D.L. Stewart: Hoping to get a kick out of something different

Contact this columnist at dlstew_2000@yahoo.com.

This afternoon a couple of my buddies and I plan to do something entirely different:

We’re going to a bar to watch football.

What makes this Sunday different than other Sundays, though, is that “football” is spelled “futbol” and the bar is called a “brewpub.” (At this point I’m not sure which brewpub it will be, butI’m sure we’ll be able to find one, seeing as how several dozen new ones open every other day in Dayton.)

I have no real interest in soccer — or brewpubs for that matter — but both are very trendy this month, despite the best efforts of curmudgeons such as myself to ignore them.

And, having spent more than my share of Sundays perched on the edge of a barstool watching the Cleveland Browns valiantly avoid victory, this afternoon shouldn’t present a challenge.

Still, watching an entire soccer match and going to a brewpub both will be new experiences for me; all I know about brewpubs is that they serve hundreds of beers with funny names and if you order a Bud Light the bartender probably will ignore you. Or even become downright surly.

But, as I’m nursing my Olde Foggy Dogpatch Double IPA, how am I supposed to react to the game on the screens?

Unlike those other Sundays, during which I can root for the Browns or any team that isn’t the Baltimore Ravens, I don’t really care which team wins the World Cup. And even assuming I can settle on a favorite team, I wouldn’t be sure how to cheer for it.

While their team was trouncing Brazil in Tuesday’s semifinal, The New York Times reported, German fans chanted “What a day! So beautifully wonderful is today!” Which doesn’t resound like “Here we go Brownies, here we go … woof, woof.” But maybe it’s catchier in German.

If, on the other foot, my team performs the way the Browns generally do, how should I voice my disgust? As their team was in the process of giving up several hundred goals Tuesday, Brazilian fans reportedly took up obscene chants about the players and their country’s president. Swearing at my team’s players certainly wouldn’t be foreign to me, but I’m not sure what taking Barack Obama’s name in vain would have to do with anything.

Despite all these questions, this afternoon I’ll try not make a bitter face while I sip my weird beer, not make snide remarks about the lack of scoring and do my best to enjoy watching “futbol” at a brewpub.

If nothing else, maybe I’ll find consolation in knowing that it’s less than two months until the real thing kicks off.

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