Oh my goodness, I trust all you ladies out there have been glued to your television sets watching the World Cup? And if not...WHAT'S WRONG WITH YOU?
In case you weren't aware, the main requirement to be a soccer (pardon me, football) player is to be alarmingly hot. Like set off the smoke detectors hot.
And here's an inner dialogue of how I choose which which team I will root for in a match: Who has the hottest players?
And the answer is always SPAIN!!
A small sampling of what this team has to offer
Last night Dan and I went to Mr. Pickwick's English Pub in Bern, and snagged ourselves a table, a few pints of Guinness, some nachos, and watched Spain kick Germany's keester and win themsleves a spot in the finals.
We were surrounded by German fans, and I was worried that my enthusiastic cheers for Spain would be met with a punch in the mouth, but the great thing about Guinness is the more you drink the less you care.
So I was all WHAT THE [BLEEP] REF! and KICK THE BALL SPAIN! KICK THE BALL! and all AH, NO! when Spain almost scored, but didn't.
But throughout the match, I was slightly disappointed not to see my favourite conquistador on the field: Fernando Torres.
But with about four minutes left, the Spanish coach finally felt all the mental vibes I was floating his way through the t.v. screen (put Torres in, put Torres in, put Torres in) because the camera panned to Torres jumping around on the sidelines, which only meant one thing: HE WAS GOING IN!
Oh, I got excited.
Just ignore the cone head do.
And Dan looked very amused as he sipped his beer.
"Looks like they're bringing Torres in," my Swiss smirked.
"I think they are! Christmas in July! Christmas in July!" I cheered.
"Yeah. Bet a lot of girls are excited about that. You'd have a lot of competition, eh." He smiled comically, continuing to sip his beer confidently.
"Dan. There's no competition in my dreams!"
"Yeah, exactly!" Dan cried, throwing his head back and howling in laughter. "In your dreams is right!"
Wait a second....DARN GUINNESS!