Something good is happening at this World Cup.
The Scots turned up. The English turned up. The Norwegians turned up. They sang their songs, got stuck in, and the Americans loved them for it. Glasgow and Boston are getting twinned off the back of it.
For 30 years we’ve been told to view the US as some sort of Great Satan — all imperialism and orange-man clichés. Not everyone buys it of course, but enough do.
And then Europeans actually go, and find a place that feels familiar. Makes sense to them. A bit richer, a bit further ahead, but recognisably ours. Settled by Europeans, still deeply European in its bones.
There’s a gathering-of-the-clans feeling to it. Old neighbours discovering they still like the same songs, the same drink, the same daft humour, and genuinely enjoying each other’s company.
None of it’s a surprise, really. It’s just been buried under so much politics that we forgot we were allowed to enjoy it.
Good to be reminded.
The liberal retards are confused that red blooded European men want to check out enormous gun shops and massive petrol stations that sell loads of booze and scran. What did you think they would go visit, the African American Heritage Foundation and the Dildo Museum? 😂
Staring down the actual Declaration of Independence before stepping into the octagon as an underdog to beat the piss out of an undefeated fighter in front of the world is an extraordinary level of legendary
UFC fighters are going to be wild. Crying over what any of them says is the dead energy that almost led to the fall of the United States. If you want to be a cry baby bitch ass bitch, move to Canada.
One of the most incredible aspects of the World Cup in the United States is what we DIDN’T have to do to prepare for it.
Qatar built multiple brand new stadiums, a metro system, roads, hotels, and entire districts.
South Africa built new stadiums, parking, etc.
Brazil spent billions on stadium and transit projects.
Russia built and rebuilt venues across the country.
Meanwhile, the U.S. was like: “We’re good.”
Like, we modified the playing surface in some stadiums and that was it.
The sport venue infrastructure in the US mogs every other country on earth and it’s not even close.
This image is like those memes from 2016 of Trump crossing the Delaware with Washington on a tank playing an electric guitar or whatever, except this photo is real.
@DschlopesIsBack Canada's PM's don't even want to be in Canada.
The former one has been partying in the US for the last year and the current one was relieved to be back in Europe.
I noticed that there are no videos of World Cup foreigners traveling all across Canada for the first time and finding out how awesome it is.
Why is that? 🤔
I’ve seen a million videos of people from around the world having the time of their lives enjoying Mexican and American culture for the World Cup.
I have yet to see a single video from Canada.
Where is the footage?
Is fun illegal up there?
I love that we’re the new Rome. Peace with Persia in the afternoon and a gladiator fight in the evening, all on the Emperor’s birthday. Another 1,000 years.
THE WHITE HOUSE WENT FULL AMERICA
UFC Octagon on the South Lawn.
Motocross ripping dirt jumps.
Drag cars launching down Pennsylvania Ave.
The People’s House is now the People’s Arena.
This is what winning looks like.
This is what freedom feels like.
God Bless the USA! 🦅
In America, a warehouse store. A fully roasted chicken costs five dollars, the raw chicken beside it costs seven, and I stood between them like a man between two truths.
Golden. Hot. Seasoned. Spinning in glory under the lights, in a line of its brothers. Four dollars and ninety-nine cents.
I checked the raw birds. Seven dollars. Pale. Cold. You must do everything yourself.
This is not commerce. Commerce does not move backward. Somewhere in this building, mathematics lies defeated.
I asked the man at the counter. "How is the cooked bird cheaper than the raw bird?"
"Been five bucks forever. They keep it that way."
"But the store loses."
"Yep. On purpose."
On purpose. I held my receipt with both hands.
In my land, a lord who lowered the price of rice in a hard winter was remembered for generations. They built him a small shrine. This store does it every day, with chicken, and tells no one.
A woman behind me grew tired of my reverence. "It's just a chicken, sir."
It is not just a chicken. It is a wound the merchant takes on purpose, so that anyone, on any day, with five dollars, eats like a lord. The bird is the message. The price is the vow.
I will confess: I bought two. I did not need two. The second was not hunger. It was gratitude, and it was delicious.
Some prices are not prices. They are promises.
I return every week now. I take one bird. I bow toward the deli, briefly, so as not to alarm the staff. They have begun nodding back.
The vow holds. The bird turns. Five dollars.
Long may it spin.