The Life in My Years

It was all going so well here in fortress America, where the formerly welcome from around the globe have become undesirables. The world, at least those who could afford it, arrived for the international crown jewel of sport, the World Cup, and almost everything that was anticipated to go wrong, didn’t.

Stephen Miller, America’s very own Joseph Goebbels, has remained quiet despite the fact that so many Muslims, people of color, and other forms of the unwashed masses have entered the country and brought with them their various wonderful cultural celebrations that give the MAGA-land the heebie-jeebies. Miller and his odious wife Katie who’ve combined to become the most horrible couple in America must be secretly fuming over the wave of “barbarians” who have the effrontery to come to America and charm Americans into being accepting.

While it’s true that the Iranian team was treated horribly, at least we’ve been spared scenes of platoons of masked ICE agents roughing up fans from Senegal, Côte d’Ivoire, and other African nations – the ones Trump has deemed to be “shitholes.”

For Americans like me, who have been enduring eleven tedious, wretched years of Trump and MAGA, the World Cup has been a cool, calming oasis in the middle of a godforsaken, fascist desert.

And then a barely known Brazilian guy named Raphael Claus gave the first domino a little flick that started the whole row to cascade in political calamity. It was the 64th minute of the U.S.v Bosnia and Herzegovina round of 32 match, when Claus, the match referee, reached into his pocket and held a red card in front of a stunned Folarin Balogun, the U.S. striker whose clete had caught defender Tarik Muharemovic’s ankle.

From my view the defender’s ankle was bent in a disgustingly awkward fashion but the foul, according to many former players and officials, did not warrant a red card penalty, one which disqualifies the player from the remainder of the current game and the following game. What makes a red card so onerous is the fact that, for the remainder of the game the team must play one man down.

For half an hour the U.S. team hung on for dear life to win the game. It was an inspiring story of resiliance and grit. But the U.S. team would have to play the next game, against seasoned, disciplined, and highly ranked Belgium, and the Americans would be going in with a spotty record against European teams. Win or lose though, it would have all the makings for a feel good Disney movie script.

If Balogun was some bench warming nobody, everyone would have shrugged and figured, next man up. But Balogun has been the go-to scorer on a team that is relatively deficient in that department. This was the equivalent of Shohei getting thrown out in the first inning of Game 7 of the World Series, or (as actually happened) the Golden State Warriors’ Draymond Green getting suspended from Game 5 of the NBA Finals after getting his fourth flagrant foul.

Questionable calls are a fact of life in sports. Reactions run the gamut from harrumphs and cat calls from the bench, to mayhem (in 1983, when George Brett’s homer to put his Royals ahead of the Yankees in the 9th inning was nullified over an illegal bat, Brett went berserk, rocketed out of the Royals dugout, and came as close to an actual assault on an umpire as I’ve ever seen). In youth sports a muffed call can result in a referee getting punched by an enraged parent. And every now and then there’s the story of an aggrieved congressman, with nothing else to do but grandstand, who threatens a congressional hearing over a bad pass interference call.

But this is Trumpland. In Trumpland, the feel good Disney script gets cast into the shredder in favor of a Goodfellas kind of story. All that’s missing is Joe Pesci stuffing the referee into the trunk of a Buick.