So, the world’s largest sporting event is taking place right now. While some unfortunate superstars, such as Andrei Arshavin, and not participating, you would certainly expect Real Madrid’s future greatest footballer to take the field. Or at least be glued to the television. Aside from the glorious spectacle, many of the nation’s top stars will be fading solar systems by the time Junito climbs the ranks, aging carcasses for him to ravage and consume in his bloodthirsty, ruthless climb to the top.
Sorry, but I’m afraid not. Junito is, you see, a three year old with an iron will. Junito is blissfully impervious to the media hype surrounding said event. In laymen’s terms, it’s all about the football. Junito is ravenous for goals and wins, not reality tv shows and product plugs. Ironically, his reluctance to conduct interviews has generated the “can’t touch this” media hype that no amount of botox can buy.
Still, part of me suspects that, deep down, he really does care.
The other day, during the US-England game, Junito came and watched parts of the match at interspersed intervals. I can’t really blame him for not watching the full 90 minutes – neither side impressed in possession and scoring chances came at a premium. You can only see Jamie Carragher commit a late, yellow card tackle before they all blur into the same offense. Still, Junito made some perceptive observations.
First off, he noted that “me aburro” for the majority of the game, which was a most accurate depiction. Second, he said “usted esta feo” after England scored and my face swelled to an enormous red balloon. Third, he noticed that his mother, who has a preference for, shall we say, “the fairer skinned of the male population” (re: guero, chele), well, “le gustan los futbolistas.” And the gustar was more of the kickette variety than sporting qualities.
Still, despite the lack of interest in watching this fantastic sporting event, Junito continues to score goals by the boatload. At least once a day, he drags out his miniature goal, uses his hand to place the ball a foot from the goal, toe-pokes in a delicate shot, and then shouts “goooooooolazo” and runs around the house. My suegra has suggested to Junito that he practice his punteria from a longer distance, but he steadfastly refuses. I’m a bit sad to see him take a service-dependent role, but a fox-in-the-box is a fox-in-the-box.
Junito has gone over two months with no biting incidents. Thus, I am actively looking for a league to fuel his competitive fire. I also have coached youth soccer in various capacities, and may take up the re-take the reigns. Now, this is not going to be one of those Bradley tandems – no sir, Junito will absolutely positively not be permitted to play in the bundesliga and I did not graduate from Princeton. Thus, there are no similarities.
And Junito will not play for the US national team, although that decision has come under fire from other quarters of the household given that Junito was 1) Only three years old and 2) Had not “officially” received a national team call up. And the Rossi-Italy example is a stern warning. So, yeah, the decision door is not wide open, but the crack is almost big enough to stick your big toe into, if not your entire foot. I will not push Junito to make a definite decision until he is at least five years old and can sign his own initials in crayola.
In the meantime, Junito’s enjoying the summer cool as a cucumber, juganto pelota and enjoying some galletas y leche.
“Di mi nombre. Ya. Yeah.”