My son and I drove from Dallas to Phoenix two weeks ago. As we drove through El Paso, Ryan found a radio broadcast of the World Cup Final. We had followed the tournament thus far, and though we had no particular favorite in the final, we listened as there was precious little else to do. The drawback was that the broadcast was in Spanish. I couldn’t really understand every word, but I did provide a few translations. (It was apparent that the Latino broadcaster was pulling for his Spanish cousins.) It was nil-nil at the time.
Suddenly the announcer’s voice grew audibly animated and Spain scored. The announcer went nuts. He yelled the word “gol” for like three minutes straight, followed by a few somewhat hoarse, staccato “gol”s for good measure. I looked at Ryan an in the understatement of the year I said, “He’s saying ‘Goal.’ Spain scored.” It was delivered so deadpan he was insulted at the translation until he realized I was being facetious.
Good times.
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