The Plight of the Soccer Widow

Dilemmas and dysfunction, the plight of the soccer widow
Yet there's a curious periodicity to those moments of sorrow
The arc of estrangement, it is said, reaches its peak every four years
During the world cup, experimental evidence confirms the trail of tears

For the soccer widow wears a thick veil of invisibility
The absent spouse having discarded the burden of responsibility
Grudging grunts and head nods, barely even acknowledging
It's clear you'll have to fend for yourself and your offspring

Alienation of affection, or rather transference
For that month, football is his sole allegiance
True, the unbridled enthusiasm can sometimes be infectious
After a win, especially, the tribal cheers are precious

But it turns out that frustration is the lot of the soccer widow
And her sole consolation is that there's no game tomorrow
A temporary reprieve that day between rounds of the competition
Palliative relief, truth be told, for the husband's obsession

For instead it's the constant discussion of minor trivia
Speculation about the starting lineups and locker room drama
Lamenting bribery and corruption in the ranks of FIFA
Bemoaning those sheikhs that brought the game to Qatar

Bedraggled after the first two weeks, now he's looking rough
All conversations revolve around a draw that was markedly tough
The injustice of being drawn in the group of death
But also the upside of the situation on betting spreads

That it's now all about commerce, rank power, and globalization
Colonizers facing independent states, questions of possession
No time for the old thrills and sensations of the beautiful game
Total football is long gone, there's a sameness to the styles of play

Complaining about the commentary, he's going quite out of his mind
Expletives galore - shouting: "Can't you see? The referee is blind!"
The madness, the insanity, the chants, the screams
The color of memory, fully wrapped in this fever dream

Any hopes for discipline are fictitious, those costs are fully sunk
All schedules rearranged, it's a wonder that any work gets done
Your household in upheaval, leaving you to do all the pickups
You're left wondering when you'll see the end of this world cup

But there's also the morning after, the inevitable disappointment
Comes the letdown and recriminations when the dream comes to an end
Worse still is the glint in the eye, even after he's fully spent
He's already looking forward to the next one four years hence


...

"Some people believe football is a matter of life and death. I'm very disappointed with that attitude. I can assure you it is much, much more important than that."

— The Shankly Code (Shankly, Bill)

(2022)

(2006)

...

Timing is everything
Observers are worried


See previously: Dilemmas

File under: life, culture, observation, humour, football, obsession, world cup, dilemma, obsession, humour, satire, soccer, Observers are worried, whimsy, poetry, toli

Writing log. December 10, 2022

Trouble Ticket

A tech support guy (last name: Bundy) sent me an email that started with "Hi Orangutang, Are you able to reboot..."

The Trouble Ticket

Arrgh, broken office phone
Let's file a service request
You prefer the old designation:
A trouble ticket
Ah: musical notification
Open the unread mail
"Hi Orangutang,
Are you able to reboot... ?"
!!?

Oh, hell no.

Memories of childhood taunts
Visions of lynch mobs
His last name: Bundy!
You briefly saw red
At this monkey business
Clicked that Reply button
Far harder than it deserved
The sinews loosened
Keyboard avenger:

Believe me Sir,
I would never have opened
A service request
Had I not tried
Rebooting.
I am curious however
About your rendering
Of my name (below)
Am I to assume
Slips of the Freudian sort? ...

Stop

That furious reply
A firing offense
For you, right after that guy
Don't click Send
Take a deep breath
And a moment to reflect:

"Words are like bullets. When you release them, you can't call them back"
The boy who cried wolf, they didn't cut him any slack
You might well be criticized for a hair trigger tendency
Or unjustly fired for writing the word niggardly

Stew

Then
Just a few minutes later
Chimes sound again
The inbox darkens
Message quoted below
"My spell checker
fouled up your name!
Sorry about that!"
Great catch, I'll say
The mood lightens

Phew

That's clearly better
Don't hold back the nervous laughter
For indeed, would you really rather
Prefer Freud to an errant spell-checker?
Better the benefit of the doubt
Than yet another racial bout

So. Like your three year old daughter has began to say
In that amusing and delightful way
With that high-pitched, nasally voice
It's really the obvious choice:
"Awkward".

