I love when unusual words enter the English language, inveterate devourer of words that it is. But it’s truly a shame that the producer of an incessant buzzing sound that drives people to insane rage gets a cool moniker like “vuvuzela.”
I’m no soccer fan–I share that all-American numbness in the face of corner kicks, that helpless revulsion at watching players nurse a shin-kick like Jerry Lewis playing Richard III. I played real football, the kind in which my sole team-sport talent–the ability to throw a football with deadly accuracy, if I do say so myself–came into play.
That said, I am kind of looking forward to tomorrow, when the U.S. “football” team takes on Ghana. But if my friend Andrew brings his vuvuzela, things could get ugly. I want to see the French broadcast, in which they’ve figured out how to filter those numbskull trumpets right out.
