by Meg Pokrass

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Meg Pokrass is a fiction writer who lives in San Francisco where truth is questionable. Her debut collection of flash fiction, “Damn Sure Right” will be published in 2011 by Press 53. Meg’s work was selected for Wigleaf’s Top 50 Flash Fiction 2009. She has published over one hundred stories and poems. You can see more of her animations here at http://pokrasstinations.com/

A Slippery Ball

I imagine that all those who attended the recently wrapped up World Cup will have ears abuzz for eternity. Even now, having only watched the games on television, I am haunted by their sustain. It’s a kind of charmingly wretched hangover, the noise. Like when you wake up with just a shadow of drunk still upon you.

I must confess I lost interest in the later rounds. Once the US was dismissed by Ghana, I couldn’t really find a team to get behind. I feebly followed the Netherlands, but even they let me down. In fact, there weren’t all that many high points in the World Cup for fans of United States soccer. The tip top moment? The pinnacle of pride for the yanks? A fucking howler.

Now, I’m not an avid soccer fan (you can tell because I call it soccer), and I’m not even sure that you could call my mild interest in the sport even a casual fanaticism. I’m not really up with the lingo. By the time the next World Cup rolls around, I will have forgotten the off sides rules. So it completely stands to reason that I wouldn’t know what a “howler” is.

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