Javier is a 32-year-old living in Entre Ríos, Argentina. He studied journalism and social communication, but currently works in sales at a multinational company. According to his profile, he loves music, photography, communication, and being online. His weblog, Blogosphere usually has the most affable of tones, however, with the arrival of the world cup, we witness a profound transformation akin to a mother bird protecting her nest.
On Friday afternoon, just before the first game of this year's tournament, he wrote a post titled “The World Cup is Coming: An Open Letter to my Wife,” which I have translated here. I do feel compelled to warn readers, however, that what follows is written in jest.
We are just a few hours from the commencement of the World Cup, for which reason: IT IS VERY IMPORTANT TO CLEARLY LAY OUT THE RULES BEFOREHAND …
1.) From the 9th of June to the 9th of July, read the sports section of the paper in order to have topics of conversation. If not, don't be surprised that I don't give you the time of day.
2.) During the Tournament, the TV is mine, at all hours, without exception. The remote … don't even look at it, much less think about touching it.
3.) If you have to pass in front of the television during a game, it doesn't bother me, so long as you do it crawling and without distracting me.
4.) During the games I am deaf and blind. Don't expect that I will hear you, open the door, answer the phone, or get up for the baby that fell from the second floor. Nothing.
5.) It would be good to always have beers in the refrigerator, snacks in abundance, and that you smile for my friends who come over to watch football. In gratefulness, I will let you watch TV from 6 to 6:30 in the morning (when there is never, not on one of the 83 channels, replays of a game.)
6.) Please, if I look annoyed because Argentina is losing, don't tell me “it's not that bad” or “in the next match surely we'll win”: you will only make me more annoyed.
7.) You can sit and watch a game with me and you can talk to me at the halftime, but only during commercials. Though don't abuse the offer, I said A game.
8.) The replays of the goals are very important. It doesn't matter if I already saw them or not: I want to see them again, many times.
9.) Let's hope that it doesn't occur to any of your friends to baptize their child, have a birthday, do first communion, or die during the World Cup … because:
a.) I won't go.
b.) I won't go.
c.) I won't go.
d.) I won't go.
10.) If a friend invites us some Sunday to watch football (what a grand invitation!), we will go without a doubt.
11.) The nightly tournament reviews are as important as the games themselves: don't even think about saying “but you already watched this, why don't you change the channel?”
12.) It's possible that during the time that the Cup goes on I don't bathe or shave and consequently everything around me smells like a bear's cage. Remember that you sometimes smell like fish and I don't say anything.
13.) Ivory Coast, Trinidad and Tobago, and Serbia and Montenegro aren't clothing stores like Gath & Chavez or El Corte Inglés. They are countries whose teams play in the Cup and whose games interest me even though it's the first time you hear me speak of them.
14.) Let me preempt that: “Drogba” is not the name of a new stimulant [droga means drug in Spanish]; “Tierry Henrry” is not a perfume; “Wyne Roony” is not the owner of Rintintin, nor is “Heinze” a brand of ketchup. When you hear some name or word that you don't know, I won't have any problem explaining its meaning to you so long as you have jotted it down in your recipe book and you consult me 60 days after the tournament has ended.
15.) Finally, save yourself expressions such as “It's good that the World Cup is every 4 years!” because I am now immune to foolish talk. Because, furthermore, next will come the Champions, the Americas Cup, El Apertura, El Clausura, the Spanish league, El Catenaccio, the English league, la Libertadores, the under-20's, the South America Cup, the under-17's, etc, etc, etc …
16.) If Argentina turns out to win the World Cup: I will disappear for two days, sufficient time to get wasted with my friends and celebrate. Returning to the house, I reserve the right to have the TV at my disposal for 30 days to relive every second of the tremendous achievement. If Argentina ends up eliminated: you will have the remote and TV at your disposal for some 60 days. Enough time for mourning. (Obviously, this is after the end of the tournament; once eliminated I will stand strong until the end rooting for the weakest team left.)
OK? Understood? Cappicci? Comprende? Isquiri voche Naniastka?
I love you,
For the sake of Javier's wife and for the sake of spouses of football freaks around the world, we hope that your nation's team does not win and that sanity is soon restored.