Letter Nineteen | 12/8 | Russ

Cape Town

Dear Lack, 

As you mentioned already in your previous letter, it feels strange to not have any matches on. And by that I mean right now, in this exact moment as I write this. South Africa is one time zone behind Qatar, so during the group stages (when there were, absurdly, four matches squeezed into each day) I could, if I wanted, watch a match at noon, 3pm, 6pm, and 9pm. That’s a lot of soccer. 

But it is nice to have a short break. It also gives me a chance to recover from the Round of 16. Let me restate something you already know: I loathe penalty shootouts. This has nothing to do with the system. It’s fine. A match, I suppose, can’t go on forever (although seeing a match end via golden goal intrigues me).

My disdain for shootouts has to do with feeling. Physical feeling. I tense up and feel nauseated. In short: I can’t stand it. 

You’ve experienced this in person. There was the time you forced me off your porch (where I was hiding) to watch the Portland Timbers face the Seattle Sounders in penalties in 2018 (I think). [Ryan here, from my editorial perch: yes! The conference finals. Asprilla took the last penalty and hit the ball as hard as I’ve ever seen from anyone. Podolski-level stuff]. They ended up winning, but I can’t help but feel like it would’ve been a better experience if you just left me outside. 

I didn’t watch either of the penalty shootouts in the round of 16. In both cases, I followed the match all the way through stoppage time. And then, when the referee blew the final whistle and penalties began, I turned the match off. I waited for twenty minutes or so, until I thought the match would be over, then I checked the result. Japan lost to Croatia. Morocco beat Spain. 

(I realize that some people might think this behavior falls somewhere in the spectrum between weird and psychotic. I genuinely don’t know why I feel this way.) 

When the penalties between Spain and Morocco began, I decided to leave my apartment to get dinner from a poke restaurant nearby. The restaurant is a little less than a mile away from my place on Kloof Street, a vibey stretch with coffee shops, restaurants, bars. I don’t know why I thought that all these bars and restaurants wouldn’t be showing exactly what I was trying to avoid. But, well, I wasn’t really thinking. 

So there I was, walking down Kloof, wincing every time a pocket of people rose up and cheered. Something was happening. I didn’t know. I was stressed. I just wanted my poke bowl. 

I was very glad to see (eventually) that Morocco had beaten Spain. As you know, I have a soft spot for African teams. Plus, you know, Spain colonized part of Morocco, and we love a good belated moral victory. 

Looking forward to both Croatia/Brazil and Netherlands/Argentina tomorrow. Hopefully neither match goes to penalty kicks. 

Best,

Russ

P.S. Thank you, Zach. Love you, my friend.