July 7, 2010
I have found the thing I love most about the World Cup.
Okay, I know I just told you how much I don’t care about stuff. I’m not saying I care about this, I’m just saying I love it. It’s not the same thing.
What I love is the jersey exchange at the end of big matches.
I know, it seems gross. Mark thinks it’s gay and disgusting. (Not that he thinks gayness is disgusting. Oh, he doesn’t. And he doesn’t think the players are gay. Or disgusting. Except the Italians, which he finds both gay AND disgusting.)
I think it’s super cool and charming. Mark says it’s okay as long as they don’t put ON the other guy’s sweaty jersey. I say, what higher form of respect (and infatuation?) could there be than to actually wear your opponents bloody, sweaty jersey?
But what really fascinates me about the jersey exchange is the possible politics involved. I mean, it must be like going to a club or a party or something, right?
It reminds me of an episode of the ill-fated Joey sitcom. Joey and his sister are giving his nephew advice on dating. They say you can never successfully date someone who is more than one level above or below you on the 1-10 hotness scale. You know, like, an 8 can only date 7s, 8s, and 9s.
The problem also reminds me of the sorting problem. What if you don’t know what level you are? Let’s say you’re a marginal fullback, or a striker who’s never scored in international play. How do you decide whom on the other team you’re going to exchange jerseys with? And worse, what if you get it wrong?
I’m pretty sure after today’s Spain v Germany game I saw one guy ask another guy to exchange jerseys, only to get shaken off.
How humiliating would that be? (Or, as I IM’d to Mark, “humiliatating.” Hey, I was excited, and it was IM.)
Anyway, I’m going to start doing this after bike rides. Once I figure out where I sort.