Lately I’ve been savoring several events in the world of sports.
For those who know me, and have a calendar, and can thus tell that it is not football season, that is a confusing statement.
But it’s not that I’m enjoying any NBA or MLB games lately: it’s that I’m enjoying watching those hateful morons getting stomped in the ratings. Every time Beijing LeBron opens his big stupid mouth, the NBA loses another rating point, and 3 billion dollars. And it makes me happy.
But this week, something made me even happier. It came in the form of and answer to what should be an unanswerable question: What would it take to get me – America-loving Midwestern boy who was properly raised – to root against the USA in the Olympics?
Well, earlier this week, the US women’s soccer team kneeled for the national anthem.
Not the national anthem of Kazakhstan, or Wakanda, or Rhodesia. The national anthem of the country they are supposed to be representing in the Olympics.
Then they went out and got their ungrateful butts whipped by Sweden, 3-0. To which the only reasonable response is, “HA! HA HA! HAHAHAHA!!”
First, soccer is terrible, so we have no business fielding an American team. Because the best-case scenario would seem to be that we win a medal.
Which is akin to medaling in “watching paint dry” or “aimless running.” Or maybe “having a seizure that results in alarming twitching toward no good end.”
I say that would “seem to be” the best-case scenario, because in reality, the best-case scenario would be to lose in the first round. So that we could then hold our national heads up high, happy in the knowledge that we are not good at a sport that is not worthy of being played. Or watched. Or even called “a sport.”
But in this case, these unpatriotic wretches and their addle-pated fans really want to win at soccer. So I’ve been brought to a place I thought I’d never go.
I actively rooted for a soccer team. In this case, the Swedish soccer team.
I feel strongly enough to do this even given the fact that my wife is of Norwegian descent, and she long ago informed me that the Swedes are the natural enemy of the Norwegians.
I know: from the outside, that makes no sense. Swedes and Norwegians would seem to be Scandanavian twins. They occupy the same part of the world, have adorably ridiculous accents, and are all identically tall, blue-eyed blonde hotties. Every straight male has at some point in his life fantasized about climbing Mt. Ingrid, and none of them, once they’ve “reached the summit” – see what I did there? – only to discover that said smoke-show was a Norwegian instead of a Swede, or vice versa, would ever be disappointed at the knowledge.
But whatever. In this case, even my Norwegian-American wife could temporarily overlook the eternal perfidy of the filthy Swedes and raise her fist in Nordic unity and celebration as the America-hating wenches on our soccer team went down to defeat.
Even though I know next to nothing about soccer – because again: terrible sport – I understand that losing 3-0 is the equivalent of losing a baseball game by 9 or 10 runs, or losing a football game by three touchdowns. Only way more boring.
My schadenfreude is boosted even more by the knowledge that the most prominent woman on our soccer team – I know, that’s like being the most self-actualized person at the methadone clinic – is a little charmer named Megan Rapinoe.
If you don’t know her, good for you. You shouldn’t. Because she’s a soccer player.
But if you do know her, it’s probably for her obnoxious, low-IQ political blathering over the last several years. In 2019, she spear-headed a lawsuit against the US Soccer Federation – which is not something that should even exist! – claiming that female soccer players are paid less than male soccer players.
There is of course a gender pay gap in most pro sports. However, it doesn’t arise from systemic sexism, but from two inescapable facts: men have physical advantages that make them better at almost all sports, and pro sports salaries mostly depend on the audience size of those sports, which is geometrically larger for most male sports.
So Rapinoe’s whiny argument is wrong-headed from the start. But then the bonehead compounded her error by picking the one sport in the history of the world in which women are paid more than men: soccer!
That’s right. A federal judge threw out the suit in 2020 on the grounds that between 2010-2018, women soccer players were paid more than men. Sadly, the ruling did not include the judge forcing Rapinoe to turn over part of her salary to the poor, put-upon men who suffered from the toxic femininity of American soccer fans.
You may also know Rapinoe from her idiotic public arguments that there are no biological differences between men and women.
Hilariously, she seemed to undermine that argument when she once played in a scrimmage that pitted professional women soccer players against an under-15 boys club team. The boys won, 5-2.
I’m not making that up. And I didn’t say that they were beaten by a bunch of 15-year-old boys. They were beaten by a team of boys UNDER 15. Which means that the savvy veterans on that boy’s team were 14, while the green recruits may have been toddlers, for all we know.
It’s a bad sign when the team that is beating you has to call a timeout so that several of their players can breastfeed, is what I’m saying.
Also, Rapinoe has dyed her hair purple. Usually no comment would be necessary: young people often do goofy things with their appearance, and all of us have haircuts we look back on with a face-palm and a groan.
But Rapinoe is not a tween going through a goth phase; she’s 36 years old. (If I were not such a gentleman, I would note that it looks like those have been a rough 36 years, too.)
But in this case, I love the purple hair. Because in the pics of her frowning her way through the game and then walking off the field in defeat, the purple hair looks hilarious.
It looks like Bozo the Clown getting whipped in straight sets by an unranked Ukrainian pre-teen at Wimbledon, and then he has to shake little Ruslana’s hand and walk off the court in disgrace, wearing those big floppy shoes and make-up. The garishness of his look makes his loss even funnier.
(And yes, I did look up popular Ukrainian female names. Because I do my research.)
Anyway, I understand that in Olympic soccer, one loss doesn’t eliminate you. So here’s to the next team that Rapinoe’s Ingrates play, whether it’s from Swaziland, Brigadoon, or Katmandu.
We’re rooting for you, even if you come from a foreign country where your customs are silly, your native shoes are clunky and graceless, and your language is a series of clicks and whistles. And even though you are playing a mundane, futile game that often ends in scoreless ties, we’ve got your back.
When your national anthem plays – even if it’s played on kazoos, by people with ludicrous facial hair and wearing fezzes – we’ll do our best to click and whistle along with the words, to encourage you.
And then, if you happen to notice our national anthem beginning, and you look across the field and see that the US team is kneeling, please fire off a few practice kicks in their direction.
Aim for the dope with the purple hair.
Avenatti/ Moanin’ Megan Rapinoe 2024!