without having to buy the weird food.
Angie [A Whole Lot of Nothing]´s last blog ..Official findings: Whoever smelt it, dealt it.
Do you like it when the Coke commercial involves NASCAR?
linlah´s last blog ..my labotomy was better than this
linlah -
I don’t think I’ve seen any of the NASCAR-themed Coke commercials. Is there singing? I only like the ones that involve world peace and show tunes.
Angie [A Whole Lot of Nothing] -
Watching the World Cup DOES make me super hungry for the competing teams’ native foods. Except England. Barf.
The Sweetest -
Facebook is a magnif place to revisit the past in order to feel better about your present. And squelch the passing urge to attend your high school reunion.
Alex@LateEnough -
Unfortunately, feeling ways about things means disappointment from time to time. That’s why I don’t care about anything, ever.
pattypunker -
Yeah, things worked out for the, um, best. I don’t really want the kids to have a stepdad, anyway. Damnit, now I feel a post coming on. Thanks a bunch. Haha.
Jenny Talia -
“Cunt” makes me love you. Like, a lot.
Rook -
It’s okay. I’m pretty fab. Glad we’re blogfriends.
mrs.notouching -
Yes, but I liked him for the wrong reasons, so it healed pretty quickly. Well, healed 99%. The other 1% will always be there and the 1/100s that never heal are starting to add up.
subWOW -
Of course it’s a win. And, when I revisit this stuff to write about it, pulling it out of my denial closet like a baby being pulled from it’s mama with a pair of forceps, it helps me see that it’s not as big and hurty as I remember. Thanks for being rad.