Utrecht, December 2nd

Greetings, from the library’s third floor where I’m sitting covered in a fine white dust that you’ll surely be familiar with. To only offer these spheres of heaven only from mid November until New Year, well to me that is doing the nation a grave disservice.

Let me cut to the chase, and get directly to the football, because damn it has been forgettable, and what I have witnessed is nearly deleted, mercifully, from my memory bank. A decade ago, you would have found me at a bar in Utrecht or Amsterdam, wearing a maple leaf with several other Canadians, feeling the camaraderie, and then experiencing some homesickness while cycling home. This past week, out of what felt more like a sense of duty, I tuned in to the two Canadian games. Firstly, an ugly game against the Belgians, the one-to-nil loss not being so shabby, I remarked with some friends back home on Whatsapp, against the powerhouse Red Devils, ranked SECOND in the world. With one extra pass, they would have had plenty of goal scoring opportunities. With some fine tuning in between, surely the Croatians could be taken down, and when they scored early on in the game, there was a glimmer of hope. Well, by now we know the rest and there’s a lot of work to be done for 2026, a hell of a lot.

Next up we had Argentina versus Mexico, aside from a few seconds of magic that for me was a snoozefest. Lastly, Mexico versus Poland, that one possibly taking the cake as the worst out of the bunch, Poland losing and barely squeaking into the next round, where they’ll certainly be annihilated.

The worst part about this was that I was hyping up the games to my Mom and Fatima, and boy do I look like an ass now. We missed out on some good comebacks, some 3-3’s and 3-2’s, and I’ll need to put on my best door-to-door salesman face to entice them into watching any more, and I can’t blame them.

The last few days, I’ve given the football a miss, even I can only take so much, so I only watched the highlights. Today will be the same. You said writing about professional football is probably the worst topic to write about – I disagree. Shitty, boring football is the worst topic.

Tomorrow, in hopes of spicing things up, I’ll listen to the game. I’m undecided on which one, Netherlands vs USA or Argentina vs Australia, and I’m not sure what I’ll be doing; cycling, running, walking, people watching at a cafe, or entertaining the little one. Our bathroom sink is clogged, and with my handyman skills that is a project that will take several hours, so I probably should do that. Hold your breath to read about it!

Somehow I thought football would serve as some inspiration to write something, but as you remarked, it’s easier, and arguably more interesting to talk about our days, our caffeine addictions and books. I also thought the books and football could be relatable, so far, I am struggling to make any connection. Maybe we’re doing something wrong, maybe the connection is there, but like most of Canada’s passing, it’s over our heads. Ah, hey, I tried.

At the moment I’m reading James Baldwin’s Giavanni’s Room, and mid-way through I can already recommend it to you, as it takes place in Paris, which I know you’re impassioned with, at least for book settings. The cafes, adventure, cognac and pastis all feature. What strikes me the most so far is a profound loneliness in all of the characters. Part of why I’m reading this book is that it is slim, at ~160 pages, and I have a new strategy which is to borrow slender novellas from the library. Partially that’s due to the three week borrowing time, maybe a little with economics, though if there is one area where I’ll always make budget for is books, and also emotionally, as it’s easier to let go of a book you’ve only held for a few hours. Seems you’ve inadvertently read Inadvertent – that’s an evening read that falls into this classification and I’ll check the catalog. In the new year I wish to purchase and start something epic, a tome of several hundred or thousands of pages. One that will likely take months to read, one that I can travel around with, underline, stain with coffee, and hopefully place on my shelf to look back on with pleasure, perhaps ever so often taking it down, to remember what it was like. Maybe you’re with me? Taking a look at my goodreads, it could be something like John Dos Passos USA Trilogy, Albert Cohen’s Belle du Seigneur, or Vasily Grossman’s Life and Fate. Or any other suggestions you may have, but whatever it may be, even if one I choose, it won’t be until the book is heavily scrutinized, because there’s nothing worse than a 1000 page dud. Slight temptation to make some reference to the world cup here but I’ll give it a pass. For some reason I’m not very fond of South American literature, though the sample size for me is not large, I think what puts me off is that they tend to have elements of magical realism. A few years ago I had been of the opinion that I don’t even want to read any fiction, because I need knowledge that helps me figure out real things in real life. Okay, there I was terribly wrong, but magical fiction is where I usually draw the line. I put forth the question to Fatima, and she responded as I had anticipated, with Mario Vargos Llosa – I haven’t got there because a few years ago she also remarked to me that I wouldn’t get it. When I pushed her a little more, she came forth with Un mundo para Julius – which a brief glance at goodreads to me holds a little more promise. But first for me, more Roth’s, Houllebecq’s, slim novellas, and god knows what else – writing a book? I’ll tell you what. I’ve been sitting here, writing to you, listening to music, and it’s felt fantastic. Is that because in doing so, I’m disregarding my to-do list. It could be. The other issue is, you know those meaningless projects you mentioned? Well, I am the king of those. In fact, I’d take it one step further, even from the inception I already know it won’t get done. I’d go along with it because those kinds of charades, sadly, are largely what most of my work entailed. Maybe it’s different with a book, the drive being intrinsic, however I have some self-doubt.

But look, we have this, and this is a start.