it must be (true love)

BORUSSIA DORTMUND: Echte Liebe, true love. can I truly love a team a) that's located nowhere near me (not even close) & b) that I didn't know existed until two years ago?

ANSWER: probably not, at least not yet -- but first, define true love. is it the feeling I got when I first saw the colors: black & yellow, Wiz Khalifa but also the immense satisfaction of a Pilot pen gliding across a legal pad, a vague reminder of both half-finished Nanowrimo projects & pages of physics problems?

maybe it's just that weird human need to be part of something, even if that something's a soccer team a million miles away in a medium-sized city in Germany, where they call soccer Fußball. a soccer team that's only fielding half its roster because the other half is injured, a soccer team that keeps losing to teams it's supposed to beat... a soccer team that's oft confused with the other BVB, the Black Veil Brides.

(no one else can break my heart like you, Dortmund.)

there's a line in headhunters about Diana: she supports QPR because they're awful & they "need" her in order to avoid relegation. I do not think this is a viable reason to support a team, but there's no denying that the feeling of being needed is why people don't suddenly stop supporting teams when they start losing (and the team that was last season a force to be reckoned with is suddenly sitting ninth in the standings.)

(I mean, I ought to support the Houston Dynamo. my favorite color, ninety minutes away from my hometown, MLS solidarity. what's not to love? I'll watch a match before I leave for college; don't let me forget it.)

nach dem spiel ist vor dem spiel

there are days when: it is six a.m. and you are throwing up after a run. it is nine a.m. and you are throwing carrots across your government classroom. it is twelve p.m. and you are hungry because the cafeteria is out of bananas. it is two p.m. and you are sneezing so much that you are asked to stop. it is three p.m. and you are feeling your hip-bones tear apart the entire world. it is four p.m. and you are avoiding responsibility. it is six p.m. and you are avoiding Tylenol.

& suddenly it is another day at one a.m. and you are watching a violently redheaded Franka Potente race around what is presumably Berlin to the greatest techno you have ever heard in the only film you have ever seen that knows exactly how long it needs to be and not even your one-oh-two fever can kill your vibe. RUN LOLA RUN.