The soccer heads I polled don't believe the U.S. has the cojones to roll up to World Cup Games with U Haul Moving Trucks full of I.C.E. agents and racially profile and (il)legally detain people CBP Agents thought were in the country illegally. In other words, these heads feel that Trump, Incorporated can be shamed and are not going to risk a public relations black eye by sending I.C.E. agents to support local police during games of the 2026 World Cup. It is slightly ridiculous to boycott the 2026 FIFA World Cup. I speak solely here as an individual, but there is not much one person can do against a behemoth like FIFA. The reality is that I like to watch the games, the fanfare excites me, makes my heart flutter; I get to connect with Angelenos of all creeds over the supremacy of futbol. Let me be clear, what makes me worry are the lengths at which Infantino goes to placate Trump, and what that might mean for Latinos. Most of it is hearsay and intended to feed the rumor mills, but there is talk that Infantino is going to placate Trump by honoring him with a peace award. The summer before I turned eleven, the Argentine National Soccer Team won their second World Cup Title. My father wore a neat, auburn beard that my mother abhored. So, obviously, eventually she would bet him that Argentina would NOT win the World Cup. And, the only way to answer that wager was by offering his quasi-Assyrian beard as collateral to proclaim, clairvoyantly, what it was his duty to proclaim: Argentina (with Maradona) were going to win the World Cup! My father had been wearing that beard ever since he lost his hair at the tender age of 25, and it provided a nice follicle ballast between his face and his pelada (bald spot). My father is a handsome man that was hit with the Arab stick; his eyes sparkle like frankincense, and his smile is an irridescent scimitar. He's sturdy--barrel panza--but don't let that veneer fool you. Mi viejo is a stone-cold striker, a touch mago, he can take your head off at 20 meters, or lazer beam it to the inside of the box. The reason I remember the 1986 World Cup is because Maradona cheated to best England with that first goal, and then shut all the haters up by scoring one of the most gangster, batshit goals ever with the second. If I am not mistaken, Cantor, the Spanish-language futbol commentator, called that goal by Maradona or Maradona himself, a cosmic kite, or something bananas like that.

WORST DAY EVER AT SAN ANGELES LIBRARY CORPORATION

Ode to Mbappe

Ode to Mbappe by Yago Cura The real question is Mbappe’s new new newer than Zizou’s hawkeye glidetelligence? Does Mbappe’s athletic effervescence cloud CR7’s piston-popping paladinbrand? Is Mbappe more dangerous than Platini’s murderous chip syndicate from just outside the penalty box? If the new new is where we don't look, just beyond where we predilect, is it a space we are capacitated to hold? Mbappe breaks my heart in 2018 by spanking Argentina, but gets his heart broken in 2022 by a stronger, more resolute and plucky Argentine? True, Mbappe’s not the first ingenue thrust onto the cold proscenium of presence–playing for Monaco at the tender age of fourteen–but let us not forget Pontiff Pele scored his first World Cup goal at 17 against Wales in 1958. So, not the first time we've been sold a manifest about the new new in front of the advertisers. Not the last time a safety mask will be worn by an Honorary Ninja Turtle, nor the last time a protective vizard will be employed by a big-speed demon nez. Mbappe is a pace abuser; he will let you set your best pace and demolish your best pace, like he did to Masche ten minutes into the final in 2018, and it was only until Rojo clotheslined him that he was thwarted but Les Blues got their penal with Griezmann, and three bangers more, and earned their second star. As a lifetime hinchas of the Albiceleste, do you know how difficult it is to sing your praises and still be welcome at camp? I would rather praise your prodigious speed and be done with the whole affair. Still, we must concede, Monsieur PSG, Mister 20 Miles per Hour Counter, Mister Monaco FC Kid, Mr Real Madrid Firestarter, Mister Devourer of Space, Monsieur Flying Scissorkick Against Nice. Just because Mbappe is new new doesn't preclude him from losing Mundiales and getting benched by Deschamps–pulled from the penalty squad–just because he’s the captain, but also might be the liability stopping his team from clinching that position. Do you think Maradona would have allowed himself to be benched? Could you imagine Zlatan the Hun saying the country’s victory is greater than his aggregate contributions? It was not pain that kept Mbappe out of the firing squad against Portugal in the Copa this year but knowledge of self, know- ledge of limitation, ego extirpation. I almost like Mbappe more after debacles and ridiculous injuries have seasoned his temperament, downshifted his mojo, but not engaged the brake pads of his mediocrity, not allowed personal hindrance to narrate the trajectory of his billboard-ness. I keep tripping, returning to Paul Simon's chanson, "The Boy in the Bubble," thinking what a curse to be any generation's pearl, a defacto savior spectators only know from the narrowest angle on telezoom lenses. But, maybe the only way up the pop charts is up the pop charts, maybe fielding cracks onto the cold, emerald tarmac and seeing how they taxi is the real Turing Test of the new new? The highest compliment I can concede is that Mbappe was such an existential threat to Argentina's victory in 2022 that giving five more minutes to this motherloving Donatello-looking, snail-eating, Usain Bolt exponent from the outskirts of Paris (Bondy to be exact) would have prevented Argentina from attaining their third star.

