For the United States, the World Cup is over, bringing Americans welcome relief from a suffocating atmosphere of boredom that engulfed our nation like a gigantic bowl of green Jello stretching from our Pacific coastline to the shores of the Atlantic, giving everything a nauseating imitation lime taste, not to mention staining the sky a vomitous shade of chartreuse.
In the final game, Belgium defeated the United States — a sentence so nonsensical it’s almost an absurdist work of art, like one of those Salvador Dali paintings where a gigantic eyeball melts beneath a hole in the sky while elephants with spindly legs thrust their trunk tips into the clouds and trumpet the words, “Belgium defeated the United States,” as if that could actually happen in any situation besides a soccer game no self-respecting country should have been involved with in the first place.
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