You remember incidentally
That you once wrote
That self-same case study
In that note
Titled Cultural Sensitivity in Technology
About this curious artifact of software modernity:
The occasional regret
of auto-correct

You are truly your father's son
You never, ever, jump the gun
"Remember: anger and the African man."
Pragmatism born of painful experience
There's even continuing historical evidence
That lesson of the United States of America
Always defuse tense moods with quiet laughter
And, above all, maintain that calm, level-headed posture

Still, it's really a curious situation
How one responds to real, and potential, provocation
The option is denied of righteous indignation
The fallback civility, a source of frustration.
Your tribe's peculiar daily dilemma:
Better neutered than six feet under.
Or, perhaps, with a little less drama,
In the twilight of this, the age of Obama:
The poorhouse, or staring at ceilinged glass.
Best not to prompt a human resource activity
To be followed undoubtedly with notoriety.
You're a Harvard man, don't be so crass
You don't want to be like that famous professor
A cause célèbre, but branded by some as the aggressor
And even requiring a presidential beer summit.
After all, it's merely a trouble ticket.

Your strategy for the incident report
Never mention it, simply avoid the court.
So. Delete your impertinent second sentence
That premature act of literary vengeance.
But keep the Sir designation
Your passive aggressive intimation
Or, should I say, capitalized rejoinder.
Also, delete the offensive text,
That implied reminder.
You don't want to hear later:
"He's not a team player".

This treacherous modern world to which you belong
The bewilderment in determining right from wrong
But do look him straight in the eye
If, and when, he deigns to come by.
The two of you might well have a laugh one of these days
Replace the veil, return to your mild-mannered ways

The reverse of the coin termed white privilege
That undercurrent, or rather subtext, of repressed rage
It's ugly, and surprisingly close to the surface
Even for you, there's a hint of coiled menace
You think of yourself as above the fray, literally mid-Atlantic
Yet for a moment there, you were about to get very frantic.

While you wait for your replacement phone
You'll navel-gaze and write a short poem
Choosing a typically idiosyncratic meter
And rhyming scheme, that occasionally peters
Out
And turns to, let's call it, doggerel.
But, hey, that's alright because well:

The resolution to this new trouble ticket:
Incident closed: operator error
A case of an errant spell checker.

"Just because a lizard nods its head, doesn't mean it's happy"
You smile at your rejected naming choice: Mister Bundy

Soundtrack for this note

• Amel Larrieux - Trouble
  Taken from my favourite album of the century so far, Morning. The chorus is simplicity itself:
  "Ooooo trouble".
• Amel Larrieux - Moment to reflect
  From her long overdue follow-up, and 2013 Toli Album of the Year, Ice Cream Everyday

  This is how wars begin
  This is how bombs start dropping
  If it begins with stopping I will, I will

  Before I say something I regret
  I need a moment to reflect
  I'd like to keep my foot out of my mouth
  And not be speakin' out my neck

  I'll only add that I haven't heard a better album than Ice Cream Everyday this decade short of the second coming of that guy. Amel Larrieux remains my favourite singer, as always she was inspired to "make the music cry". It's her Talking Book (Morning was her Innervisions).

Also: reboot a phone?

Steps to reproduce
- Clean install of Mozilla Thunderbird (English)
- Compose an email with the name of the chief toli monger in the body
- Check Spelling
Result: Orangutang is suggested as a replacement
Workaround: add said name to the user dictionary
Proposed fix: add said name to the standard dictionary

File under: life, modernity, glitches, culture, poetry, observation, race, perception, technology, software, error, sensitivity, USA, dilemma, Small Things, humour, toli

Dilemmas

The following case study came unbidden, and thoroughly disrupted my carefully arranged plans. I tend to accept these twists of fate these days. Thus I give you a diversion that I nominate as Part 10 of the Things Fall Apart series, another entry that falls under the banner of Social Living. Do let me know if it fits the bill.

