06/24/2026
I can’t possibly be alone in feasting my soul upon the wide wonder of the … fu***ng healing this World Cup seems to be visiting upon the world at large, and specifically here at home, delivering what seems like relentless doses of national therapy, a welcome reminder that we are much more than the sum of the treachery of the news makers and reporters, but humans, and largely good ones, too.
Soccer, football, isn’t my sport, but I’ll be damned if it doesn’t feel like a treasure gifted to humanity in general right now … tens of thousands of Americans who can’t seem to agree upon anything whatsoever, but arms around one another singing an old John Denver song, lining up to drink with Scotsmen (what wouldn’t?), crossing fingers and praying to deities of all manner and stripe that the universe will deliver a U.S.A./England match on 4 July … I didn’t see any of this coming, but it is a tonic, and one I’ll slake my thirst with happily.
As for today, we plan on rowdily cheering on our brothers from the south, and we’d love it if you lent your voices - and f**kery - to the effort. Doors at five, screaming at 6. I like six. Six is good.
