Descending from street level to the bar area, the smell of the previous night's (or nights') spilled beer was evident. A sizable crowd had assembled to watch our nation's last grasp at World Cup life reflected through dozens of flat television monitors. Admittedly, the morning clientele was much less frightening than the group from the previous encounter: much more pre-work, untucked, natural fibers than shiny shirts and short skirts.
As for the game: it was about as much fun as possible given the result, penalty kick, and substandard blueberry pancakes.
Blinking out into the daylight, I considered going directly to work. Foolishly, I changed course in favor of a quick nap to remedy the sleep deficiency resulting from an early morning alarm. Thus, I spent most of the day sleeping off the headache caused by returning to my bed, waking up briefly to watch the Socceroos draw their way into the second round.
Eventually, I conceded that rest, food, and anti-inflammatory pills weren't enough to kill the pain and settled into a caffeine-fueled evening recovery period.