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An American Failure

No, not in yesterday's match. In fact, in the second half of the game yesterday, the USA looked quite sharp, coming back from behind to beat Turkey 2-1. American fans will be pleased; England fans will be nervous.

At least, that's what I hear. As I haven't yet had a chance to watch the match, I can't give a firsthand account of what went on in the England v Japan game. I know that Stephen Warnock didn't play, and so will almost certainly be off the list of players announced on Tuesday. I've heard that Joe Cole impressed. And, alas, I have learned that the magical Frank Lampard missed yet another penalty, throwing England fans into a tizzy. I am sure that when I read tomorrow's papers, the media will have spewed forth millions of words on the topic of England needing a new penalty taker. Frank, if you need me, I will gladly give you a hug.

But the point is that I'm reporting all this information third-hand. It's as though I am stuck in the dark ages, those cold, empty times where information was revealed through printed media and word of mouth, rather than gained instantly with moving pictures and twitter commentary. But rather than watch the England game at the horrendous hour of 5:30am, I slept in a bit, secure in the knowledge that I would be headed to the pub to watch the replay, and in return for this delayed gratification I would be rewarded with a plate of fish and chips. So after pointedly avoiding news media and social websites this morning, we set off for the pub at 11am. After waiting around in the rain for about ten minutes, the doors finally opened. The girl who came out asked if the six of us standing around were here to see the England game.

"Yes," we responded as one.

And rather than usher us in and give us tasty pints of beer, she chuckled and said that they hadn't recorded it. No apology. No explanation. Just a laugh and a shrug.

So now here I am, pissed off but not pissed, and sadly not full of fish and chips. For an American stuck in suburbia while house-sitting, there is really only one pub in which to watch soccer. I don't have my pick from a plethora of bars. I don't have FSC. One pub, one failure to remember to set the DVR to record, and now I'm giving you a three-sentence report on the England game and three paragraphs of ranting.

Soccer needs to gain more popularity in the States for exactly this reason: if one imperfect man forgets to record a match, I can go down the street and buy a beer from the man who was smart enough to remember how the DVR works.