All posts tagged Spain

Will Work For Food; German Octopus predicts World Cup Winners

I had watched the soccer matches religiously up until the semi- finals, but then all hell broke loose when I awoke one morning last week with my throat on fire. Soon after my whole head clogged up and all I wanted to do was sleep.  I went into a brief Nyquil-induced hibernation. On Sunday I finally emerged and felt human enough to get in the car with my husband and drive our older son up to basketball camp.  Our younger son stayed with his friends so he wouldn’t annoy his older brother for three solid hours in an enclosed space could watch the final World Cup match between Spain and Germany.

As we hit the highway, I checked the crackberry for the World Cup scores:

Me: Hey, Spain won the World Cup. Beat Germany, One-Zip.

Husband: So. The Octopus was right.

Me: Is that someone you work with?

Husband: Who?

Me: The Octopus.

Husband: No. The Octopus is an actual octopus.  He’s in an aquarium in Germany.  His name is Paul and he has predicted the winners for the World Cup all during the competition.  The kids and I watched him on ESPN last well.

To the outside observer our conversation may seem somewhat disjointed, but allow me to explain. My husband is in the military and if you’ve ever seen Top Gun, then you know about nicknames like “Iceman,” “Goose” and “Maverick.”  My husband spent years working in Special Operations, so I had grown accustomed to answering our phone at all hours of the night to disembodied voices identifying themselves as  “Mack,” “Rubber,” “The Mayor,” or even “Beavis.”  Since my husband once worked with a guy he called  “Shark” whose real name was Eric , it was perfectly plausible The Octopus could in fact be a colleague of his at the Pentagon.  But in this case, The Octopus wasn’t some secret spy code for “Steve,” this octopus was the real deal.

Not sure how I missed Paul the soothsayer of the sea, but he’s not missed a predicted winner in 8 matches of World Cup soccer. What motivates the mollusk? Food. Two boxes are lowered into Paul’s tank, each team is represented with a flag affixed to each box which  contains a mussel. Paul then makes his way over to the two boxes, and the winner is determined after Paul slithers into one of the two boxes, and grabs a bivalve.

Behold. Paul!

The Oberhausen Sea Life  Center in Germany has announced Paul is retiring, however he will not fade from view. The Sea Life Center hopes to give Paul the opportunity to teach younger octopods his special skill.  But I’ll tell you what. If the younger eight armed whippersnappers don’t catch on to Paul’s methodology.  I’ll volunteer to be Paul’s apprentice. I am motivated by food, I absolutely love mussels and  I’ve never been to Germany.

Four years is enough time for me to fund-raise for the trip and get my diver certification. Right?

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Don’t Assume Soccer Skillz Follow The Paternal Line. Word To The Mother, Word To Me.

When my sons first began playing soccer people would turn to my husband and look approvingly as if to say, “Dude, good thing you got your kids into soccer.” And it would piss me off. It wasn’t my husband who fanned the flame to get the kids fired up about soccer, it was me.  I love the game!  My love of the game began early, not because I played on the Pugs, but because I had traveled to Europe. See, across the pond, soccer is to other countries what Football and Baseball are to us here in the U S of A. Sitting in a pub or cafe in Paris or London watching a futbol match with the Europeans gave me a contact high which continued to have an effect on me, well,  forever.

Yeah, I played intramural soccer in college. But  for fun, definitely not for profit or sex. I wasn’t especially talented nor promiscuous, which may have contributed to my non existent rise to fortune and fame.  But I’m okay with that. I got out of the game just  what I needed at that time in my life: physical exercise  and beer. Okay, mainly beer.

So now my kids are playing soccer. Not yet into the beer garden party, but they do like to watch our local MLS team, DC United, play at RFK Stadium.

While we’ve had seats behind the hard core fans, our kids prefer to sit elsewhere because ,while the fans are spirited and tend to be happy, they stand up for almost the entire match and the pounding of the feet sort of makes my younger son nervous the stadium floor will give way. And if it does? He’s convinced we’ll fall into the depths of the stadium which will definitely mean he’ll fall so fast he won’t be able to get any Dippin’ Dots*along the way.

This past week we watched the Confederations Cup; Spain V. South Africa.  Initially I thought there was a problem with our television reception. I heard something which sounded a lot like buzzing . My sons told me it was due to  horns being blown by fans in the stadium.  And yup, they were absolutely right. I had utterly forgotten about the vuvuzela and after I told the boys the name of the horn, I waited for one of them to giggle and ask  if there is also a penis horn.

Smartassery, it seems, also follows the maternal line.

*Consensus tells me there is no middle ground when it comes to Dippin Dots; either you love them or  you hate them.  My opinion is Dippin Dots suck.

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