Hermanos, Enemies, Hermanos

I love this rivalry for one simple reason: both sides need the other. I do not want to go off on a Joker-related tirade here ala the Dark Knight, but has there ever been a broken mirror pieced together so perfectly?

Mexico is known for exotic beaches, mariachi music, and spicy food. Yet when you eat a delicious taquito or enchilada, you soon find your hands bathed in red sauce. Ridiculously talented, yet with a sloppy edge.

The US is known for its, to put it blindly, bling, rock and roll music, and hamburgers. Yet when you eat this delectable treat, super-sized or not, generally the condiments leave much to be desired. Mustard? Ugh. Ketchup? Better, but not quite enough. Incredibly well organized, yet a bit bland.

In terms of soccer, the Mexican attack boasts first touch triangles and salivating step-overs. Yet all too often, the Aztecas falter near the end of matches due to physical stamina and mental focus. Conversely, the American attack relies on headers and setpieces. Yawn. The Americans usually grow in strength as the game goes on, assuming no early missteps.

I am excited by this match, but even more thrilled by the growing fusion of the two. Proximity breeds contempt, yet neighbors’ children often fall in love. I bow before the coming Hispanic population wave, offering a nightly sacrifice of refried beans and pico de gallo.

The sign of the coming storm: remember the man law commercials? More specifically, the one which banned fruit in beer? What happened months later? Oh yeah, Bud light lime. Interesting. Granted, it was a different company, but still. A premonition nontheless.

Someday, Dos Equis will be drunk by the everyday man, not just the world’s most interesting man. And you will look down into your grandson’s dark brown eyes, and he will ask “Abuelo, por que estas viejo?” You will smile, your mental capacities too dilapidated to realize he is speaking Spanish.