Men, go ahead and enjoy your flag-waving, scantily clad chicks at the beginning of car races and those girls with tig ol’ bitties who prance around with signs in the middle of boxing rings. I’m good, really, and I’m not jealous. I have the World Cup.
I feel that I can speak on behalf of women across the globe when I say that in terms of sexy gentlemen per square meter, the World Cup takes the cake. Sure, it only (tragically) comes every four years, but it’s such a treat when it does. Every day for a month we ladies get to watch men from around the world–real, talented, muscular, rugged (unless you’re Cristiano Ronaldo), FIIIIINE men–play the world’s most beloved sport against one another. It’s like the love child of EPCOT and hot professional athlete dudes. It’s even better when you (like me) understand what’s going on.
In honor of my favorite sporting event of all time, I’ve assembled a starting 11 of international hotties that make up my dream/fantasy marriage team. We’re running a 4-4-2 because I’ve found that midfielders tend to be the best looking ones. It’s been a tough job narrowing it down to just 11 all star studs at that, but I’ve certainly enjoyed my research (player images via FIFA.com).
At starting GK, Brazil’s Julio Cesar.
Okay, maybe Julio Cesar is not the hottest goalie in the World Cup. But his name is Julio Cesar, so he gets my top pick. His parents had to have enormous balls to name their child after the most famous figure in Roman history. It wouldn’t be as cool if he’d ended up a janitor and not the starting keeper for the number one team in the world. The name Jesus has been commonplace enough for people to get away with having it and living mediocre lives, but Julio Cesar? Damn. He’s a, pun intended, keeper.
At defense, my men of the match play as follows:
(Clockwise, from left) Francisco Rodriguez (Mexico), Jan Durica (Slovakia), Gael Clichy (France), and Lucas Neill (Australia). Francisco: me gustas. Can’t wait to see you later today. Jan: In America, your name would be a lady’s, but I assume that in Slovakia the J is silent. To the rest of my defense: good efforts. I’m sorry your teams didn’t make it to the next round, but congratulations on making it to my highly competitive lineup. Hope to see you in four years.
Yoann Gourcuff (France), Kaka (Brazil), Cesc Fabregas (Spain), and Andy Barron (New Zealand). The friends I asked for help in my tremendously difficult and high-stakes selection begged me to put Gourcuff on my team. I personally believe that his FIFA mug shot makes him look like he’s not really with it, but I’ll say that a Google image search yielded results of far higher quality. Dreamboat. And Kaka… his name might sound like Spanish slang for “shit,” but he certainly bears no resemblance to feces. And he’s damn good at soccer. So is Señor Fabregas, who might win if he and Kaka played 1 v. 1 hottie soccer. With Andy Barron my midfield holds it down. Look at that mugshot! He looks like he just reinvented Blue Steel and made it okay for me to make a “Zoolander” joke! Hot damn.
Finally, my forwards:
Argentina’s Sergio Aguero and the Ivory Coast’s Didier Drogba. Aguero is married to Diego Maradona’s (famous soccer figure/his coach) daughter. Can you imagine his life?! Oh, so he’s taken, womp womp, no chance there, but really. Maradona is his father in law. Even if Didier Drogba isn’t the hottest forward on the outside, the man is the captain of my team. He ended civil war in his country by begging the warring factions to stop fighting after he finished a big match. He has done wonderful things with his fame and fortune–what a concept (Kobe, take note)! He is the man.
So… did you notice something? Maybe that there aren’t any Americans in my starting lineup? Allow me to explain. It’s not that I’m partial to international hotties. It’s not because we’ve been eliminated. It’s not that I’m not a patriot. It’s simply come down to the fact that, in my research, I’ve concluded that it is simply impossible to dissect the hotties from the American squad because they’re all sexy as hell. We can’t win the World Cup anymore, but seriously, how can you beat America?! We are the sexy mecca. We’re a damn melting pot. We have men of every color! We can’t go wrong!
I mean, LOOK AT THIS!! Seriously, LOOK! Ho-ly smokes. Wow. Good Lord. Anyone else a little disheveled after that? Thanks, Kristen, for this gem.
And oh, Carlos Bocanegra.
Ay Dios mio, Carlos. Keep your head up, and keep wearing that captain’s armband around your rock-solid bicep, you sexy thing. Oh, and while you’re at it, enjoy another Bud Diesel with the ex-president of the United States.
Really, Benny! Questionable activity and I’m totes fine with it! Look at those ice-blue eyes. You can do no wrong. And thank you for not wearing a shirt.
Landon Donovan is Mr. Clutch, and I love to watch him in that role. Jozy Altidore is a wunderkind. Michael Bradley is the coach’s son–he’s bald and he’s still sexy. You can imagine how distraught I still am that I didn’t get to swoon at Charlie Davies because of his injury. Clint Dempsey works it when he gets all bloodied up after hauling ass up and down the field. And hey, Julio Cesar, we have a guy named Herculez Gomez! We still win! We! Are! Winners!
Ladies, if nothing else about American soccer in South Africa this year has inspired you, allow the men themselves to do the trick. You’re not going to get this level of crazy ridiculous good lookingess in any other of America’s pastimes. By God, support these men! Through ups and downs! In the offseason! They need our love, and I sure as hell am happy to give it.
Thank you to all the sexies of the World Cup, but I’m proud to be an American.
America, the beautiful indeed.