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A quiet day...
Jul. 10th, 2006 10:39 pmMine was a relatively short day at work, made to feel shorter by supporting a long meeting about halfway through. Sergei Z. relieved me after about 90 minutes, and I returned after an hour to relieve him, only to find that the proceedings were coming to a close, thank goodness.
The rest of the day was free for me, and despite every intention of going down to the workout room to walk the treadmill, it was nearly 6 pm before I knew it. Fortunately, Olga F. called and suggested we put our table tennis rackets to good use, so we batted the ball back and forth - and chased the confounded thing - for nearly an hour and a half. I worked up a good sweat, and I suppose I can count it as a good start in the exercise department.
I'm the early interpreter tomorrow morning, slated to be on the van at 5:45 am, so I'm getting ready to hit the hay, despite the fact I'm not terribly tired.
Along with a number of the French team (and a smattering of Russians and even a couple of Americans), I watched the World Cup final last night. I don't pretend to know a lot about the game, but what soccer lacks in time outs it makes up for in terms of pauses to take care of injured players. It also seems that half the attraction of watching a game of this kind is in the replays of the various fouls committed by the players.
Of course, this kind of morbid interest is not confined to soccer. Basketball fouls, baseball altercations, arguments over tennis calls, and the causes of football penalties fill the airwaves of those respective telecasts, as well, but it seems to me that such replays are less frequent than were shown last night (actually, this morning, between midnight and 2:30 am).
Zinedine Zinane, one of the French stars (I assume, based on the groans among the French when he was sent to the showers by the ref) was red-carded after head-butting one of the Italian players for a reason that was not clear to me. (Later, I was told it was in response to something the Italian player had said, which makes no sense; you don't get to be where Zinane is by allowing yourself to be taken in by that old trick!)
It was Zinane who nailed the penalty kick a few nights ago when the French played the Portuguese, and again this morning against the Italians. Between his brows, his deep-set eyes, and his shaved head, he would not otherwise look out of place if he were cast in a role that calls for a suit of armor, a Viking helmet, and a huge axe.
One thing I noticed about the penalty shootout that ultimately gave victory to the Italians: in almost every case, the respective goalies committed to throwing themselves in a certain direction before actually getting a bead on the ball. I realize that there probably isn't enough time to react if one pauses to evaluate a kicked ball's trajectory, but what I found curious was that in each instance, the goalie wasn't even close in guessing where the ball was going to go.
Ah, well. Time to hit the hay.
Cheers...
The rest of the day was free for me, and despite every intention of going down to the workout room to walk the treadmill, it was nearly 6 pm before I knew it. Fortunately, Olga F. called and suggested we put our table tennis rackets to good use, so we batted the ball back and forth - and chased the confounded thing - for nearly an hour and a half. I worked up a good sweat, and I suppose I can count it as a good start in the exercise department.
I'm the early interpreter tomorrow morning, slated to be on the van at 5:45 am, so I'm getting ready to hit the hay, despite the fact I'm not terribly tired.
Along with a number of the French team (and a smattering of Russians and even a couple of Americans), I watched the World Cup final last night. I don't pretend to know a lot about the game, but what soccer lacks in time outs it makes up for in terms of pauses to take care of injured players. It also seems that half the attraction of watching a game of this kind is in the replays of the various fouls committed by the players.
Of course, this kind of morbid interest is not confined to soccer. Basketball fouls, baseball altercations, arguments over tennis calls, and the causes of football penalties fill the airwaves of those respective telecasts, as well, but it seems to me that such replays are less frequent than were shown last night (actually, this morning, between midnight and 2:30 am).
Zinedine Zinane, one of the French stars (I assume, based on the groans among the French when he was sent to the showers by the ref) was red-carded after head-butting one of the Italian players for a reason that was not clear to me. (Later, I was told it was in response to something the Italian player had said, which makes no sense; you don't get to be where Zinane is by allowing yourself to be taken in by that old trick!)
It was Zinane who nailed the penalty kick a few nights ago when the French played the Portuguese, and again this morning against the Italians. Between his brows, his deep-set eyes, and his shaved head, he would not otherwise look out of place if he were cast in a role that calls for a suit of armor, a Viking helmet, and a huge axe.
One thing I noticed about the penalty shootout that ultimately gave victory to the Italians: in almost every case, the respective goalies committed to throwing themselves in a certain direction before actually getting a bead on the ball. I realize that there probably isn't enough time to react if one pauses to evaluate a kicked ball's trajectory, but what I found curious was that in each instance, the goalie wasn't even close in guessing where the ball was going to go.
Ah, well. Time to hit the hay.
Cheers...
