At the height of empire, interest in sport and the rewards for the victors skyrocket. In America from coast to coast, from youngest son to oldest grandmother, people are worshipping sports, the logos, identities, and participants substitute for furies and angels. Some become possessed, some haunted by past demons, and others are considered blessed.

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Practically every weekend of the year there is some form of major championship, some distraction from our small amount of free time, those two days, so calibrated from antiquity to be just the right amount before free association takes place.

How we worship the 3 day weekend, the third day so tranquil, so sublime in its suggestion of another way of living. Alas, the most ‘important’ championships occur on those Haitian. I find myself strangely drawn towards this World Cup phenomena, even finding that I hope that the yanks won’t get shellacked again.

Thinking with European tendencies I abhor the idea that the host country, hooligan nation, the melodramatically fragile Italians, or the elderly Klinsmann should be world dominant. I am delighted when the favorites lose, but hope no dictator will gain points at home from an underdogs’ achievement.

I am amused by the personalities of each team, even as I acknowledge the lack of one displayed by the country of my upbringing. But even as I find some sympathetic underdog, and vilify the favorite in the title match, it seems like all I can think of is sex, how bout you?