MIS HIJOS

I grew up in Miami a Latino, but not Cuban
Which is kind of like, what’s the point of this?


Then, I moved to Western Mass for grad school
and the pedigree of my Latinoness did not matter
because there were so few of us you could tag us
like coyotes or timberwolves, and track us as blips
on a cold, green Transponder.


Then, I moved to (back to) Brooklyn:
Gravesend, Ocean Parkway and Avenue O
but was not Russian, Syrian, Chinese, Ukrainian, or Israeli,
although the Guatemalan Super in my building was in a Police
cover band in the basement,Tuesday nights.


Then, I moved to Spanish Harlem, One Hundredth and Third,
but was not Puerto Rican nor Dominican with a twist of ‘Rican
nor even distant Puerto Rican adjacent, like Cuban.


Then, I moved to Harlem proper and because I was the only
Latino in my building I became Mexican by default because that’s
who was working in the kitchens and making Harlem sparkle.


I taught in the Bronx but was not Dominican, was not Black
but I could speak Cuban, and this meant I could rapport with parents,
and make home visits and dance a mean bachata and support the right
bodegas, and order bacon, egg, and cheese with local aplomb.


Then, I moved to Los Angeles because my wife grew up here and
I was not Mexican nor Salvi (El Salvadorean) nor even Korean, and


still my California babe of a wife gave me two beautiful California boys
that are ALL gringo but HALF Mexican and HALF Argentine so there are three
things they know despite orientation, intuition, or calculation.


My boys are carnivorous, swarthy, and fancy futbol over football
not just as a matter of aesthetic but as a statement on skill.


My boys feel good eating black noodle goo and seaweed crunch tablets
and pozole plum-puddinged with tripe or ceso or chocolate-covered grass-
hoppers and insect lollipops. They tear up tacos, demolish burritos, and
crave a good choripan every now and again.


My boys are dark morsels, raven-haired, discrete, olive-skinned geeks.
They carry the Levant, the U.S./Mexico Border, the California Deserts
in their maw, in their genetic Powerschool, in their take-home folders.


The older boy adores his grandfather’s futbol club.
The younger boy, at five, can already run with the ball.

IMMUTABLE LAW OF DISHES

This is dishes.,

Dishes, dishes, this is.

This is dishes, dishes. dishes.

This is–dishes, dishes, this is

Dishes, This is dishes so,

Dishes, dishes, dishes.

Dishes, this is dishes?

This is dishes, dishes,

dishes, this is, dishes.

Dishes this is, dishes,

say it with me, thes dishes

is this dishes is this thistle

a dish of this is or dishes,

this is the this dishes, is this

Dishes, this is, or is dishes

Dishes, dishes, dishes this

is it, this is dishes, dishes

This is dishing dishes, is it not

dissolution of this is, dishes,

dishes, dishes, and even if

this is dishes, there is this is

which says, thesis this is dishes.