Wednesday night, Atlanta Stadium, 101 games down, three left to play, and finally it makes sense. Bring on The Countdown, that moment just before kick-off in every one of those quietly fascinating World Cup matches where suddenly the world’s most excited man is bellowing over the PA system in a state of outraged, crowing transport, like the last voice you’ll ever hear before the American century explodes in a ball of inanity, fried chicken and porn.
“NAYYYN!! EEEIGHYYT!! SEEEVEERRN!! …” the world’s most excited man shouts, prelude to some cautious rolling possession, maybe an early back-pass, and an agreeable reminder that the game itself will not be stage managed. You want quiet bathos? This World Cup will deliver the greatest goddam quiet bathos the galaxy has ever seen.
