Look, the Blob has no beef with the French. I love me some croissants. I love me some coq au vin. Paris is an amazing city, especially the Musee d'Orsay and Le Maquis, this little neighborhood restaurant just down the hill from Sacre Coeur that my wife and I once stumbled on.
And, yes, the French play some beautiful soccer.
Nonetheless, I'll be rooting for Croatia to win the World Cup Sunday.
I'll be rooting for Croatia not because I have a drop of Croat blood in my veins -- I don't, as far as I know -- but because the Blob has an incurable streak of sentimentality that compels it to root for the little guy 99 percent of the time. And let's face it, Croatia is the little guy here.
The entire country is about the size of West Virginia, for one thing. You could fit its entire population (4.2 million) in New York City twice, and fully a third of its population lives in or around the capital city of Zagreb. And it hasn't had its own identity in the last 500 years, having first been a part of the Habsburg Empire and then a part of Yugoslavia before declaring its independence in 1991.
That makes Croatia just 27 years old. And yet it's already finished third in one World Cup, and has made the World Cup final for the first time in the young nation's history. Considering England, whom it beat in the semifinals, hasn't reached a final in 52 years, that's a pretty remarkable track record.
Plus, Croatia has the most awesome color scheme: red-and-white checks. Their fans even paint their faces in red-and-white checks. You gotta love that.
So, go Croatia. I might even paint my face in red-and-white checks in your honor.
OK, so I won't. But it's the thought that counts, right?
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