Let’s play in the world of a constructed binary. The land of television is seduction. Images and sound combine to tempt you, seduce you, and entertain you. Helpless, you sit there, motionless. The flashing light leaves you still, like a deer in front of a semi on a back alley road in the dead of night.
Pause.
Welcome to reality. The sunlight burns your eyes and warms your skin. A gentle breeze caresses your neck. The feint odor of garlic abounds, flaring your nostrils. You are in your body. This is reality.
So what was the US game vs. Brazil last night?
The US lost to a technically and tactically superior Brazil squad last night. Despite a strong opening 20 minutes, the US faded as samba first touch passing starved the US of possession. Like a flower left without water for too long, the US wilted as the game drew on. There was no stirring fightback. There was no made-for-TV moment. The script called for a heavy dose of depressing events, leaving the audience numb, indifferent, and more exasperated than introspective. Post-screening surveys show that the public would have preferred a happier ending, involving either a puppy or a young couple kissing, or perhaps young puppies kissing.
So what happened? Did the US’s stirring run in the World Cup second round deceive us? Or is this preseason friendly with unfit players an aberration, an unfit for TV episode scripted by a now long gone guest writer? Did Landon Donovan’s goal cast an adrenaline spell on our easily fooled eyes, or did it vindicate years of loyalty?
When forced to choose between what my head says and my pulse, usually the pulse wins. Perhaps this Brazil game will go into the poorly archived annals of my cerebrum’s hallways specially designated for “Central American Team vs. MLS” friendlies. In a few months time, only a direct reference will trigger a memory. After a year, not even a game recap will do that. And after two years, I will deny said event ever transpired. Pato? Scored? But he didn’t even go to the World Cup silly…..
Late at night, when I’ve either drank too much caffeine or had a rough day at work, while laying in my bed, the flashes of the iguana hair will come to me. I will only see the hair, not the quick feet or the flagpole legs. I will try to trace the small country road of a memory to more familiar highways – a pet lizard growing up? A family trip to the Everglades?
Eh.