Spain are actually my favorites to win the tournament, behind The United States, of course. I guess you could say that my hate for them is tempered by a lot of anxiety, arousal, and hunger. Hunger for paella.
WHY I HATE YOUR TEAM - SPAIN EDITION
Dear Spain:
Fame is a difficult thing. Meet me on the other side of this short clip, and I'll explain why. Don't pay any attention to the pictures, by the way. Just listen to the words.
I think this brief moment between notable rapper/actor/space traveler Andre 3000 and a lovely, unnamed birthday-lady perfectly describes the current state of our relationship, Spain. In 2008, you won your first major tournament, the UEFA Championship. Since then, you haven't really been sure what to do with yourself, and neither have I.
In this skit-scenario that I've created, you play the part of the lovely young woman and I play the role of the amorous Andre. You find yourself conflicted by the suddenness of my affection, waking up in my bed, uncertain of the foreign geography. Your recent success has gained you many fans, and in going to bed with me, you worry that you're sullying your honor, but still enjoy the attention. I find myself attracted to your talent, to your ambition, and on the near eve of this World Cup, I question whether or not I should place my faith and my heart in you, and of course, lay on your booty. This might be a match made in heaven, but you're as unsure about our sudden romance as I am. What if this is The One?
I just don't know. I just don't know. Confronted with a crisis of the heart, the safest tactic I know is to revert to a Second Grader's flirting methods.
Aside: Telling someone "Nobody wants to be your friend" is possibly the meanest thing I can think of. If I ever actually said this to anyone during my childhood, please accept this apology. I'm sorry. A thousand times, I'm sorry. I was wrong. Really, really wrong.
Potential remorse abated, on to more insults.
Your country is racist. Your basketball team is racist. Your old coach was racist. Your fans are racist. Your food is anti-Semetic. Your hygiene is questionable. Cubism is a bunch of bullshit. Your architecture is overblown in its self-importance. Ibiza is a tourist trap. You don't own Gibraltar. You killed Othello. Your Spanish sounds stupid. Did I mention you were racist?
Aside #2: Spain, are you even aware how much you've fucked the planet up over the last 600 years? Pretty much anything that's ever gone wrong in Central or South America is your fault. And the Philippines, which is really hard to spell. It would be pretty poetic if Honduras beat you in the group stage. I'm just saying.
And now...
The Shit-Talking Lightning Round
Fernando Torres was the original female lead in the movie Mannequin.
Iker Casillas can't grow a full beard.
Andres Iniesta is actually Lexington from the show Gargoyles.
Carlos Puyol is a basset hound in a wig, riding on the shoulders of a little boy.
I don't know who Jesus Navas is. Someone from Twilight?
Sergio Ramos is pulling an unconvincing reverse Lady Bugs.
Xavi joined Barcelona after escaping from a Japanese Animation internment camp.
Gerard Pique is a big idiot.
Final Thoughts
Spain, I really do hate you. When people ask me who I think is going to win the World Cup, your name springs to my lips. You've made me forsake America, you bastard. I've traded Wyeth for El Greco, Seattle for Sevilla, the Lopez Twins for Pau Gasol. It's a terrible feeling to be a traitor. I may love you, but I hate that you make me feel that way.
-ZGS
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