forza italia!

in light of the 2010 FIFA world cup which is now in full-swing, i would like to take a moment of silence to commemorate the magnificent roberto baggio in all of his jheri-curl-mullet-pony glory. bestill my heart. better known as il divin codino, or the "divine ponytail", baggio (along with the rest of the italian national team) fully consumed my 10 year old life over the course of the steamy summer of 1994. oh, to witness that glistening olive skin and mop of ratty curls flouncing upon his back of jersey blue once again would be but a dream.

i have such vivid memories of this particular summer. we were experiencing the most intense heat wave; the air was intolerably thick and moist, and the only brief relief we could find was directly in front of our solitary (and barely functioning) household air conditioner. to catch the early games i would sometimes wake up at 6am or earlier, stumble groggily into the family room, press record on our vcr, and return to bed. i would spend mornings riding my bicycle to the nearby nature center where i would sit and reflect, much in the way does a middle-aged woman in the midst of a life crisis (i've clearly been like this for the entirety of my life). and then, checking my over sized stop watch, i would hop back on my green huffy and race home to catch the afternoon games. salty fingers in gardetto's snack mix. tall perspiring glasses of lipton iced tea. sweaty bangs. hanes v-necks & umbro shorts. bare thighs sticking to leather couch cushions. and a whole lot of squealing.

italy vs. brazil in the final tournament match was agonizing, and the no scoring game + overtime was emotionally debilitating. poorpoor roberto, set to kick the final penalty shot to win it, was overcome by all sorts of stress demons and sent the shot soaring well over the goal post. i am slightly chagrined by the fact that this still makes my heart hurt and my eyes sting. and so roberto, wherever you are- i hope you have sought a route in the likes of michael bolton and/or the great pauly shore by shedding the solace of your pretty-pony-mane, that you have reclaimed your life and masculinity, and become at peace with your strange, buddhist self. i salute you, sha-wing.