Jury Duty, Part II: The Roar of Silence

So I've been VERY SPECIFICALLY INSTRUCTED by an official-looking adult man in a black wizard robe every day that I am NOT TO DISCUSS any aspect of the case on which I have been shanghai'd as a juror. Sorry, as an ALTERNATE juror. I notice I'm using A LOT of capitalization for emphasis here. It seems I've got a few things pent up that need screaming out.

But alas, like I said, I can't actually talk about the things I've been wrapped up in for the past week-and-a-bit. One thing I can share is that my weird-ass friend Sarah* is incredibly jealous of my jury service. She's a little bit ahead of me on the Great Conveyor Belt of Life** and has never had the immense jingoistic pleasure of wielding the scales of justice like a pair of heavy brass semi-spherical nunchaku, the way I currently am. Or, more accurately, the way twelve people siting in very close proximity to me in the jury box are every day while I sit there and hope one of them has a VERY SURVIVABLE brain aneurysm so all this sleeping with my eyes open will be worth it in the end. It mitigates her jealousy when she can mock me for my superfluousness to the entire proceeding.

I'm doing a lot of teasing here about what I can and can't say, but the judge never said I couldn't ALLUDE to what the case was about. He also never specifically mentioned the ramifications of doing so on a semi-public*** blog published anonymously. I'm going to go ahead and call that a "loop-hole" even though I'm not actually sure what that means.

What if I just obscured some facts? Like if I told you I was listening to the arguments in the schmivorce proceedings between Jangelina Aolie and Prad Bitt? Would you be interested then?!

OK, divorces don't have juries and I have no idea if those people are actually divorced or not. I'm afraid, OK? And I'm incredibly frustrated that the secret I'm being asked to keep isn't actually an interesting one. It makes it SO MUCH HARDER not to just blurt it out. I need the satisfaction of your utter disinterest.

Oh, I know! I'll talk about soccer!

It's World Cup time! The World Cup is my favorite thing! I love it more than burritos or mountains or even Game of Thrones, which I can't believe I just said.

My jury duty starts at 10 am so it's allowing me time to watch the early games from Russia. I don't have time to review all the games, so I'm going to go through really quickly and assess some of the teams at this stage. Think of it as a quick primer if you haven't been watching, which, statistically speaking, you almost certainly aren't.

Russia: Host country, currently smashing all competitors, probably totally legit.

France: A separate place from Italy entirely, who are actually not playing?

Uruguay: Indifferent to how you pronounce it, apparently. A country of mensches.

Japan: One of several teams who like blue, but who are also not Italy.

Australia: Kicky. But not in a purely soccer sense.

Germany: Maybe don't talk to them right now. A little in their feelings. Give them a few days.

Mexico: Maybe don't talk to them right now. A little in the bag. Give them a few months.

Iceland: Such nice boys.

Portugal: Insouciant. Pouty. Ne'er-do-well. If soccer was a tan leather jacket with lots of pleats.

Spain: Functional. Practical. Starchy. If soccer was a pair of cargo capris with very crisp creases.

Argentina: In their room, in a sort of Coldplay headspace. Best to just give them a minute.

Brazil: Actually haven't seen them play yet. I'm sure everything's fine.

Senegal: Bendy. Opportunistic. Escapists. Like a Gumby but... well, the exact same color as Gumby as well.

Panama: A country with a little more than 1/100th the population of the United States who, like Italy, are not here.

Belgium: Pure sex, a phrase that has never been used in the context of any Belgian anything ever.

England: Building up to that glorious tradition of finding a way to succeed to exactly the point where it will hurt their supporters most when they inevitably fail.

I don't have the time to cover everything, but those are the broad strokes. I'm watching almost every game, with the help of my DVR, which means I spend most of my days diving past the windows of sports bars and army-crawling along sidewalks so I don't accidentally see a score of a game I haven't watched yet. It's rough on the elbows and knees, but my core is bangin'.

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*This is TOTALLY HER REAL NAME. Hi, Sarah. Love you, Sarah.

**I'm not sure I'm allowed to use the phrasing "older than me." Can't be too careful.

***Not sure how else to characterize a thing anyone could theoretically see but virtually no one actually wants to