Courtside Post

By Raphael Perahia

In his final installment, Raphael Perahia explains why even the world’s best can bore us to sleep, how fans’ dreams of hoisting the Cup can be lived out by their countrymen, and has some parting words for El Pulpo Paul wrapping up this tremendously entertaining World Cup blog.

By Raphael Perahia

In his second-to-last installment, Raphael Perahia breaks down the surprise thriller that was the 3rd place contest, discusses the game’s stars including El Pulpo Paul, as well as the benefits of Brazilian bars.

By Raphael Perahia

Uruguay play to the death. They’re three – one down with eighty-five minutes played and five minutes to go, and my friends decide to leave the bar. Poor decision. I decided to stay and suddenly Uruguay score and all hell breaks loose.

They sweep in ball after ball. Dutch women at the bar are screaming. The man who has been quietly supporting Uruguay for the whole game is going nuts. He wants another goal.

By Raphael Perahia

Following hot on the heels of the cruelest losses that I have seen in any football tournament, I was hopeful that Saturday would be better. Ghana’s heartache reminded me of my last blog post and how cruel football can be. Unlike most American sports, the better team does not always win. Like life, football can be “the best of times and the worst of times”. Bet you never thought I’d hit you with a Dickens quote. Booyah.

Raphael Perahia explains how the World Cup can be a cruel mistress and why England diehards, despite years of heartbreak, keep coming back for more.

by Raphael Perahia

What a great Tuesday it was. I woke up at seven in the morning to try to go to the famous footballing establishment known as Nevada Smith’s. We got there at seven thirty and it was already too crowded, I wasn’t yet drunk enough to start standing with three hundred Americans in a sweaty, dark and lonely room.

By Raphael Perahia

I don’t want to talk about it. Don’t you dare even mention Heskey, or Rooney’s antics, or whatever the fuck is going on with John Terry. Like my dinner in Washington DC with the girl I haven’t seen in two years, who can only be described as “the one that got away… and then started dancing on the pieces of my broken heart”, I don’t want to talk about it.

by Raphael Perahia

I have been a little bit too busy enjoying what can only be known as the good life to replace time sitting by the pool in Pinehurst NC drinking a beer, for time spent in front of a laptop updating my blog (drinking a beer). It’s a tough life but somebody has to live it.

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.