Every four years when the World Cup comes on it’s like sports television Christmas happens on my television, and I don’t even celebrate Christmas. Personally, I find the World Cup way more exciting than most of the crap sports we have on to watch. Especially American football — can we get rid of that, please? It’s a bunch of fat guys in spandex groping and tackling each other over a weirdly-shaped ball, and then when they get it to their end, they do stupid dances. And yet despite the dancing and spandex and man-piles, it’s supposed to be this great bastion of heterosexuality. Who needs that when you could have soccer, the sport where the players regularly make out with each other every time they score a goal and then un-ironically go back to their super hot wives?
Soccer is elegant. Soccer is easy to understand. When they say there are five minutes left in a game of soccer, they actually means there are five minutes left in soccer. And these guys are athletes who run, like, miles every single game, not four hundred pound whales who run into each other like mac trucks. Have you seen the leg muscles on these players? They’re ridiculous. And ladies (or gay men), soccer players are gorgeous. A lot of them double as models for a reason. Have you seen the American team? Or, screw the American team, this year the hotness prize I think goes to the Spaniards and their dark, broody team of suaveness. David Villa! Cesc Fàbregas! And especially… (sigh) Iker. (You can’t say this man’s name normally, you have to pause, sigh, and say his name with reverence. Like so: …(sigh) Iker.)