This morning Paul woke up early to watch America play in the World Cup. I wouldn’t call him a die hard soccer fan, but he is a die hard sports fan. He loves a good game and he loves rooting for America.
Towards the end of the match, Luke, Dean and I had wandered down to where Paul was watching the game. The boys played happily while I hopped on the elliptical.
The score was 0-0. My sweetheart was frustrated. America needed to win the game in order to move on in the tournament. A tie wasn’t gonna cut it. Come on America..Come on!!
Finally, with less than 4 minutes left in the game, America scored. You may have heard. Not by way of ESPN or CNN, but via Paul’s triumphant whoops and shouts that shook the very foundation of our 1972 split level. Gooooooaaaaaallllllll!!!!!!!! Wahoooooooooooooo!!!!!
His baritone exuberance was so loud, Dean ran away in fear, his little lip quivering. Luke’s gut reaction was to start kicking whatever it was that was making that deafening noise and then run away too, ducking for cover. It was that loud.
After watching a few instant replays, Paul had to hunt them down and reassure them that everything was okay. No one’s hair was on fire. He was just happy.
I can’t wait for the kid’s soccer league to start up in the fall. If he gets this excited about, let’s face it, perfect strangers scoring a goal, imagine what it’ll be like when it’s his own flesh and blood striking that ball into the net!
I need to remember to bring some earplugs for the other sideliners.