So I’m at a bar during the closing minute of the US World Cup elimination game and some drunk white dude yells, “LET'S GO! You have 1 minute left for the next four years!” And he’s damn right. More than the actual sport it’s the timing that mounts pressure for these things. Over time, we develop a relationship with the World Cup and each one begins to mean more. I see this when I watch Korea matches with my Dad. It's like they’re old friends. So he watches. Silently. For him, it’s not so much the games but all the years in between.
Just think of how much happens in 4 years. But also how fast they can fly by. High school was 4 years long. College was 4 years short. Pluto was 4 years ago. A NY Superbowl is 4 years ahead. 4 years will forever be the age gap between me and my older sister. At the last World Cup, I was 18. In the next one, I’ll be 26. Maybe these are the things my Dad thinks about. Measuring stretches of his life with a 4 year ruler. Thumbing through flashes of himself from each Cup, like bookmarks in the story of his life.
Just think of how much happens in 4 years. But also how fast they can fly by. High school was 4 years long. College was 4 years short. Pluto was 4 years ago. A NY Superbowl is 4 years ahead. 4 years will forever be the age gap between me and my older sister. At the last World Cup, I was 18. In the next one, I’ll be 26. Maybe these are the things my Dad thinks about. Measuring stretches of his life with a 4 year ruler. Thumbing through flashes of himself from each Cup, like bookmarks in the story of his life.
