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Every four years, the stars align. The Winter Olympics fizzle out, having fallen victim to their own inherent uselessness; dejected non-American, non-Norwegian, non-German sportsfans turn to drink, licentiousness, and ABDC to dull the pain of yet another humiliation. But then a screaming comes across the sky. It has happened before, but there is nothing to compare it to now. It’s the fanfare introducing the return of World-Mastery, la Copa Mundial, the FIFA World Cup. Indeed: the only compelling international sporting event—except the World Junior Football Classic, which is always a gripper—you’re going to get for the rest of the year. |
All reactionary rumors to the contrary notwithstanding, this is and remains a resolutely internationalist e-blog. Much like the publications of the International Workingman’s Association, which earned their pride of place by lending an ear to EVERY tale of exploitation, to those set in Erfurt as well as in Manchester, the WLA insists upon the importance of keeping up with global affairs. The rhythm of the ticking clock impels us toward that time and place, 95 days hence in South Africa, when the bol is first footed and the game’s truly afoot.
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