An Examination Question

Date: Saturday June 10, 2006
Time: 8:55 am EST

Problem Statement

You are manager of Toli inc., a small but growing concern. The following situation presents itself to you. Discuss how you would resolve the various competing concerns. Provide enough detail to satisfy the reporting requirements of the Sarbanes-Oxley act in light of the corporate history of Enron and recent judicial verdicts.

Constraints

Hunger: You haven't had any breakfast although you woke up at 6 am on the dot as is your custom this time of the year. The reason for the delayed breakfast. Well...

Dying computer: Your desktop computer has been giving you fits for the past 3 hours as the power supply cuts out every five minutes as a result of being subjected to one too many lights out. More disaster recovery in prospect.

Laundry: There are at least 3 loads of laundry that need to be washed if you want to have something to wear this evening beyond tracksuits.

World Cup: the England vrs Paraguay match starts at 9am. 5 minutes.

French Open: the women's final starts at 9am. Or has it started already? Henin-Hardenne against Kuznetsova.

Day job: Need to check in the code that you promised the team this week. You want to be the Karl Malone of Lotus: "The Mail Man, I deliver". Prospects are dim.

Marriage: Desire for quality time with The Wife. 'Nuff said.

Groceries: Probably a good idea to do. See also: marriage.

Family: The mother-in-law is in town. You should see her sometime today. Also: need to do weekly phone calls to Ghana and all the cousins and friends. You remember that 8 members of the family are due to head to Germany today to support the Ghana team. You need to find out whether they got visas. Basically, catch up with people, talk football.

House: A mess. See also: mother-in-law.

Reading: you normally curl up with a book or three on weekends.

Futures: The Great Move West beckons, you have a month or so to finalize on the moving company, pack your apartment, and purge your possessions. Would be good to get a head start. See also: house and marriage.

Bills: The usual suspects need to addressed. Corollary: day job.

Preliminary Solution

Prioritize: football, laundry, house, mother-in-law, bills, reading, The Wife, day job, hunger (you'll work the rest out later).

Risks: marriage (justification: "in good times and bad"), day job (justification: well it is Saturday), tennis (life is like a box of chocolates), groceries (whatever), The Move (next week).

You're an engineer but technology can only help so much... You could use a Tivo, but even if you had the prescience to have bought one, it would only be good for pausing if you have to run out for a minute. With an event like the World Cup, you can hear the screams of people in nearby houses and in your building. Your upstairs neighbour, like you, is living every moment of the matches and your ceiling felt every half chance yesterday. Unlike that guy at the office who got his Tivo installed on Monday, you have procrastinated. You don't even have VHS tapes to record the games on your old vcr. Also your old TV doesn't have split screens. In any case, you don't like switching during football matches. Well maybe rolandgarros.com, there's an idea: laptop deals with tennis and day job in one stroke...

The immigrant workers outside your window have a radio blaring as they work, so they too are in the mix.

The Set-Up

1. The TV situation

Yesterday you started looking into the furniture business and adjusted the TV stand so that the angle is more amenable for long term viewing. Final is July 9th.

Within reach are two of The Wife's travel neck pillow things. They might come in handy since you are using your 10 year old bachelor futon: furniture from hell and source of chronic back pain and worse. Resolve: Burn it during The Move.

You have six pillows to fashion the futon into some semblance of comfort.

Remote control for switching back and forth with tennis. Check.

Sleep cloth, Dutch wax. Check. Good Ghana boy.

New cell phone. Check. No longer a high-tech Luddite.

Cordless phone for landline. Oops. Need to recharge it. Head to study.

Broom. Within sight.

