World Cup Champs
We decided to get a
slice of pizza, and started walking south on Steinway. As George spied a pizza shop, I saw a brand new white station
wagon, decorated with blue, and white ribbons, and flying a humongous Argentine
flag on a short pole from the back. It also had a bunch of smaller flags flying
from the sides, and the hood. There must have been ten guys in that wagon, all
shaking their fist, screaming, and yelling.
“Go Argentina
go!”
“Argentina
si!”
“Yo Geoige, check em
out, man!”
“Wada hail is det
sheet, man?’’
“Must be coming fom
they parade, man.”
It was a mini
spectacle, and I thought perhaps they were coming from their parade. I didn’t
have any idea when that was, but I assumed it was. We have parades here all the damned time; there’s always a parade in the
city; we have a freaking parade here for everybody, almost once a week
somewhere during the summer.
As we reached the
door of the pizza shop, somebody screamed,
“Yo Ant, looka deeze
mooks out hea, man!”
“Waaa at?” Came the
response from the back.
“Cah fulladem,
screaming Ahgentina Woild cup champs!”
Traffic was at a
stand still, it was moving like a crowed parking lot, and woe unto to the
Argentines. Their car happened to stop right in front of the pizza shop. All of
a sudden about twenty or more paisans ran out of the pizza shop; they were all big dudes, some big chubby fat, and others looked like gym
rats, all looking like some Soprano character. Those mothers looked mean, and they
were yelling, and screaming.
“Italia go
ItaliiiieeeE!”
“Italia
baaaybeeee!”
“Italy World Champs!”
“Get them faking mooks!”
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