Summer Sadness.

It was the end of the World Cup. There were two games over the weekend: the third-place playoff and the final. Thirty-nine days had passed since the tournament kicked off. My Lord, what a ride it had been.

The weekend’s matches featured France and England battling for third place, while Spain and Argentina faced off for the championship. Both games were excellent, but they couldn’t have been more different.

Let’s begin with the fight for third place. First off, this game might not appeal to many fans unless they are specifically rooting for one of the two teams. Not many people give a damn about who finishes third. I understand why some people are turned away by the concept. To me, though, it’s a must-see event between two of the best teams in the tournament with a clear winner. What’s not to love about that? Idiot naysayers.

The first half of the game scared me. England was kicking the shit out of France, and France didn’t have a single answer. It was as one-sided as a game can be, and rather fucking boring even if you were pulling for England—which I was. By halftime, the score was 4-0. That is a punishing display.

Lucky for me, and the rest of the world, France came out after halftime with real answers. They went on the offensive and started kicking ass. Within minutes, they had cut the lead to 4-3. It suddenly became a tremendously entertaining match, but in the end England was the better team. The final score was 6-4. It ended up being the highest-scoring game of the tournament, with England claiming third place.

The final was a different story altogether. It was one-sided in the sense that Spain was constantly on the attack, but Argentina’s defense simply refused to break. My God, Spain finished with twenty shots. Argentina managed only three shots of its own, none of them successful. The final score was just 1-0, with Spain crowned world champions.

That didn’t make it a boring game. Quite the contrary. It was a rush to behold—a real nail-biter. I was pulling for Argentina, so every one of those deflected Spanish shots felt like a jolt to my heart. The anxiety was very real. I yelled plenty in support of Argentina’s goalkeeper and his extraordinary performance. He was the only reason Argentina was still in that match. Bless his heart.

So the World Cup was now over. I was proud that we were good hosts to the people who traveled to the United States for the tournament. I was glad we managed to change some people’s perspectives about what America is really like. Some 6,810,966 people attended the tournament, and I hope many of them left realizing that most Americans are good people—that our current leadership does not define who we are.

As a foodie, I was especially thrilled to see how visitors embraced our food. Foods that I never really thought of as uniquely American—like ranch dressing. To us, it’s just another condiment, but it has apparently taken the world by storm. Foreigners were buying it up and trying to bring it with them on flights back home.. Ranch fucking dressing. Crazy.

What a remarkable thirty-nine days it had been. My sadness at the end was on full display. What in the bloody hell was I supposed to do with myself? After every tournament ends, I always feel this way. Empty and lost, but also overwhelmed by the memories and by what I, along with every other fan, shared during those weeks. For thirty-nine days the world was briefly brought together through one sport. That’s pretty damn special..

Aside from the World Cup, the weekend was spent spraying the god-awful weeds that all the rain had awakened. Yvette and I had Alaya while the house was otherwise empty. She had a photo shoot, and we got her all dressed up only to have the session rescheduled for the following day. So we got to do it all over again. It happens.

We took her to the pool a couple of times, where we witnessed a poor kid hit his head on the diving board. The lifeguard didn’t even move. It was bad. Neglectful enough that I wouldn’t be surprised if he lost his job.

We had lunch at my in-laws’ house on Sunday. I also made a point of watching a Sam Neill movie I hadn’t seen before, Omen: The Final Conflict. He was excellent as Damien, the Antichrist. That was my weekend in a nutshell.

The week was a hot one. Summer was finally showing its fangs. Especially after the cool, rainy week before, our bodies weren’t acclimated to the sudden heat. I hated every minute of it. The heat just takes a toll on my diabetic ass. I feel weak, get bad headaches, and it just takes the piss out of me.

I had two meetings during the week: Staff Senate and Facilities’ “All Hands on Deck.”

The Staff Senate meeting was mostly transitional. The passing of the torch had happened the month before, but nobody had really explained to the new executive officers what they needed to do or even what they had access to. As it turned out, they had very little access at all. Yvette was really stressed going in as secretary without having anything prepared. I understood that stress completely.

Attendance was extremely low—we almost didn’t make quorum. I believe this was because no reminders were given in advance. What few of us that were in attendance learned was that the university administration is a bunch of cheap asses, only giving us a 2% raise while our insurance premiums are increasing. In reality, we aren’t seeing any pay increase at all. Cheap bastards.

The “All Hands on Deck” meeting was short. It was basically a safety meeting reminding employees to ask for help instead of hurting themselves trying to do too much alone. Pretty common-sense stuff.

After that, though, the elephant in the room was finally addressed: our 2% raise. I already knew this from my prior meeting earlier in the week, but it doesn’t make it any easier to hear. Some of my coworkers let out a mournful little laugh.

What a joke.

With that, the meeting was adjourned. Nobody really had anything to say. Morale was broken and no one cared.

Teegan made it home from his little trip with friends to Galveston. He seemed to have a great time and I was happy for him. He even brought back a rare treat, some shark fillets. It was nice to have him back in the house. Yvette and I had a little taste of what it will be like when he goes off to college. Yikes. I for one will miss the hell out of him.

That was basically my week. Nothing especially important happened, but emotionally it felt like a strange one. Sadness over the World Cup ending, bitterness over a pathetic raise, and weariness from the fucking heat. I hate summer.

Jalapeño

Guiso & Spanish rice w/ fried egg.