Watching futbol with CC

CC and I adopt a different mantra for each soccer game we go to. We sit with our friend Ish, who generally keeps quiet, huddled on a folded-over blanket to keep our butts from freezing to the aluminum bleachers.

She favors “It’s all psychological,” and I like “It all comes down to the midfield.” Of course neither of us know what we are talking about but we like to pretend, so it is good to have something to fake-opine about.

Tonight we noticed that the other team’s coach was yelling at one of his players, Beto, a lot, so we took up his cause and started yelling “Go, Beto, go!” or “BETOOOOOOOOOO.” Somebody has to look out for the little guy, even if he isn’t on your team.

At one point, a Black player was slightly injured and came to the sideline near us to have a trainer look at his leg. He pulled down his sock and shinguard and turned his foot out, giving us a perfect look at his beautiful, muscled young body from ankle to thigh.

It was so perfect. It looked like God had reached down into the stuff of creation and had sculpted the leg that all legs should be based on. Every muscle stood out in perfect relief under that perfect dark brown skin.

CC and I both let out an involuntary groan and I gasped “Wow.”

“That,” she said, “Does not leave much to the imagination.” Little beads of sweat popped out on our ladylike brows.

Should two 50-something spinsters be regarding a gorgeous young man with such unrestrained admiration? Oh, hell, let’s just say it – with lust – ? I don’t know. But I do know I couldn’t help it. I was like a hyena staring at the little gazelle.

Late in the game, our team put in a very tall, very very white player, whom CC immediately started calling “Guero.” So for the rest of the game, we yelled mainly for Guero, (in the white) who CC accused of being lazy and not wanting the ball enough.

In the end, it was a 1-1 tie. We came home with our throats sore and our butts cold, but a good time was had by all. I love that beautiful game.