The World Cup is ruining my life. It causes my boyfriend to drink too much on Saturday afternoons and pass out face first on our bed and lie there for hours drooling all over the quilt my mother made. It has caused me to drink too much and be similarly out -of-order too. It has caused Shawn's little work crush to replan her life around where he might or might not show up for the game so she can stand around smoking nervously and trying not to look at him and to also pretend that I'm not there. There is nothing I love more than to spend my 4th of July crushed in a booth in a crowded bar full of drunk Penn graduate students trading unclever quips throughout the match (including one fat guy with a mullet who yelled, "Motherf-ing faggot!" to my favorite player, that German goalie after the ball got away from him in the last minute and a half). Two more games to go. May the best team win and win quickly.