2. The Laptop Configuration

You don't like to use laptop keyboards for extended periods, you normally use a full-sized keyboard and monitor on your desk in the study. This situation however calls for a laptop intervention.

You borrow The Wife's Cool Pad to prevent the scorching of the family jewels. The wireless access is all set... You decide you need to order one of your own pads. You open up a tab in the browser, search for "Cool Pad" at Amazon... open up another tab for Froogle "laptop accessories pad", another one for PriceScan

You get up to grab the laptop power cord from your study, you don't want to run on battery today.

3. Reading Material

1 copy of Friday's New York Times. You only buy the hard copy on Fridays and Sundays and don't have home delivery, it forces you to go to the convenience store to commiserate with that Persian guy about Dubya bombing his hometown two weeks before the upcoming November elections. Jesus wept. You bought said copy during the hour between games yesterday but have only read the front page... Remaining: the arts section, Krugman and that whole Zarqawi thing...

Kwasi Wiredu - Cultural Universals and Particulars, An African Perspective. Some philosophical reading for the theme for your Social Living series.

Madison Smartt Bell - The Stone that the Builder Refused. You've been carrying this novel around for two weeks and it's getting great. Haiti. Toussaint L'Ouverture. Napoleon. Revolution! Things fall apart.

All set for World Cup.

9:02am. Laundry. Quarters. Quick: downstairs. 5 minutes to go.

The Match

9:06am. Couch. Remote. TV. Okay.

American TV channels don't show the build up of the games unless the US is playing, the broadcasts start on the hour so you only get 7 minutes of pre-game commentary. There's barely enough time for analysis and you don't get to hear the national anthems unless the US is playing... And then there's the fact that if it's on ESPN there's that annoying ticker taking up the bottom of the screen. They are literally missing the big picture... Univision of course delivers on the comprehensive coverage but their image quality is worse and your Spanish? Well... ¿Se Habla Español? Well the game's on ABC today and they do full screen, so you'll try the English language commentary.

Sometimes you do want to hear the national anthems that the crowds sing, watch the players pretend to know the words, and soak in the tribal atmosphere. You've missed that today. Most Americans won't know what they are missing. Their country is becoming the Third World in the globalization sweepstakes, and some even seem proud about it... Well hopefully their team will do well in Germany and the underground football nation that I know lurks might manifest itself. Of course, I hope that Ghana will beat them handily, we need a little soul uplift.

Game on. Psyched.

Hmmm... the Paraguayan goalkeeper sustains an injury and has to leave the game.

The American commentator notes, "this is the second fastest substitution of a goalkeeper in World Cup history".

What the hell? You yell at the screen, "What does that have to do with the price of potatoes? This isn't baseball, football isn't a game of statistics."

Well anyway, experiment over. You promptly switch to Univision, they must be talking about things that matter. Anyway you'll need to know Spanish in Mexico, I mean California. (Justification: The Move).

It's a good game, England are looking great. Joe Cole terrorizing everyone, John Terry, Frank Lampard and Becks: the Axis of Solidity. Steven Gerrard, mon dieu. Peter Crouch: the hardest working man in the business... The whole team is shining and on the basis of this start, they could beat anyone. Meanwhile laptop on. Connect to Big Blue network, download latest build. Check rolandgarros.com.

Paraguay is keeping it close. Free kick. Beckham bends it...

"Gol! Gol! Gooooooooool".

Excitable announcer. Another one: "Goooooool".

Loud thumping overhead. A few shouts from neighbour. You shout. "Gooooooooooool".

Workers cheer from outside, must be Boston Irish or something.

"Here we go, here we go, here we go..."

Sounds of Wife stirring in bedroom...

"Gol! Gol! Gol!... Bravo. Goooool... Impressionante... Bravo... Gol... Mundialiasta... La pelota... Gol!..."

Remote. French Open briefly. Hmmm... Back to football. Start thinking about your glory days.

Laptop down. Pick up newspaper. Put down newspaper, match is too exciting.

