As I end a self-imposed 24-hour fast from all soccer-related news in anticipation of watching a my downloaded copy of the now-concluded Barcelona v Chelsea 2nd leg series (thanks MFF!), my thoughts turn to my other love. No, not the theatre, which Catalans, practitioners of fine art, enjoy. Fashion, dear friend, the sartorial arts.
Fashion and the footballer, for those who appreciate both the alliteration and the Anglicism, live together in a rather dysfunctional manner. Not quite at the level of Olympic figure skating, but a strange pair nonetheless. There’s something about those powerful thighs, toned calves, full bootys, and bizzare hair that causes both sides to verily leap ‘pon ‘nother. Natural attraction, if you will.
But the starry eyes of love are only used by those intimately involved. For the rest of us, encountering the discarded evidence of the affair, a range from bemusement to shock to repulsion registers. This happens in both the domestic and foreign leagues.
As an MLS fan, I can sympathize with the desire of the league and its stars to promote the sport here in America. Perhaps any publicity is beneficial publicity. But when you view the fashion shoot from four years ago that appeared in the New York Times spring trend supplement, you do question the viability of such principles. And the viability of such tight pants ever functioning in the non-New York world.
Not that professionals in the rest of the world fare any better. On the one hand, you have David Beckham. Yes, those are indeed leather pants. On the other hand, you have Brazil. I’ve previously referred to Mr. Ed, aka Ronaldinho. And then there’s the referees. Yep, that’s pink he’s wearing.
Thanks to ‘lissa, this post was simply a narrative put to the gut-busting twenty minutes of video-and-picture-watching we spent the other night.