Goooooooooooal

I was eating my garbanzo stew for dinner last night when I chanced a glance at the TV and saw the vast field of Santiago Bernabéu Stadium littered with running athletes, some dressed in white, some dressed in red and black. The crowds up in the bleachers were massive despite the disagreeable weather. It was the Madrid vs. Milan fútbol* game, an anticipated match. Despite the fact that it had been at they very back of my mind (like, row Z), I actually was aware that the game was that night.

Quickly, as soon as Raúl González started dribbling the ball around, I was interested. Despite my complete lack of affinity when it comes to deportes,** soccer is an enjoyable sport and the game escalates to high intensity in mere seconds, taking the spectator with it. After a few moments, my eyes were glued to the screen, my right leg bouncing nervously, my fork suspended in mid-air. The ball zigzagged through the field, playing connect the dots with Madrid and Milan as it passed from white to red and black. The commentators flew through their commentary, surprisingly calm for such a high-speed partido.***

What I like about soccer is that every single goal is a big deal. The players jump on each other, hug, shake hands, slap each other's backs, etc. A goal is a raucous party always followed by several slow motion replays of the goal from different angles, highlighting the dramatic look of anger on the defending goalie's face when he misses the ball.

Of course, I still have a lot to learn about watching soccer games because I am not yet fluent in swearing angrily at the TV in Spanish, and I definitely cannot watch such excitement in silence. American swears I save for when the Red Sox play in the World Series, the one baseball game I watch a year.

P.S.-Madrid lost to Milan 2-3.

*soccer

** sports

***game