Even though Mr. Octopus’ uncle Paul in Germany had predicted Spain to win the World Cup (and Paul was never, ever wrong, that bastard), he himself had been rooting for the Netherlands. Maybe it was because he went to Amsterdam that one time in college, or maybe it was because he had one beautiful Dutch friend, Wiebke, who he was secretly in love with, or maybe it was because he loved Heineken and hated paella. It had been a good match in general, but Mr. Octopus felt the referee was totally biased against Holland. Maybe his girlfriend had run away with a Dutchman and he was taking it out on the team. Oh well. Now there was nothing to do but sit on the fire escape, watch the melancholic sunset, and drink himself into a stupor. Sadly, he didn’t even have any Heineken in the fridge, so he had to settle for an old bottle of wine. This day sucked.*Dedicated to one Wiebke Van Amsterdam and her family, who showed us such lovely hospitality when we visited so many years ago.
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