France vs. England in the quarterfinals of the World Cup.
Saturday, Dec. 10. Kickoff: 11 a.m.
First order of business: backyard ball.
Bow’s a natural-born goalie. Just try to score on her. Go low and she pounces and smothers. Go high and she’s like a seal at SeaWorld. Point being: the ball ain’t getting by her.
France’s Hugo Lloris and England’s Jordan Pickford are spectacular, but they have nothing on her.
We headed to Pepe’s for breakfast burritos and a treat for Bow (Pepe’s, 821 N. Placentia Ave. in Fullerton, is dog-friendly). We figured we’d eat early, leaving just enough room for an ale in the afternoon.
The Olde Ship, our town’s favorite British Pub, was packed. A tented, outside area had been set up. With a big-screen TV. We glad-handed our futbol-loving friends, many of whom were British.
Of course, Bow could not have cared less about the match. And she wasn’t the center of attention. Despite all the cheering and jeering, she long-sighed before halftime and dozed off.
France won, 2-1, in a thriller. The Brits were wrecked. Bow was refreshed. Her buoyancy and their despondency made for an interesting juxtaposition.
And guess what? Now she was needed. Now they were turning to her for comfort, for something to smile about. Now she was getting the adoration she expects.
The cliche goes, it’s not whether you win or lose, but how you play the game.
That’s Bow on Saturdays and, come to think of it, every day.