You just start again. I sit here this morning, after arriving an hour late, last night a dark bruise on my memory, I don't know why I got as into it as I did. Maybe I just wanted to feel part of something bigger. And while it lasted, it was great, this feeling that something was happening. It was all a lie, of course, but our belief made it real. Today, life goes on, the childish silliness of it all shelved for another year. But I'll miss that feeling more than I will miss watching the games.
In the meantime, I'm trying to understand how to be gracious in defeat. It's a alien concept to me. Maybe its the overabundance of war metaphors used to characterize sports, but I don't understand how one is supposed to crawl from the wreckage, look up at the foe who vanquished you and thank them for it. As if the sting of the loss isn't enough indignity.
Meh. At least there's the World Cup, a spectacle I have no personal emotional investment in. Maybe its better to watch from a distance.
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