Kurt playing keeper.
Me, playing sports photographer. Harold, camera grip.
Mule, enjoying the wind in his ears.
Harold, cheering Kurt on!
Kurt joined a soccer league. He described his first game game: "I spent 70 minutes in left wing and 30 minutes farting in the box (as demonstrated in the top photo)." Best part? He scored a goal! The beebs and I watched attentively from the sidelines and each time Kurt ran by, Mule tried to cheer, although it mostly amounted to nervous whining and lunging toward the field on his leash. Harold was more of a casual observer. He occasionally lost interest and napped in my lap, only waking during snack time to share half of my Babybel. Both Kurt and I received hellacious sunburns. It was one of the first pretty days of the year and 80 degrees, but after months of gray skies, I'd forgotten all about my old friend, sunscreen. Womp.
Our vacation to Sweden is almost a month away! Kurt's 30th birthday falls on our trip, and we've arranged to see a Hammarby match. The team is the most popular football club in Stockholm, and although we've heard they're not the winningest club, they boast having the best fans and songs. Honestly, don't tell anybody, but I find the soccer chants, songs and collective mania of the crowds more intriguing than the sport itself. In the stands, we're expecting to participate in something similar to a riot, only exchange violence/anger with singing/dancing/jumping for joy.