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Es Football, No Futbol
The Cranky Spaniard returns with a NFL critique
A day of football with Miguel the Cranky Spaniard doesn't mean what everyone might think it means. A little after I arrived at his northeast L.A. home to take in a chunk of the day's NFL slate, an email arrived from his madre back home. In Spanish, she asked about the game: Is that the one where for no good reason they start running after the long ball?
Miguel is a lot more attuned to fútbol than football. His insights tend more toward the peripheral — Toyota really did start a trend of truck commercials that are emphasizing tasks that no driver will ever have to perform — and the soccer-oriented. ("Why would anyone think that a single player could transform a soccer team? One can't, so Chivas is the best MLS team in town. The Galaxy brought Beckham here to sell T-shirts, not win games. They did it because the Anglo world knows his name, not Ronaldinho's.")
But sometimes you watch football with a friend not because they have savvy assessments, but because they have TiVo and are serving mimosas. (Footnote: As my girl and I exited our apartment on the way to Miguel's, our Persian limo-driver neighbor from upstairs presciently and unexpectedly hit us with two bottles of champagne. He has a knack for this: Last season, hours before a USC game, I got gifted with a Styrofoam cooler full of MGD that he had left over. Here is a much-needed perk of crappy L.A. apartment living.) Sunday's play provided much to rewind and toast.
Miguel is a lot more attuned to fútbol than football. His insights tend more toward the peripheral — Toyota really did start a trend of truck commercials that are emphasizing tasks that no driver will ever have to perform — and the soccer-oriented. ("Why would anyone think that a single player could transform a soccer team? One can't, so Chivas is the best MLS team in town. The Galaxy brought Beckham here to sell T-shirts, not win games. They did it because the Anglo world knows his name, not Ronaldinho's.")
But sometimes you watch football with a friend not because they have savvy assessments, but because they have TiVo and are serving mimosas. (Footnote: As my girl and I exited our apartment on the way to Miguel's, our Persian limo-driver neighbor from upstairs presciently and unexpectedly hit us with two bottles of champagne. He has a knack for this: Last season, hours before a USC game, I got gifted with a Styrofoam cooler full of MGD that he had left over. Here is a much-needed perk of crappy L.A. apartment living.) Sunday's play provided much to rewind and toast.
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