My wife is the most beautiful person on the face of the planet. To me at least, she would tell you differently. This is the woman who has followed me all around the globe, given me numerous children, and hasn’t thrown me out of the house every time I forget myself and leave the toilet seat up or the food out on the counters. The woman who has promised to love and obey me all the rest of our years, even with some of my odder habits. She puts up with all of me, good, bad, and freakishly anal parts. She supports my affinity for old books, classical rock and roll, and passion for playing contact sports. And every four years, my wife turns into a raving total lunatic.
My wife is a soccer fan. Actually the proper term for it is ‘futebol’ as I have been told many a time, she doesn’t much care for anything else (sports wise that is) but futebol and the only time she really shows her true full blooded hard core fanatic side is during the Copa de Mundo, or in English, the World Cup.
She cheers and she rants and she makes the simple act of watching a soccer match on TV a full body experience. The pleasure I get out of my work; the artifacts and old books and arguing over theories and such, she gets out of watching these few men kick around a small black and white ball. She has said that there are just some things in life that are only worth doing if you do them all the way - you know like marriage, futebol, writing or painting, stuff like that. I would tend to agree with that statement of hers, because it’s true and she does have a valid point, despite my misgivings about the ‘futebol’ part.
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