Day Twenty Four Wrap Up.

Oh, Diego.  I already miss your musk.

The Third Place Game at the World Cup have and will always follows the exact same format:

1)  The teams take the field and really could care less.  It's not the final.
2)  The first half commences and both teams don't fucking care.
3)  Half-hearted play.
4)  Somebody can't help but score a goal, so they do.
5)  Immediately, everyone cares.
6)  The game gets SUPER INTERESTING.

If you watched Uruguay play Germany this afternoon, you had to have seen what I'm talking about:  The transition from despair to hope.  After Mueller scored the first goal, it was like a switch went off in all the players' brains and suddenly, the game became the most important match in the world.  It's an interesting form of madness, to be sure.  When the final whistle blows, the teams come back to reality.  Neither of them are real winners, and the realization quickly sinks in.  But for 90 minutes, it's pure insanity.

(Uruguay's keeper Fernando Muslera handed Mueller his goal, by the way.  It was SAD.  I think he got Jabulanied.   He looked like an idiot.  He continued to look like an idiot all game.)

Uruguay have proven over the course of this tournament that they will NEVER GIVE UP.  And guess what?  After going down 1-0, they didn't give up.  Going on the counter, SUPER EVIL DEVIL MAN BANE OF AFRICA Luis Suarez (aka He of Handball Fame) slid a sick pass on to Edinson Cavani (aka He of the Braces) for the classy side-foot past Han Jorg-Butt (HILARIOUS NAME).  The game was tied 1-1.

Early in the second half, Diego Forlan spread his glorious wings and put in the goal of the match.  If I was married, I would cheat on my husband with this goal.  It wasn't his most stunning or classic of the tournament, but it was more technically difficult than any of his earlier blasts.  Bouncing a volley off the ground is an ART.  It's so hard to do.  You have to skip it at just the right angle, otherwise you'll look like a complete moron.  When you do it right, it fools the entire world.  It fools the gods.  It fools Roger Fucking Daltrey.  And David Caruso, I guess.  2-1, Uruguay.

I was fairly convinced it was over, at this point.  Uruguay is a strong defensive team and Germany had been playing with their Plan B line-up for most of the game.  My mistake was forgetting that Muslera was about to go on a rampage, an IDIOT RAMPAGE.

About five minutes after Forlan scored, Jerome Boateng sent a long cross into the box from the right side that a leaping and twisting Marcell Jansen (yes, that is a person, apparently) met with his head, squirting the ball into the net.  Where was Muslera on this play?  Floundering.  Flailing.  As the ball left Boateng's foot, Muslera decided he was going to try and punch it, regardless of where the ball actually ended up in the box.  Even though he came out rashly, it still looked like the keeper had a chance to play the ball, but as he jumped, he mysteriously pulled back a bit, perhaps afraid of the collision he might have with his own center back.  It was mystifying.  If Muslera had stayed on his line, Jansen's header would have dribbled to his feet.  The German was backpedaling and contorting; there was no way he would ever get any power on the ball.  Shit was crazy.

Khedira scored the final goal in the 82nd minute.  Well, rather, Uruguay bungled the ball around in the box for about ten seconds before Khedira decided to put them out of their misery.  It was a really pitiful goal.  The ball came in off the corner, Muslera stayed rooted to his line out of fear that he'd make another mistake (is that irony?), it pinged around the box for a bit before Khedira put it away with THE SLOWEST HEADER GOAL IN HISTORY.  Muslera looked silly diving for it, and to be fair, it probably wasn't savable, but that doesn't change the fact that it made him look silly, silly, silly with extra sauce.

Diego Forlan had one final chance to further cement himself into the annals of World Cup glory.  With the last kick of the game, Uruguay won a free kick a yard or so outside of Germany's box.  Forlan set up the ball, line up his shot and let fly.  Crossbar.  93rd minute.  Crossbar.  He had the keeper beaten.  It was a rocket.  Crossbar.  Man, if he had scored, I can't think of a more fitting way for his journey to end.  There's a phrase in soccer a lot of people hate that I'll now employ:  Unlucky.  Forlan was simply unlucky.  It was a great strike.  It was a matter of inches.

Ok.  I'm off to bed.  See you all tomorrow.

-ZGS