If the beer weren’t so good here in Germany, The Typing Chimps would be packing their suitcase right now and heading for Spain.

That’s where a non-human hominid like ourselves can live in peace among all hominids without fear of prejudice based on religion, fur color or tendency to maul rivals. Thanks to a recent decision by the Spanish parliament, chimpanzees, gorillas, orang-utans and bonobos should be entitled to the same human rights that many humans currently enjoy most of the time in select parts of the developed world. The resolution goes on to extend to them the rights to life, freedom and a submissive harem. Upon hearing the news, the greater ape community was reported to be speechless. A human spokesperson for the primates emphasized the good this would do for the morale of a group which up until now has only ever been “thrown peanuts” in a half-hearted gesture of appeasement. “Finally chimpanzees and gorillas can stand up and walk tall,” he announced. Then quickly added, “metaphorically, of course.”

I’m really tired right now and would like to go to sleep, but darned if those Germans aren’t whoopin’ it up big-time outside my window once again after their soccer team came back and eked out yet another nail-biter against yet another sub-par team. This episode’s disposable crew member was Turkey, who watched their long shot of a European Cup title get gobbled by their less-than-impressive opponents. What’s that, person who actually knows something about Fußball? Turkey does have a good team? Well, until nine of their players were sidelined with injuries or penalties before this game, yes, I’d heard they did. But tonight there was talk of having to use the second-string goalie as a striker, which I think is like using a catcher to start the game on the mound - while still wearing his gear. Despite my best efforts to soundproof the apartment with duct tape and plastic sheets (what to do with all this code-orange gear?), I could still easily follow tonight’s titanic struggle by counting the number of whiny groans versus jubilant macho grunts emanating from the bars and apartments. In the end the grunts won. No sooner had the final whistle put the football world out of its misery than the mobs took to the streets to spread this misery to the innocent and uninterested, smashing beer bottles, blocking traffic and singing unintelligible soccer songs with as little rhythm and harmony as their team displayed on the field. Dichter und Denker to a man.

Oh, look! Someone’s brought fireworks to the celebration!

I sound like the bitter captain of the chess team, whose dream of checkmating in front of thousands of screaming fans never materialized. But I grew up playing baseball, (American) football and basketball well into high school. I had season football tickets as a student at Ohio State. I still follow the Reds though I can’t watch a single game. I even brought my baseball and glove with me to this country knowing I’d never find a counterpart. And it’s this experience which makes me wonder, deeply, about a land whose uninspired, deficient soccer team, having got more breaks this tournament than a Hawaiian surfer, has brought its people beyond the brink of ecstasy. Well, most of them, anyway. There are two kinds of sports in Germany: soccer and whatever sport a German is dominating at the time (F1/Schumacher, tennis/Becker-Graf) - sports provincialism at a national level. If Tiger Woods had been a German, every Tilo, Dieter and Helmut in this country would call in sick whenever “our Tiger” took the green. An entire generation of German youth would be the burdened namesake of this golf Wunderkind. “Tiger, stop bothering your sister!” “Tiger, do your homework!” “Tiger, be quiet. Daddy’s watching the soccer game!”

In all fairness Germany’s not the only country which succumbs to collective hysteria every time its soccer team plays in some tournament, which seems like every other week. My informants tell me it’s just about every other country on earth as well. I guess with a healthy diet of three major sports in the US, most people are able to detox sufficiently enough before their team allegiance steals their vision and warps their common sense, leaving them so vulnerable they’ll worship their club, even when it’s far from divine. One sport the whole year round - this model of inbred fandom leads to hangers-on with developmental problems or a third nipple. If you don’t mix the gene pool, you get people who can’t discern their team from a good team. You get people who celebrate lousy victories with all the broken bottles, obnoxious chanting and random vandalism of a victory that truly deserves such a distinguished honor. You get a German soccer fan.

And I get no rest.

If my favorite national sports team played an average game against a sub-average opponent, lost a game to an average opponent and squeaked out a ‘W’ against the worst team in the tournament thanks to a single technicality, the last thing I’d be doing after barely escaping such a spavined group in the preliminary round is cruising about the town square at midnight in my Mercedes while honking my horn and yelling at those with sense enough to be in bed that “my” team is number one.

Then again, my team isn’t in the euro2008.

This mockumentary may be satire, but its portrayal of Bavarians does not stray far from my own experience. *shudder* The flick lasts 35 minutes, so get some munchies and a Hefeweizen before you click play.

That was fun! Let’s do it again!

Unless you’re talking about prison sentences or waits at the emergency room, two months is generally considered a long time. Yet as I sit here at our desk in our apartment in Dresden, Germany, the last two months we spent in Cincinnati, Ohio passed like a waking dream: Did that just happen or was it all in my head? It certainly happened; or is it possible to gain ten pounds while day dreaming about goetta, Skyline and Christian Moerlein?

I have almost 2,000 pictures to sort through. Please bear with me.