Yeah, I know how it looks: I vow to stop blogging about hockey for a while, and bereft of any thoughts, I stop altogether. In reality, the World Cup final became a bit taxing. The beer, the emotion, the beer, the multiple plates of nachos and wings, the beer, the overtipping something like 100% after drinking too much beer, then off to another place to have more beer, and where I more or less slipped into catatonia.
Good times, though. The WC party was combined with a going-away party for a friend, which led to lots of overstated and probably embarrassing proclamations -- "You are a fucking SAINT, my friend! This city is going to go straight to hell without you!" Repeat 20 times, pausing only to watch Zinedine Zidane go insane at perhaps the least opportune moment.
Thank God the World Cup only comes once every four years. More often would probably kill me.