These are not normal times, boys and girls, and so when we get a moment of normal, it often feels like a moment of zen. As in, "The universe is a wondrous and holy place, no matter how batshite crazy those people in America get."
And so on a weekend when a kid with a gun fetish plinked the grand poobah of the gun-fetish crowd in the ear with a round or shrapnel from an AR-15 (the preferred fetish object of the gun fetish-ers), we yearned for normal like manna from heaven. Anything to briefly escape the Home for the Criminally Bizarre the good old US of A has become.
Enter merry olde England.
(Which itself is a bizarre thing to say, considering the last thing we told merry olde England was "Exit, please.")
Anyway, England played Spain yesterday in the Euro final, and normal prevailed again. In other words, the Brits struck their colors right on cue, losing to Spain 2-1.
This was behavior learned long ago by the English side, which hasn't won a World Cup in 58 years and manages to wanker it up every time it gets within a sniff of a major international title. Nothing on earth is more comfortingly pro-forma than England stepping in it on the world (or in this case, the European) stage. You can set your watch by it if for some odd reason you still wear a watch.
Frankly, this bothers a lot of folks not at all, given the rep English soccer fans have for breaking things and beating people up. England forever choking, some might even say, is divine retribution. Asshats get what asshats deserve, and so saith the Lord.
At any rate, here's to our former overlords. When you live in a country you increasingly suspect has dropped acid en masse, any ray of clarity is appreciated.
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