I’ll be honest with you, gentle readers. I’m happier than Mario Götze on a boat (for the love of all that is good, do not do a google image search of that phrase from your work computer or with anyone else around). Yes, it has been a challenging few weeks. I lost a beloved hen. But, the key to a strong mentality is to focus on that which you have and that which you can control. And I have two beautiful chickens and a great cell at the compound.
Most of all, I am happy because the MLS season restarts after the International Break. Don’t get me wrong, I love our national team and a good, old-fashioned, mud game. But, it’s time to support El FC. Next up: Club De Foot Montréal.
The USA’s relationship with our northern neighbors goes back a bit. Yes, there was the whole imperial Catholic-Protestant background of the Seven Years’ War. I’m not ruminating on that at this moment. Rather, my mind is on The 1775 Battle of Quebec. A bad loss for the Americans. (Hard to believe, but Benedict Arnold was, at that time, still a good guy.) I sit here worrying that our beloved Oaks will suffer the same fate. But, I know my disquietudes are inconsequential. It’s the hens that matter.
I know. I know. Québécois are a people who are a riddle, wrapped in a mystery, inside an enigma. They are most certainly French but speak it in an incomprehensible accent.
Rest assured, I will not fall into lazy stereotypes of people.
Seriously, they’re just a bunch of fur trappers.
If they’re not trapping small mammals for their valuable pelts, they’re out on frozen lakes ice fishing and being generally indecipherable.
If they’re not incomprehensible, they’re fluffers for the worst singers around.
However, I will grant them Cirque du Soleil. That shit’s crazy cool to watch.
Enough with that excursus and back to the job at hand: the match on Saturday. San Julius hasn’t been feeling too personable lately. I blame the Sahara sands. When I approached her coop this morning, in search of the upcoming score, I, per usual, covered my head reverently with my augural robes. I reached the threshold and began to peer inside. She hissed at me in a way I’ve never heard before. Knowing my presence wasn’t appreciated, I slowly backed away. It was at this moment that I heard her hit the left side of the coop once. Then silence.
Uh oh.
El FC 0-1 Club De Foot Montréal Impact Jingleheimer Schmidt SC
Louis de Ludovico
Viewing McKalla as his personal empire, Louis lives for the beautiful game. And food. Especially flamingo tongues. A chicken savant.