Let me lay out the scene for you. I stumbled drunkenly home last night around 3am, awash in booze after trying my best to forget about team USA’s 2-1 overtime defeat to Ghana.
I had watched the game earlier that day at a company party held at my boss’s summer house, surrounded by coworkers. They are (mostly) casual fans, so as the final whistle blew some of them made jokes about “not having to follow Soccer anymore.” I, on the other hand, felt like crying.
Not that I’m any huge Soccer connoisseur or anything. I don’t follow the Premiership, and I didn’t recognize the names of two-thirds of our roster before the Cup started. But I was one of the millions who was enthralled in our run.
Maybe I’m fickle, maybe I’m a sheep following a Youtube trend that doubles as the biggest sports tournament in the world. But, by that point, I was emotionally invested.
So back to last night. I was watching New York 1, the trusty metro news channel and default starting point for my cable box, half-alive, visions of Asamoah Gyan taunting me in my head, when suddenly I came upon a cousin in pain. A compatriot in mourning. A sad bro, if you will.
Fast forward to 1:20 (he makes a second appearance at 2:20):
Thank you, sad bro, for having the courage to do in front of thousands of late-night viewers what I didn’t have the cojones to do at my company party. I salute you.