STICKLER'S WORLD OF EURO-YODELING

"Our close personal pal, Stickler, of that sassy-saugage-filled breakfast burrito of a blog, Stickler' World, was to been sent to Europe on behalf of Rivalfish for some on-site coverage of an age-old Austrian Pickle Sheathing Festival. We asked him to cover the World Cup. We couldn't offer him plane fare, salery, or an apology for the stain on his parents' bathroom sink, but we thought he'd do it out of his love for the us, er, the game. But now he hates us and e-mails spiteful e-mails to his co-editor (his foxy sister) over at Stickler's World. But we know a guy that banged her, and we get his e-mails anyway! Isn't counter-spite spite a beautiful thing?!?!?! :) ;)" - Rival Room Editor

by Josh Stickler, www.sticklersworld.blogspot.com, sticklersworld@gmail.com

So as my younger brother passionately kissed a girl in a secluded part of a hostel in Spain, she quietly cried out his name. Over and over like she couldn’t get enough, "Oh Sanford, Again Sa nford." He then looked deep into her eyes and said, "oh you..." She looked back and she gasped and said, "you don’t remember my name, do you?" In pure Seinfeld form he looked longingly at her and said,�Mulva?" But I get ahead of myself, why am I in Spain with my brother? How did we come across two beautiful twins from NY while drinking Sangria? Why did my brother forget her name at this moment? What does all this have to do with Rivalfish.com’s Rival Room? All good questions so let’s begin...

So I had arrived in London after a very long flight across the ocean. The packet that Rival Room’s Editor-in-Chief Mike Raspatello had given me before entering the plane still had not been opened. In it contained the details of my trip, the itinerary that would change my life forever. The packet weighed a couple of pounds so I assumed they stuffed it with cash to keep me afloat on such a great assignment as the one I was about to embark. As I stepped out into the sun of London I opened the packet to discover it was filled with shreds of paper. On top was a simple one word note. "Sorry!" Is all it said? Lightening cracked above me and I was suddenly in a torrential downpour, that hasn’t stopped now for 2 weeks. So I have been sent on a trip to Europe for two months with nothing but some scraps of paper to write on to send back home so you the readers could follow The World Cup from the right side of the pond. Too bad all Rivalfish.com will be getting is hate mail from me. But it seems being a writer for the World Cup impresses foreign women, so I guess I will have to write something.

It was Dublin, Ireland, 20:00 GST. That’s about the same time of day an average American takes his second shit of the day. I’m in a 4 floor bar called Fitzsimmons located in the center of the Temple Bar area. The English that is being spoken is foreign to me, and every other language seems to be more predominant then the hickish drawls I’m used to from the states. What had I gotten myself into?

I blurt out to the table of foreigners in front of me, well foreign to the good ole USA. "Will someone please explain football to me? Pretend I have never heard of the game, just explain it to me. We Americans can’t handle even a miniscule dose of soccer content before we tune out. We need microscopic tidbits and comical analogies to even remotely turn our heads toward the checkered ball." The Kiwi sitting next to me laughs and says,

"11 people on a team, kick the ball in the goal, don’t touch it with your hands!" He then goes back to drinking his Guinness and watching Ireland in the final game of their unsuccessful World Cup qualifying bid, getting stomped by Chile.

So for all you baseball, American football fans, and basketball fans from the states here is my first lesson for all of you before the World Cup starts: Guinness pumped directly out of Saint James Gate Brewery tastes so much better then Guiness anywhere else. Except it’s a little on the warm side, like hand-me-down bath water or juice with melted ice. So everyone grab a pen and paper, and take some notes because you will be quizzed, Saddam style.

Football, or “Soccer� as we call it in the states, is the biggest sport in the world. The rivalries run deeper then a vat of Guinness in this little lady’s personal heaven . Each team is made up of 11 players on the field including the goalie. Sometimes a team will play with as few as 7 players, but usually this is only Brazil when they feel like acting like cocky f*cks!

Unlike in all other sports that are running intensive, in this sport each team is only allowed 3 substitutions during a game. This means these guys are probably just as tired at the end of the game as Jared from Subway when he would walk to the end of the block to get his veggie sub when he was the size of an elephant that ate a fat kid. If there is an illegal substitution made during game-play then the yellow card is shown and bam, the other team gets the ball.

There are two different types of penalties: the yellow card and the red card. The yellow card is a minor infraction, kind of like trying to blow through a yellow light while driving your car and then the light turns red and your picture gets taken for the camera. A red card is a major infraction, kind of like blowing through a red light and running over a bunch of school kids as they cross the street. Two yellow cards and your ejected from that game. One red card and the penalty can range from one to five games of suspension for the infracting player.

Offsides is the other common rule that you guys will surely not fully learn today and in now way know by the time the tourney is long forgotten in three weeks. Offsides occurs when the team that has the ball is farther ahead then the farthest back player on the opposite team. With the exception of you having the ball. Get it? Did you really “get� what your mom was telling you when she taught you about menstruation? No, but you dealt with that didn’t you? I know this rule damn strange, making it seem like a fast break is next to impossible, but really it just adds to the vivacity of the game!

Disappointing to most first-time fans, you cannot purposefully kick someone. I know, I like to kick people while playing sports too! There is nothing like sticking a cleat up someone’s bum while playing football lineman! But if they have the ball and it looks like you touched it then your fine. Unfortunately, it’s hard to be that discreet in real football. Less pile ups, I admit. Less kicking, less biting, but maybe as much scrotum-tugging.

There are two halves, each 45 minutes in length. You may be wondering why the clock keeps running after 90 minutes. Well it’s because they do not show clock stoppage by the REFS on the scoreboard game clock. I guess the technology is just a f*cking hard-on of an ordeal. And it adds some much needed faux-tension to the end of a soccer game. You never know when the play clock is really stopped while watching on TV. This is nice because there are no timeouts, which means no commercials, aka “no time to piss and poop!� This is why the sport hasn’t taken off in the states, advertisers just can’t make enough money to it make worth fighting for.

The game is won by scoring goals. No kidding! Probably wouldn’t think that if you watched for any time shorter than the length of child labor.

So that is my introduction to the sport. As for players and what will happen we will just have to wait and see. But as for me, I am rooting for Australia, the biggest dark horse in the games. You’re going to hear it here first people, but I believe Australia will beat Brazil in the first round of play! The Aussies drink more then anyone I have ever met, and I feel that is a good indication of playing prowess. Ok now that I’m done scribing something I need to get back to my Brother, I can’t let him botch another night with twins! Even if this time it’s Harry and Henry. They always say, “When in Rome, do as the Romans do, in bathhouses.