I work at a Tavern where the peeps are crazy for the soccer, so I am quite familiar with the enthusiasm for the sport, although I am not a fan, except for the World Cup. (My Dad's line: Soccer is the game of the future . . . and always will be.) But I understand that lots and lots of peeps are fans. Like, a world full of them.
But this is a 16-year-old sophomore in high school, a teenager, whose host/friend is upstairs sleeping until noon like any good, red-blooded American teenager would. But this kid Theo gets up early to tune in to the game. This kid Theo, he likes-a the soccer.
Mistah asked Theo what his team was and when Theo answered "Arsenal", my half-English husband told Theo his fully-English cousin Anthony was an Arsenal fan, had given him (Mistah) an Arsenal jersey years ago, and although it was really cool, and really awesome, it wouldn't possibly fit him (Mistah) anymore, and he (Mistha) would send it to Theo, care of Joseph, soonest.
My sister Julie, good mama-bear that she is, said, "Well, if you send Theo something, you may want to send your nephew something too, Uncle Bill." Uncle Bill promised he'd find an old, outgrown, forgotten shirt from the bucket in Mumsie's basement for Joe, too. Just the kind of Uncle the Mistah is.
When we finally made it to Mumsie's basement, Mistah looked for the jersey . . . and found it! Except, well, here's what I emailed Joe:
Remember the Arsenal jersey your Uncle Bill promised your friend Theo? He found it.
Except, it's not an Arsenal shirt.
And, well, it's not a *soccer* shirt either.
It's a rugby shirt.
The Rugby World Cup, to be exact, featuring the flags of England -- (*not* the Union Jack of the UK) -- and Australia. I know what sounds crazy, but that's what it is.
Here's the shirt:
The wallabies of Australia played England in the Rugby World Cup final in 1991, and they have a Union Jack in their flag:
So that must be it. Which is what I reported to Joe.
Or maybe England was so happy to be hosting the Rugby World Cup in 1991 that they put their own Union Jack and their own St. George's Cross on their own jersey, feeling their own anglo-smug-love.
All I can say is this. If I had my own country? I would totally eschew the red-white-and-blue. Overdone, people! Give me green. Give me purple. Someone design me an awesome flag for my fabulous country.
Or just give me the Kiwis:
No, not the flag . . .
. . . the All-Blacks Rugby team. Yes, doing the haka.
I washed the jersey, natch, and it was drying in the sun on the deck one afternoon just when I needed a layer, and well, there it was.
|I was reconnecting with my Dad's drill and light set that evening, and Mistah told me I was scaring him!|
|I'm a lot of things, but one thing I'm not is scary. That much.|
But this isn't about me. NO! This isn't about my country's green-and-purple flag. This isn't about my awesome drill.
This is about the Rugby. World. Cup.
Go England! Go Australia! Go 1991! Go Rugby!
And Joe, I promise. The jersey's in the mail.