Now, I live in one of two Italian neighborhoods in Toronto. There is Little Italy, where more yuppies than Italians live and then there is Corso Italia, where there are more Italians than yuppies. Immediately after the second goal was scored, cars started driving down my street to get to the main drag and kids with Italian flags and whistles started encouraging all of the cars driving down my street to honk, which they did.
Ptichka came home. We ate the best grilled veggie quesadillas ever thanks to our low-rent grocery store's decision to carry queso blanco all of the sudden and drank some gin-laced grapefruit stuff (grapefruit-stuff laced gin?), before deciding to go see what was going on in the 'hood.
We are a two-minute walk from the main drag in Corso Italia, so it didn't take us long to discover that traffic was going on in the 'hood. From our little side street all the way west to Dufferin. Except for one car with a tiny German flag, every other car on the stret had people hanging out of every opening, including sun roofs, waving flags. Every streetcar island was full of people waving flags. The video in the previous post gives you an idea of what traffic was like, even though I shot it as we were heading home.
Below are a couple more pictures of people celebrating in their cars.
We then wandered down the main drag to Dufferin, where the police had wisely set up a barricade. From Dufferin west to, I'm assuming, Landsdowne; the entire street was a big party. It was fun. We saw many hook-ups; a guy dressed up as a monk; an actual nun; much singing and dancing; a Portuguese family hanging out on their porch and contemplating how they're going to party if Portugal makes it to the finals; and many, many flags. Neither of us had an eye put out and I was only impaled once.
Since my reasons for wanting a German victory were random, this is the point in the post where I pledge my
And now it is time to return to the dissertation so that I can watch the France-Portugal match this afternoon without guilt.