Utrecht, November 22nd – 23rd

Hi Jitse,

Yesterday I came to the public library to respond to your post. It’s a fantastic library right in the center of Utrecht that opened two years ago following a lengthy conversion from an old Post Office. Kind of fitting that I’m writing our correspondence from here. I’m actually back today, because yesterday I only managed to jot down some rough ideas of what I wanted to write about, and by the time that was done, I didn’t really have an inspiration to write anything interesting. Today feels different. Another excuse is that yesterday I took the time to watch (and listen!) to some football. The pressure to write something doesn’t bother me, I welcome it, and actually what I feel more pressured to do is watch more football. The games are coming fast, and already today I feel I can only get in a bit of the evening game, and only if I’m lucky at that. As I’m writing the Germans are ahead by a goal against the Japanese, and earlier today there was a 0–0 draw. So it appears I haven’t missed too much. When Knausgaard wrote his book in 2014, if I’m recalling correctly he already had a family with three children. Possibly four. How. How!? The only thing I can think of is that the Scandinavian state so heavily subsidized child care that he just booted them there for eight hours a day, and also then by that time he was already an established writer making decent coin so that he was able to hire one or two able bodies to help around the house. He must have been really good at setting boundaries – to say to his family, “Look, I am going to have to write for eight, ten, twelve hours a day. It may look like I’m smoking cigarettes and drinking coffee all day, but I am actually working. Also, as a part of that, I’ll be watching a helluva lot of football. You do want me to put food on the table, don’t you?” I’m struggling to make that case with my family right now. My argument this morning was that, under normal circumstances, I’d be working 50 hours a week right now, so consider the fact that I’m away for 3 hours a day a damn blessing. That didn’t go down so well, but in the end I managed to get out for a few hours, in exchange for bringing back a few kilos of kaki fruits, which are in season at the moment.

Before our son was born I was accustomed to making a to do list that constituted exercise, trumpeting, reading and studying Spanish. Somehow that worked well for me, and given the amount of time I had, relatively easy to accomplish. It didn’t necessarily feel like a to-do list however and eventually it started to feel natural. You’ll notice that writing wasn’t on that list, I have wanted to make it part of the daily regiment, but, but I don’t know why yet, it’s something that didn’t stick. Probably because it’s the hardest.

So here we are, I am writing, and it is good to do so.

On many occasions I’ve been asked about why I was staying in a dead end job. I’ll still need to do some more introspection, but at the root I would say it was fear. Can you believe, that already back in 2015 (!), following the announcement that my boss, one of the only true leaders I came across during my tenure, would be leaving, I already knew it was game over, and that anyone who would replace him would just be a corporate muppet out only to serve themselves. So much so that I took a trip to Madrid, because I was going to pack my bags and go back to Canada and wanted to take the final opportunity to make some travel. Since then, my career, if you’ll call it that, has puttered out into nothing. Largely I was staying on, because of money, and by then I had learned to some degree the art of doing nothing (but not to the degree of a VP) and getting some money in the bank. You know those seamstresses you talk about in your neighborhood? Well, that’s the kind of WORK I’m used to. So you can only imagine how I felt when I found out you can sit behind a laptop looking at fake numbers and bullshit left right and center and get paid for it. Of course, I would not wish this fate upon my son, but it’s also the reason why I feel compelled to do it. If I can save enough money, I hope he can be spared from this travesty and never find himself in my situation. I promise, I will come back to this topic and do some more venting soon.

The discipline you speak of hasn’t quite found its way to me, and I’ve just checked my phone to see that the Japanese have made a tremendous comeback. I’m wondering, if at the stroke of midday you are frantically checking the phone and social media, to get that hit? Or does the self control from the morning transfer throughout the remains of the day?

On the topic of self control and since I am exposing myself, I need to confess that along with dopamine hits from the internet, every morning I am spiking my sugar levels as with the morning coffee I am also devouring sweets and pastries. These days, next to some breastmilk there’s a big box of baklava from the Syrian bakery located a few minutes cycling from my house. The intention is always to have one or two and make it last throughout the week, but I’m back every two days, ordering another box with a tinge of guilt. Is it really only coffee you’re drinking, or do you sometimes indulge as well? What’s a common accompaniment with coffee in SK?

Right, so the Japanese have upset the Germans, and yesterday we witnessed an even bigger shocker with Argentina losing to Saudi Arabia. I watched the second half outside with the Ipad perched upon Milo’s stroller, to the scorn of my family. But they weren’t too upset since they brought me a cup of tea to keep me warm. My initial conviction that Argentina would win the whole thing wasn’t based on form or the strength of the squad, rather, I had suspected that the powers at be conspired to give, not only Argentina, but the world a placating dose of good old hope by way of Messi finally hoisting the cup. Corona, inflation, war, all awful things, but if you can tread through enough shit, you, like Leo, you too can achieve all your dreams. Call me a lunatic, but as indicated in Angels with Dirty Faces, not all entirely out of the realm of possibility. This little blip against the Saudi’s is just adding to the hero’s story.

For the other games, so far I don’t have the luxury to take in a full 90 minutes, and am having to make do with a half. I watched 45 minutes of the opener with Qatar on my phone while Milo was sleeping on me. I still haven’t perfected this and was terribly uncomfortable throughout. The match, from what I saw, was largely forgettable, and the only thing that stuck out to me was the coach of Qatar. I don’t know anything about him, but he had exactly the kind of demeanor I’d expect, and his expressions of indifference could not be more suitable for the squad and circumstances. With Mexico vs Poland I listened to a half (available in English on BBC Radio if you’re interested). My eyes were thirsty and begging to watch, but I found it an interesting exercise, and not only for pragmatic reasons, I intend to do that again and write some more about it. Unfortunately I missed out on Denmark vs Tunisia, it wasn’t the barnburner you had predicted, so I don’t think I can complain too much? The evening concluded with France vs Australia, but that was on in the background and the domination of the French quickly bored me. What I took most away were the French shirts, so far from what I’ve seen, that one has been the most pleasing to the eye for myself. The worst one, even more dire than Canada has got to be the Belgian jersey with the sleeves aflame. All you need is some wrap around sunglasses and bam you’ve got yourself the typical Southern USA racist.

So tonight I will watch the Canadians against the racists, uh, Belgians. Since I’ve been away for well over a decade, the patriot in me has long since waned and I’ll be indifferent as to how they’ll perform. Somewhere I read that this is just a warm-up, to get a little taste of playing on this stage, before giving it a serious go at home in 2026. By then, I REALLY think I’ll be living in Canada, and at least when it comes to the World Cup, that is not a bad thing. Firstly, like the rest of North America, every cafe and restaurant comes equipped with one, two, or a hundred TV’s broadcasting every sporting event imaginable, all the time, so there is never a shortage of places to watch. Secondly, especially in Toronto, you could easily find the ethnic neighborhood of every participating country, and throughout the day move from one to another to soak up the atmosphere. Little Saudi Arabia, as those neighborhoods are colloquially known, must have been euphoric. It’s with a bit of sadness that I can only speculate that the games will be on at my parents house. At least until 2008, the games were always on and enjoyed, regardless of which nation was playing.

Before getting too sentimental, it’s time I leave to go buy the ransom for my time, those kaki fruits. And ok if you want the truth, but I swear entirely by coincidence the baklava shop is right next to the fruit seller.

Jack