He believed in holding on. He believed in keeping up. He believed in causing as little trouble as possible, which meant, he supposed, that he believed in squeaking by. He believed in English Breakfast tea and egg-white omelettes. He believed in pocket watches and comfortable shoes. He believed in going to bed at a reasonable hour. He believed in exercising three times a week. He believed there was a mystery at the center of the great but why-is-there-anything called the universe, and that it did not speak to us, or not in a language we could understand, and that it was an insult to the mystery to pretend that it did. He believed nevertheless that his sister was watching him from somewhere just out of sight, that even if her affection for him had died along with her body, her attention — her interest — had not. He believed that his life would make sense to him one day.

-Kevin Brockmeier in The Illumination

I’d also like you to have an awesome(r) 2012.

Happy New Year!

I met a friend for coffee. We sat outside in the sun while we drank it and neither of us complained.

Disco ball bless mild winter days.

I didn’t look too hard because I honestly didn’t know where to look.

RM won. Boo.

There are 25 games left in the season. I haven’t decided if this merits a boo yet.

Athletic lost. Boo.

Two of my favourite things — soccer and caricatures — came together nicely last year before the World Cup in this album of Spanish NT players by Sciammarella for El País. At least I think the artist is Sciammarella. Despite my love for La liga and the Spanish NT, my Spanish is woeful outside of a few key words for important things like “offside” “ball,” “corner,” and “goal.” Because you should try finding an English-language broadcast of an Athletic Club match. They don’t exist.

The highlights besides the always wonderful Xavi (guapo, non?) and his appropriately epic eyebrows (above) are Iniesta, who is a green smudge, and Mata, who reminds me of a thumb.

I am a sucker for the uplifting and inspirational. I am a sucker for the the most clichéed fromage. And I am not (that) ashamed.

Enjoy! There are goals. There are golazos. There are men hugging. There are men crying. And there are some very happy fans.

Tomorrow’s match should be fantastic. As Ray Hudson says in a wonderful little interview about the final:

All the naysayers want to turn this beautiful avocado over and say, “See, they’re not that good.” Doesn’t matter to me. It won’t change my feelings about this team. It’s not just about the trophies with Barcelona.

But I wouldn’t deny United their chance of victory. The way they go about their business, their fans, their history — I had a No. 10 Denis Law shirt as a kid in Newcastle. Even the Liverpool fans recognized what a magnificent club it is. So if Sir Alex Ferguson lifts the trophy, it won’t be heartbreak.

I just hope football is the winner. These are two fabulous teams. It’s a dream final, man.

I hope football is the winner too.