The Blood of my Soccer Forefathers

by Regis Boff

Unlike that dopey woman in the “Ancestry” TV commercials, I am delighted to find no Native Americans in my family tree. They don’t field a soccer team, so I have dodged a hereditary bullet.
With the elimination of the U.S. from the World Cup I had to scurry to find teams to identify with superficially. Usually, this is a simple matter of choosing my race and proceeding from there. But this athletic event is far different. Typically we Nordics can be counted on to win everything. But the devious nature of this “no hands sport” offers little in size and winter coat advantage, so I was compelled to grope through my ancestors praying for any connection to blood from south of the border. I found none.
Just as gloom was setting in, however, I discovered that one of my great, great aunts had been fucking some guy from Iceland. Go Iceland!!!!!