STICKLER'S WORLD of EURO-YODELING

Our close personal pal, Stickler, of that sassy-saugage-filled breakfast burrito of a blog, Stickler’s 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, salary, or an apology for the stain on his parents' bathroom sink, but we thought he'd do it out of his love for us, er, the game. But now he hates us and writes 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

I stood about 40 feet up in the air, my legs shaking from the bite of the cold wind. I looked down at the clear blue water below me and listened to the shouts of the 2 Australians and the one New Zealander I had met in my hostel. I was gonna jump if it killed me, and if I didn't clear the 1 foot of rock, then kill me it surely would. Then the Italian shoreline started crowding with more drunken Italians screaming in broken english, "Jump." I knew I had to jump, or the grease from their hair would nevertheless cause me to imminently slip from my foothold atop the rock. So I screamed "One, Two, Three" and hurled myself forward with all my might. The fall took longer than I thought, but in a matter of seconds, I was submerged in the cold waters of the Ligurian Sea. Cliff jumping in Riomaggiore of La Cinque Terre: Check.

So it was the night of the Italy vs. USA game. Tension rose high in the small town of Riomaggiore. Being a town full of tourists, the Italians were going out of their way to make sure everyone knew that Italy was going to kick some major ass. They were also making sure all their wives’ mustaches were painted the appropriate red, white, and green. Adon(from New Zealand), Danielle, and Claire (from Australia) had decided that we were going to cook dinner before the game. All of us were staying in the Mar Mar hostel in Riomaggiore. Their room was huge with a giant kitchen and huge terrace that looked out over the ocean and city. We went out to buy some pasta from one of the guineas, and along the way we met some random people and invited them to our feast. Then we saw some people on a terrace across from us and invited them as well. In the end we had 13 people, more wine than most liquor stores, and a feast to rival my family’s Thanksgiving. Granted, I’m homeless back in the states, but let’s not bicker over details. It was amazing to me that so many random people could come together to enjoy a meal made by a stranger. What if I was looking to roofie someone? Again? So I asked the question, "Who here is traveling alone." Every person at the table raised their hand.

After the meal we all bought more wine and headed down to the piazza right next to the water. Unfortunately there were only two TV's in the town, so we picked the one that didn’t require a drink purchase for viewer’s rights. When we got there, the place was packed, and we all sat down in the middle of the street and began to watch. When the ball hits the pitch, and you are no longer pumping money into their economy, the Italians make no qualms about their disdain for our Dubya-led ways. Therefore, I tried to hide the fact that I was rooting for USA, by painting my face with a large Italian flag. Actually I was accosted in the street earlier by some Italians, much gentler than Paulie Walnuts, who forced me down and painted my face while babbling something about “stupid Americans.�

Within minutes of the game’s onset, the trouble began as everyone watched in shocked relief as the Refs called a game that was totally biased in favor of the Italians. After two red cards against the Americans on plays commonly called “kosher� in a U10 Girls AYSO game, Italy finally scored. All the while, I was sitting in awe thinking about how if the US somehow miraculously won, I would be thrown off the cliff I had jumped off earlier in the day. Another Red card came and went and then something that could have proved to be one of the biggest events of the tournament (had American been able to beat that African country not privy to running water or medicine), Italy accidentally knocked the ball into their own goal. Yep we were tied, and the Italians in the crowd were pissed. Pissed in both senses of the word: Drunk and Angry.

So the game ended in a tie. The Italians, realizing that this may mean the end of their Cup hopes, stalked off to face the grim realities of oily skin and constant sexual harassment charges. We all went to the beach and got raving drunk where I fell over a large rock and saw some naked people in the ocean. All in all I feel bad for the Italians because the USA really screwed it all up for them, but a tie is better then losing in shame like last time. Now off to Fair Verona where I will be getting in a gang fight with the Capulets!