So, Wednesday afternoon I was sitting in my office and laboring amidst stacks of paper taller than that creepy little Mini-Me from the Austin Powers series. Meanwhile, thousands of miles and an ocean away, the two best soccer teams in England (no, actually the World) were engaging in a classic battle for the ages.
Now, I wasn’t that upset. Sure, I was missing the game. But I wouldn’t miss it completely. No, I had relied on the greatest invention since sliced bread (which isn’t really all that great if you ponder on it) to capture the magic for me so I could replay it later. I was missing the game, but I wouldn’t miss the excitement of seeing it unfold as if it were live.
Yes, I am of course referring to TIVO, which has changed my life forever. Not “gender reassignment surgery” change, but “never miss an episode of Iron Chef” change. On the plus side, I could fast forward through the Final’s lame ass half-time show. It was win-win.
The only sticky scenario?
Avoiding anything and everything that could play spoiler and reveal the final score to me prior to Wed. night. So, I avoided TVs, the internet, even radio. I didn’t call any of my soccer loving friends, I avoided the pub on the way home, and, yes, I even successfully managed to avoid STO for an entire afternoon. It was a sacrifice, but this Champions League Final was special.
After spending all day like some sort of subterranean rodent, I emerged from my dungeon-like office as the work whistle blew and made it home just before 6:00. I kicked off my shoes, and put on some sandals (sort of my own Mr. Rogers-like sweater routine), grabbed a cold one and plopped down to watch the game.
All I had to do was click POWER ON, push the TIVO button, and press play. So easy.
That’s when it happened.
Or should I say, he happened.
Wolf (and pardon my French, er English) Fucking Blitzer.
When I clicked POWER ON, there was The Bearded One. Or as I now call him Satan.
Literally, in the 2 seconds before I could click the TIVO button I faintly heard…
“United’s historic win came in dramat…..”
Impossible.
CNN never covers soccer. CNN doesn’t even know what soccer is. Ted Turner thinks soccer is what he wants to do to ex-wife Jane Fonda. Blitzer looks more equipped to compare the merits of squash versus racquetball. There is no reason in the world he should have been talking about the game then.
Except, of course, the fact that Blitzer wanted to ruin my night. He wanted to take away from me what so many other drunk idiots had already enjoyed – one of the greatest and most thrilling Finals in years.
So, I plan to kill Blitzer. And I plan to do it as slowly and painfully as possible.
The only question is, if I kill the Man, will the Beard die as well?