Half time. Mexican adverts come on, skimpy dresses, rhumba dancing, eye-candy. Hmmm, you really need to learn Spanish... Still, remote: switch channel to French Open. Henin-Hardenne ahead. Whatever. Come on Kuznetwhatever. New York Times, now on page 4.

Oh! Laundry. Time to change the loads. Run downstairs.

Back upstairs. Hmmm. Hunger, food. Let's see...

Wife is up and about in the kitchen and looking grim... She's having breakfast but with that butter knife in hand, you need to tread carefully, you might get the macho treatment.

You try small talk and start muttering something lighthearted about the World Cup, widowhood and dilemmas... and begin to explain the various things on your plate, and talk about the match so far.

"You should eat", she says.

Good idea. More small talk... The food preparation business is not going too well, you turned on the kettle for the tea, but there was a noise on the TV, so you run there. False alarm, excitable commentator. You head back to pick up the toast. The broom is in your other hand. Start sweeping. Meanwhile more banter about glory days long gone...

You hear: "You're all over the place. You can't go on like this... not a bachelor anymore... A mess..." You nod your head and reach for the butter knife. Fridge. Marmalade. Milk.

The Wife is off in a huff (see also: evil eye). She comes back (avoids your eyes), grabs her laptop and heads for the bedroom.

Yesterday was your boycott day, it seems she's taken your message to heart and is boycotting you today.

Whatever. Justification: The Shankly Code (Shankly, Bill)

"Some people believe football is a matter of life and death. I'm very disappointed with that attitude. I can assure you it is much, much more important than that."

Second half is starting. There's the day job business. Food, laptop, cushions. Remote. Check French Open briefly. Switch. Watch.

10 minutes later, she shouts your name....

"What's up?", you yell between munches.

"I sent you an email".

Uh-oh. A deft multi-tasking effort now takes place.

• You put down the slice of buttered toast and marmalade and the bowl of Frosties (well Frosted Flakes in the US; the same Tony the Tiger, they're great!)
• You turn to the laptop, note that the build has long since finished downloading, start the install.
• Switch to Firefox and open up a new tab.
• You note that Peter Crouch just got a yellow card... Damn... England are looking like the most interesting team in the World Cup but yellow cards might be their downfall. Gerrard and now Crouch?
• You click on the Gmail icon in the browser toolbar.

You take a guess on the title of the email that should have shown up in your inbox:

Ultimatum.

Once again The Wife proves her fortitude and you read

From: The Wife
To: Koranteng@Toli

Subject: Fwd: The World Cup at the Enormous Room

Maybe you can see the match with some friends... Maybe I can meet their widows.

---------- Forwarded message ----------
From: Soul Africa Bulletin
Subject: The World Cup at the Enormous Room
To: Boston Crew

Greetings,

The Enormous Room is hosting live Telecasts of the 2006 World Cup every day for the month of June. The 12 pm and 3pm games will be shown live. The 9am games will be recorded and played after the 3pm games. The bar will be open, but the kitchen will not open until 5:30pm. Feel free to bring some lunch.

see you there.

You smile. Great idea, the Africans in Boston are rallying... Commerce mixed with community. You could do that tomorrow and for the rest of the month, you vaguely hope they have Wi-fi so you could perch there during the work day. The World Cup is a 9 to 5 occupation for a month every four years, you wish you could get paid for it. Still there's no time today.

You fiddle around, back and forth between the Bloglines and delicious tabs, copying and pasting links and titles of things you remember reading yesterday.

You compose the reply in Gmail and hit the send button

From: Koranteng@toli
To: The Wife (Disgruntled and long-suffering)
Subject: Widowhood

Great idea...

See also from my internet friend Noel and his wife Elissa.

Avoiding World Cup Widowhood

Avoiding World Cup Widowhood -- a Guide for the Uninitiated (pdf)

Close game so far.

Cheers.

