World Cup with Raphael – Welcome to Atlanta

by Raphael Perahia

I arrived in Atlanta Hartsfield Jackson’s shit-hole of an airport last night, tired and hungry. Plane food continues to disappoint me, even though I keep lowering my standards. Like a poor strip club, or even the England national team, they never quite fulfill my dreams.

 The World Cup begins tomorrow, and there are still nagging issues that need to be resolved before it starts. Firstly, the “vuvuzela”, probably the stupidest invention ever: A horn that blasts so loud during the matches that it causes damage to the ears. These things sound like really loud mosquitoes. As if Africans really want to remind themselves of those insects, especially after what they’ve done to that damaged continent? My point is, these things need to be banned.

 The other worry? The Premier League Curse. Nani, Drogba (that guy falls to the ground more passionately than most gymnasts. Eventually, he was going to hurt himself), Rio Ferdinand and Michael Ballack are just a few of the influential players from the English league who are injured. Now, I love a good curse. Who doesn’t? But this has gone too far. So, if someone in South Africa can pour the blood of a goat over a table or something like that and reverse the curse, that would be great. Maybe the Red Sox have some tips?

 I also worry about England and the possible embarrassment that I would face if we did lose to the USA. I have England flags on my car! Don’t let me down boys. I can’t switch nationalities now.

 Keep an eye out for Wayne Rooney (also known as Shrek) and his temper, and manager Fabio Capello’s constant hand movements and all around bad-assness (It’s a word). England will be unpredictable and exciting. Capello (whose father, an Italian Prisoner of War captured by the Nazis, taught young Fabio to swim by throwing him off a cliff into the sea) is from the old school, and he’s strict. Will his discipline be enough for an injury stricken England to beat the USA? I fucking hope so.

 Either way, I will be at the Brewhouse Pub in Little Five Points on Saturday. Probably hung-over from Friday night’s inevitable shitshow, or still drunk from watching the Argentina versus Nigeria match at ten a.m. Dad, if you’re reading this, I love you, and it’s not a drinking problem, it’s a drinking solution.