LAFC vs. Guadalajara: My Saturday Just Got Worse

LAFC-Guadalajara, huh?

Great.

Just what I needed this morning. More reasons to regret not being a millionaire athlete.

My Saturday? Started with a cold shower. Maybe a bit too cold.

Then the kids woke up. Screaming. As always.

Breakfast was a blur of spilled milk and half-eaten toast.

Now I'm staring at this trend. LAFC. Guadalajara. Big game. Big money.

Guys running around on a field. Chasing a ball.

Meanwhile, I'm chasing a decent cup of coffee. And my sanity.

I’m sure they’re all hydrating. Stretching. Eating quinoa.

Me? Hydrating with lukewarm coffee. Stretching for the remote. Eating cold pizza crusts.

Probably a packed stadium. Roaring fans. Beers flowing. Real beers, not the watered-down crap I buy.

Someone's making bank today.

Someone's getting drunk and celebrating.

Someone's not staring at a growing pile of laundry and an overdue work email.

Fuckers.

I used to play soccer. Once.

When I was, like, eight.

Now my knees creak just walking to the fridge.

My 'game day' involves trying to get the lawnmower started. Or fixing that leaky faucet the wife's been on my ass about.

No glory. No cheering crowds. Just the dog judging my efforts.

Guadalajara. Sounds exotic. Probably smells like sunshine and good food.

My house smells like stale diapers and existential dread.

Guess I'll watch some highlights later. If I remember.

After I wrangle the kids.

After I finish that report.

After I manage to sneak a Jameson or two without the missus noticing.

Yeah. Great game, guys. Really thrilling. Wish I gave a shit.

Now, where's that Advil?