Back to the game... Paraguay getting close. What gives with England?

Day job: not much progress. New York Times: nope, too tense.

The game ends, England wins... A Google search about your nagging concern "World Cup 2006 yellow card policy first round", nothing obvious.

Ah yes, remote; you switch to the French Open... Henin-Hardenne wins the last point and throws her hands in the air 6-4, 6-4. She deserves it although you prefer Kuznetsova. Better luck next time.

What do you do next?

You head into bedroom to face recriminations.

They are blistering as expected... "In good times and bad". You're in a good mood so you continue with the small talk: lots of things that you're juggling today, talk about the match.

It's not working... Whatever. More football banter... Still not working... more football banter, reminisce about distant glories....

But then she softens for a moment at your evident enthusiasm and asks:

"When is the next match?"
"I don't know, I have to check."
"12pm".

One hour to go before the next match...

Arrggh! You forgot the laundry. You turn. Vague thought: you can't do the groceries in that time... after the next match maybe.

You gather up the towels and such for the next load... You would have washed the sheets too but you don't fancy your chances of survival if you try to remove them while The Wife is lying in them...

You rush down to get to the laundry before that other desperado you met at half-time gets there (you recognized the type, he's also doing laundry and watching the game).

Made it... Arggh! You don't have enough quarters... remember that inflation calypso you were singing six months ago... prescience huh?

You run back up to get some quarters, you almost trip on the narrow stairs.

You steady yourself... there's no need to rush, nice and slow. Quarters. Back down the stairs.

You nod your head at the guy who arrives as you put the quarters in...

"Good game."
"Yeah, England might well win the whole thing."
"Those yellow cards though. Do they carry over?"
"I don't think so. Google it."
"Will do. Again."

You start humming Jerusalem as you walk slowly back up the stairs, it's been on your mind recently

And did those feet in ancient times
Walk upon England's mountains green

You break out in full song as you open the door to the apartment.

"..pleasant pastures seen..."

Hold on, the Belgian national anthem is playing on the TV, the trophy is being awarded.

You settle down on the sofa and take up the cool pad and the laptop

".. builded Jerusalem..."

Kuznetsova is praising Henin-Hardenne. Justine looks as cool as Belgian beer and chips.

In England’s green and pleasant Land.

End of hymn. You need some more music... but the remote for the Rotel amplifier is out of reach, and the universal remote that you have doesn't control said Rotel amplifier, they said it was universal.

That Rotel remote is the worst remote you've ever had the misfortune to use, you remember that you were going to blog about its design flaws at some point. Laptop, you open up Notetab, open toli-ideas.txt and write this nugget down. Later.

So you do the next best thing, you start to sing the next hymm in the Boycott Hymnal: To Hunt the Wren

How will you kill him?
With sticks and stones

You have 54 minutes before the next game: Trinidad and Tobago against Sweden... Now you're talking, The T & Ts are the Dream Team in the World Cup, there's a shortage of Trinidad T-shirts. Like the Ghanaians, Togolese, Angolans and Ivoriens, they are in it for the first time...

Oh yes order the cool pad, it worked fine. Lets see... Where's that credit card?

Portugal will be playing Angola somewhere near the town of Marburg. You take pride in that you see things that others can't. You hum along:

Hatchets and cleavers
Honouring his bones

You decide to do the dishes. Ah yes, the kitchen. Then sweep. Then you'll run to the convenience store across the street to get some blank VHS tapes talk with the guy about his relatives in Tehran and their preparations.

The question is what do you do when you come back?

You've just read the answer.

See also Ecstasy

File under: life, whimsy, Small Things, football, world cup, tradeoffs, dilemma, decisions, obsession, fever, attention, A.D.D., community, relationships, modernity, multi-tasking, juggling, humour, internet, web, conversation, fun, soccer, organization, preparation, observation, funny, Things Fall Apart, Thought Process, toli Risks: Day job, perception. Next: Ghana vrs USA