Germany 1 Argentina 1 (4-2) on penalties; Italy 3 Ukraine 0

To the united front of brotherhood,

I guess I have to start out with a rather apologetic excuse for not having the blog on this morning. The reason behind this debacle can be attributed to two distinct factors. One is that I went out long and hard with my friends the night before and this had nothing to do with our win. I wish had celebrated properly, but I might have over over compensated by being three quarter blind by the time I got home.

The other reason is that I am currently sitting pretty writing this at Ben’s chalet in Chamonix, and low and behold, my flight was at god forsaken hour of 0700. “Ben’s chalet in Chamonix” is currently rolling out my ubiquitous tongue like flan on spoon. As some of you may know, Ben is the one half of Ben/Guy combo from my university days. Without them (and their respective mothers), I would have self eunuchised myself with a rusty hanger. So he’s currently involved in a super duper entrepreneurial project embedding stem cell from a hamburger into a filet-o-fish. In all seriousness, he’s creating a google for traditional Chinese medicine. If you want to know more about his Bill Gates like philanthropic activity, do ask him directly. I’m not shying away from my duty as his friend to get into his highly illegal yet lawful activity, but when he was doing his monologue as we walked down to downtown Chamonix, my brain was definitely half full with sleepless pills.

Although I will be keeping strict warmonger like tabs on when and where I can watch the match, it is just great to see him. He looks like a tall and slightly thin version of George Lucas post Star Wars, but that’s a discussion worth an entire website and frankly, I just don’t have the right about of time to give this subject its due respect. But my brethren, do not despair. His Benness will be more prominently involved in my glacier filled life for the next couple of days.

Elite 8
Germany 1 (4-2) on penalties
Argentina 1

It would have had a the scent of destiny if her name was vendetta, but yesterday was V for Viola. Her text 2 days prior has launched a mother of all venue finding mission for two Germans (one real version and one occasional German) to find a home away from fatherland. I thought I found that in the Beer House on city road, but with all things being German, one must have had a place reserved 2 days prior to the match. No reservation, no Hefe. So with sweat pouring down my delicate skin and vapours clouding her Sven like glasses, we reached our unholiest of all destinations: an English pub. But this English pub was like no other I have encountered in the past 6 eons of my pseudo English life. It was chilled to my T-bone with an AC. No, Anup wasn’t giving his icy “Whut? Whut?” attitude to an audience packed with alcohol laced English gentlemen. Rather some 20th century invention called the “air conditioner” was humming its gentle tune of summer blasting madness into the environment. The tension was daisy cutter and the pub was full of gentrified Englishmen. We were joined by a passerby German family of 3 and 3 lads with their game face fully tightened. The battle was nigh and beer was extra cold.

1st goal came when we were wondering when it was arriving. Although an onslaught of ball possession doesn’t conjure images of might, but if you’re stuck chasing white and sky blue shadows the entire 1st half, you cannot ignore fear clawing at your chest cavities with painful precision. The first 10 minutes of each half is crucial as either you come out Lindsay Lohan or strike it Dolly Pardon. Well, in the 49th minute, it was doomsday Dolly world in Berlin. A 49th minute corner kick whipped in from the left by King Roman is struck with such accuracy and power, uncanny from a defender called Ayala. The mourning is completed with the agonizing silence that followed the goal. With Argentina’s python like possession game extracting every milligram of hope out of us in an English pub, I swear the Englishmen’s sniggering getting louder by the millisecond.

2nd goal was delivered when we were wondering if the pain was ever going to go away. With desperation acid decorating polka dots in my stomach, Little Kaiser, who did nothing and absolutely nothing throughout the entire game with his permanently markered sullen look, crosses a no-where cross into the box, where it is headed by Nowitzki’s useless little brother, and from incomprehensibly nowhere comes the man with the golden shoe to rescue our hearts and misery. The rapture has come for the Argentines as well as the English in the English pub. Hugs and kisses and more hugs and high fives and last minute hugs are everywhere in the small cocoon of German believers.

As her heart rate returned to slightly higher than probably normal, V eagerly claims that “Now, everything is possible”, and the vendetta is opened it’s 3rd and final act. 30 minutes of non-action followed the destiny creator in the 80th minute and two Lehman stops combined with the stereotypical German like efficiency on the flipside with 4 well aimed spears, the bloodbath came to a smallest of crescendos. A match of such gallant magnitude by both teams and the only regret being that this match-up could and should have been the final. Germany will continue to ride the wave of momentum and Argentina to pack its bags and regret that they had met their unpopular hosts at such an early junction.

Elite 8
Italy 3
Ukraine 0

All I know about this match is that when the Italians have tricked up, any motion suggested to observe the match was quashed by the pedicured feet of football goddesses in our group. So needless to say, t’was no contest and since I missed the match as well as the highlights, I can only regurgitate the details shamelessly doing the 8th commandment.

Sheva a no-show by the Catenaccio.
Toni does it twice.
Buffon hot between the pipes.
Zambrotta a World Cup cherry boy no more.

Maybe I didn’t miss that much.

Kristen’s boys will be knocking boots with the host and Ukraine’s revolution ends here.

Ryu’s “I will have your kids” goal of the day: Klose’s goal to knot the match. I really am considering changing Ben’s name to Miroslav.

Today we bring you the Red Cross against minus Deco/Costinha and the evening brings us the yellow and simmering crossing feet with the revived Bleus (in France).

Watch it.