Greatest Spread Ever, Bourbon and Copa Craziness

What a weekend. Took it easy Friday night knowing that there would be a lot of living packed into the rest of the weekend - with a Philly wedding on Saturday and the World Cup Finals on Sunday.

Saturday was a lot of fun. Kim was out getting her hair and makeup done, so I got a few hours of father-son time with The Man Zachary. I got him up, gave him his bottle and proceeded to spend the next two hours being crawled on, drooled on and head-butted. My little guy has some Zidane in him (more on this later). It was awesome!

Kim needed to be at the hotel at 11:30am, and as usual, we were running slightly behind. We needed gas (the wedding ceremony was in Mt. Airy, the hotel in Center City - two places where running out of gas could seriously affect your weekend), and we needed something to eat. We accomplished both in Exton, and I assured my wife that as long as we were on the highway by 11am, I would have no problem getting her to the Crown Plaza on time. This bit of Vince-math was quasi-solid, but did not take into consideration traffic back-ups caused by car fires in the vicinity of the Girard Ave. exit of the Schuylkill Expressway eastbound. The backup began just after the City Line Ave. exit and the tension began to rise. The next half-mile of travel would take approximately 35 minutes. We were now officially late, and the fire truck that came speeding by on the shoulder caused my wife to let out an anguished shriek. It was at this very moment that I took a step backwards in my development as a kind, understanding spouse. You see, my wife is a great person, but she is also a worrier. I tend to handle crisis situations in a relatively calm manner, so as to better handle them. Not-so-much with Kim. She tends to wear her emotions on her sleeve (and this is something I love about her,usually). So, after she voiced her thoughts for the fourth time that we were late and were probably going to be egregiously so, I asked that if she was going to continue to spaz, to please do so utilizing an "inner monologue". I actually said this to her. Needless to say, my request earned me some nasty looks and a very perturbed wife. However, I prefer the angry-at-Vince Kim to the uber-worrying, spazzing Kim. I should not have said what I said, but unexpected bumper-to-bumper traffic and a deadline for arrival are stressful enough. I did apologize, but the damage was done.

Traffic opened up a lot faster than I expected it to, and I commend the Philadelphia Police and Fire Dpeartments for a quick job-well-done. We arrived at the hotel around 12:15, which gave Kim ample time to get ready. I drove two of Kim's friends to the service, which was a full Catholic mass running almost an hour-and-a-half. The length of the service blew up my plan to visit Tower Records between the service and the reception, but my disappointment would not last long. Ah, the reception. I can honestly say that I have never seen a better setup. The cocktail hour spread was as thing of pure beauty. There was enough fantastic food to fill every guest three times over. There was a fry bar with beef, shrimp and chicken skewers, a sushi station, pasta dishes, colossal shrimp, lobster tails...It was a fat man's heaven. Dinner was equally spectacular, as was the dessert table. I've never seen anything like it. Color me ridiculously impressed. And stuffed. Then there were the bars. I had a couple Boddington drafts at the pub while we waited for the shuttle, and given my newfound lack of tolerance, I felt them immediately. Began drinking bourbon and gingers shortly after arriving at the reception. Got silly in a hurry. While my wife was unhappy with me having so many drinks, I am thrilled to report a complete lack of my doing anything stupid or embarassing. I am also thrilled to report that I was completely checked out and given the eye by a gorgeous 23-year-old blonde upon arriving for the party. My wife witnessed this and I was put in a downright euphoric mood for the next few hours. I promised the mother-of-the-bride that I would dance with her, and I am guessing I will figure somewhat prominently in the wedding video as I was pulled onto the dance floor multiple times. My wife has a lot to complain about with me, but I feel she takes for granted how much fun I can be...

Sunday morning came and recovery was needed. We had no headache meds in our room and I knew that functionality on Sunday morning required some pre-bed ibuprofen. Thankfully my wife forgave me for our late-night spat concerning my alcohol intake, and she went to the lobby to get me some much-needed Advil. Got a nice breakfast at the hotel pub/restaurant (banger sausages rule!) and I was well on my way to recovery. Got out of the city in plenty of time to get home for the World Cup final between Italy and France. My Dad, Gabby, Nicole and Rob came over to watch the match with me, and we had a good time. I blasted the Italian national anthem more than a few times during the pre-game show, and we were ready to rock.

The first half was very exciting. France scored first after an early (and questionable) penalty kick was awarded - sucking the energy out of my living room. Italy bounced back quickly to tie the score, sending Casa di Blando into complete hysterics. Italy dominated most of the rest of the first half, narrowly missing a go-ahead goal. It looked as though Italy had taken a lead early in the second half but my near-kicking of good friend Rob while I jumped for joy was for naught as the goal was disallowed. The rest of the game was actually very boring, as both sides seemed to be too tired to push for a go-ahead goal. After two scoreless overtimes, the game game would go to a penalty-kick shootout - the bane of every Italian soccer fan's existence. Italy's history of losing every match of note that has gone to penalties was so painful that my father left the living room and went out back before the shootout began. Italy ended up prevailing, breaking a jinx of epic proportions and sending millions of Italians and those of Italian descent into delirium. I must say that the Italian Cup win brought me joy, but to see the Championship decided on penalty kicks was almost anti-climactic. Brent Musberger said it best - "the match must end sometime", and he has a point. With two exhausted teams, it is possible that a match could go on for days without a goal being scored. I wish there was a way for FIFA to create a better way of deciding matches. The NHL uses shootouts now to settle regular-season games, but they would never use them for playoff games. Perhaps the substitution rules need to be tweaked for tournament knockout overtime sessions, but other than that solution, I cannot think of a way to fairly decide the outcome of a soccer match.

I am still in amazement over French star Zinadine Zidane's head-butt meltdown in overtime yesterday. If you haven't seen it, you should check it out. Here is one of the most decorated and celebrated players in the history of the game having an absolute loss of control and attacking another player - with his head. The incident did not spark an outcry from me - but it did raise some questions. First, what did Italy's Marco Materazzi say to make Zidane lose it like that? My initial thoughts were that it had to be of a very personal and most likely racial in nature (Zidane is of Algerian descent, and published reports have suggested that Materazzi called him a 'terrorist', a charge that Materazzi vehemently denies). Secondly, if you are going to attack someone, who chooses their head as a first option. Zidane's "tete" is quite formidable, but only a soccer player or a member of the WWF's former tag-team champions "The Wild Samoans" would lead with their melon in that situation. It was shocking, and I must say, fairly comical. It was definitely a "did that really just happen?!?" moment. I am happy Italy won the Cup, and while it stinks that it had to be decided in penalties, at least my Father will no longer have to leave the room should Italy be forced into another penalty kick shootout.

[Currently Listening: Quiet Riot - "Metal Health"]