CWC Preview: Barça – Atlante FC, Wednesday 11amEST, FSC/FSE
The sand drifts casually along, the footprints on the beach gently washed away by warm, clear seawater. The sky is blue as blue gets, the ocean turquoise, the sun casually sending you warmth and wonder, a breeze ruffles your hair. Your mind conjures up all the lovely scenes of Caribbean paradises, of half-naked beauties following you along, and then you realize you have no idea how you got here. It’s seven am and there’s sand down your shorts, what feels like gum in your hair, and your head feels like someone cracked it with a baseball bat.
The memories are, of course, slowly coming back: the thumping bass, thousands of gringos shouting and dancing with massive white-boy overbites, all having some sort of conniption fit as another song that sounds just like the previous song reverberates over the beach. A guy runs up to you and demands you pound the jesus out of this beer bong, you pansy. Things get hazy quickly, but dammit you love Cancun, you love the sun, the parties, and, of course, The Hobbit.