There are only two sports that I willing watch on television: horse jumping, soccer, and extreme shopping makeovers.
(Oh, I guess that's three.)
I used to want to be in show-jumping, but there was this problem when I was growing up of having parents who didn't love me enough to put me in to the sport. Thanks a lot, Mom and Dad! So I had to settle for only riding horses at my grandparent's ranch all summer long, and travelling to rodeos with my aunt.
I had a deprived childhood, as you can tell.
And soccer, well I believe I have already explained why I enjoy that delicious sport. Click here and you can read all about it. Now yes, yes, of course my main reason for liking soccer is because 'yowza, hot-diggity, call the fire department' the players are smokin'. But since I've been watching it for awhile now, I must acknowledge that I have actually developed a real and non-superficial affection for the game.
I mean my number one loyalty is still to hockey because I am Canadian and I want border control to let me back in the country, but I do appreciate the sheer athleticism of soccer players (they never stop running!), the skill of maneuvering the ball with just their feet, and the fact they can jump in the air and kick the ball backwards into the net.
So the Sunday before Dan's birthday, Marc and Wynter were going to be attending a soccer match with one of Marc's old buddies, and I don't think it would be incorrect to state that I basically hijacked their plans and they had no choice but to let me go with them. In fact, if I had to I would have folded myself up like a piece of origami to be stowed away in Wynter's purse. Luckily it didn't come to that because (a) I'm really not that bendy, and (b) Dan wanted to go to the game too, and Marc and Wynter are nice and didn't care that we tagged along.
So on Sunday, under blue skies and warm sunshine, the six of us stood outside the soccer stadium and drank beer, waiting to go in to watch the Bern team (the BSC Young Boys) go foot-to-foot against the Lucern team (the FC Lucern).
Now as we stood around drinking our beers, I couldn't help but notice the dozens and dozens of riot police who were lining the road, standing behind their plastic shields. Soccer matches get a bit heated, I've come to learn. But coming from Canada, I'm still not used to this whole notion that 'hey you can drink beers on the streets, or the trams, or the trains (as long as you're not driving said tram or train)' so as I drank I looked sort of like a mouse who's been caught in the larder cupboard: I kept furtively sipping my beer and hugging it close to my body, while casting 'I'm so innocent I look guilty' looks at the police who were standing all around us.
Essentially I couldn't play it cool, when it was totally cool.
And when we were entering the stadium, and bent down to put our empty bottles on the steps with all the other empty bottles, I straight up looked as guilty as I felt: I was littering...in Switzerland...SURROUNDED BY RIOT POLICE...oh holy mother of cheese, they're going to lock me up and throw away the key.
Again, I couldn't play it cool when it was totally cool.
Basically the above lesson to you Readers, is that if you ever need someone to help you shoplift or steal candy from a baby, I'm not your gal. I will break out in hives, balloon up to unreasonable proportions, and get foot-in-mouth-disease as I gasp: Wrong doing! Wrong doing! We're participating in wrong doing!
I can't play it cool.
But I'll tell you who can play it cool: soccer plays.
Oh, they can play it
Right before kick-off.
Fans: the reason why riot police are required.
We run fast...
...to score goals.
A fine display of athletic pro-WOW-ess (aka prowess).
Steal the ball away from me, Blue?! I'll teach you...
Groin in the face! Oh snap! How'd ya like that, Blue?!
Oh crap, Groin-In-The-Face is coming at me. Better 'fly' outta here.
And get down.
(Cleat in the face is worse than a groin in the face, btw)
You want this ball? This one? Yeah, that's a no.
I'm going to score a goal.
And oh, how 'bout that, I totally did.
Ref? What's the big deal? All I did was kick out his knees and punch him in the ear.
Do you ever feel like your beauty is a burden? My cheek bones are so chiseled I can barely walk.
Oh, tell me about it. This hair. It's from Gods.
Our goalie, in all his pylon-orange glory.
Good game. Good game.
Your momma's fat.
I hate you.
Sleep with one eye open.
So we were obviously cheering for Bern, which is the yellow and black team, and they won 3-0. It was all very exciting.
The Lucern fans were very disappointed, and very vocal in their disappointment, but the riot police were never called into action. They just stood in a long plastic-shield line, and eyed us suspiciously as we made our way out of the stadium.
It made me so nervous, I almost confessed to wanting to smear my donair wrap all over the faces of the jeering Lucern crowds.
Dan kept me moving though.
He can play it