The Tyranny of Time Zones

Blue alarm clock

Blue alarm clock (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I had planned to write about the Euro 2012 semi-final matchup between Spain and France.  Spain won 2-0 against the last team to have beaten them in a major tournament.  Since that last lost, at the 2006 World Cup, Spain has been on a remarkable run, having won both the Euro 2008 and the 2010 World Cup.  If they win this years Euros they will be the first team to win the 3 tournaments in a row.  Maintaining such a high level of play for so long is extremely difficult in international football.  I was excited to watch it and had the alarm set to wake up at 4:45am.  (Record scratches and stops playing)  That’s right, people.  I wake up at 4:45 in the morning to watch football, futbol, soccer or whatever the hell you want to call it.  I do it frequently.  I’ll probably do it tomorrow if I get more sleep.

For those of you who don’t know (all of you, I assume) I live in Australia.  I am from the States, but have also lived in Barcelona for many years.  I grew to love futbol during my time living in the shadows of Camp Nou.  It was hard work at first, but it finally grew on me.  We would sell ‘cold’ beer from granny carts to the already drunken fans spilling out of the stadium, trying to hustle their last coins out of them in the warm afterglow of a shared sporting experience.

Q: Is the beer cold?  A: Yeah, the cans cold…2 euro

The last part was, of course, muttered under ones breath, and if anyone questioned the cans ‘coldness’, my Spanish would slide from near-fluent to impossible.

Living in Australia, the European primetime hour happens to take place at the crack of stupid (local time) and, so, at 4:45 this morning, a noise stirred me from my slumber.  First a vibration, then a subtle ring-a-ling-a-ling.  Then a cacophony of brain-darts searing into my head.  And as I realized what was happening to me, I hit the ‘stop’ button.  Not the snooze, but the stop button.  And so ended my Euro 2012 viewing for the day.  Now I look like a complete mo-tard, having slept in my Spain jersey, having to explain to everyone that I missed the match I spent all of yesterday harping on about.  At least we won and will advance to face my least favorite athlete in the world, Cristiano Ronaldo, and his Portuguese cohorts.  (I hate Real Madrid so much and I can’t even explain why…well I could, but it might be in blog form at the bottom of the page, and it might be 1552 words long)  I’ll be able to watch the semi-finals and feel like I haven’t missed a beat.  Nothing will make me happier than seeing a crushed, defeated Ronaldo, prone on the grass at the point of tears.  That is, if I can wake up.

More reading:

Is Real Madrid Evil?  (from my other blog X-Ray Spectator)

More Viewing:

An infommercial about tyranny.

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