Ice, ice, baby

The World Cup kicks off this week in Russia, and you know what that means, Blobophiles.

No, not that kleptocrat and master puppeteer ("Dance, Donny! Dance!") V. Putin will get to validate his criminal regime the way another murdering psychopath once did with the 1936 Berlin Olympics. Although that's certain to be a bit of history repeating itself.

No, this is the part where the Blob, a reformed soccer hater, gets to detail once again its journey from making fun of the World Cup to being wholly into it. This happened for the usual reason, i.e., education. I learned how to watch the game from hanging around people who know the game. As with any sport, the more you know about it, the more you appreciate it. Just ask anyone who doesn't know baseball what a crashing bore that game is, at least to them.

Anyway, the premier athletic event in the world is upon us again, and the Blob will be watching. Its knowledge is still imperfect, but it knows enough to tell you for whom to root. And, no, it's not the usual suspects, the Brazils and Argentinas and Spains and Germanys.

It's Iceland.

Let's hear it for the Ice ... landics, landers, whatever. They became the darlings of international soccer two summers ago, when they reached the quarterfinals of the Euro Cup, the only international tournament in which they'd ever played. They even beat England in the round of 16, for pity's sake. And they had all these awesome Viking names, and a Viking dance, and even, swear to Odin,  a Thor -- Birkir Bjarnason, known by that nickname in his home country.

How could you not root for that?

Now they're back, with a roster again overserved by a glorious array of accent marks. There are Birkirs and Ragnars and Holmars, Runars and Rukiks and Olafurs. They're known by a wonderfully homey nickname ("Our Boys"), and they're still underdogs, and, really, who doesn't want to see them make another run like they did two years ago?

Are they going to win the Cup? Hell, no. They might not even get out of their group. Plus, the Brazils and the Argentinas and the Spains and the Germanys are simply better. Also France, probably. Also a bunch of other countries I'm probably leaving out.

Anyway, in a year when America played like, well, Americans in the qualifiers and missed out on the World Cup, you could do worse than to root for Iceland.  Go Vikings!  Pillage! Burn!

Or, just score a lot. That'll work, too.