In the ongoing FreeDarko spirit of talking endlessly about Euros and the funny things that ensue when either 1) they come into contact with America ball and its elements or 2) they act like Europeans and we can marvel at the fact that these creatures sometimes live in the realm we call National Basketball Association, I wanted to share with all of you a nice little image I found while avoiding this afternoon's brutal, honest (or brutally honest, but probably not honestly brutal) Pats/Steelers murkfest.
It comes from a pivotal moment in Eastern European history that I imagine many will remember with rows of tears. But most importantly of all for me, it forces me to admit that half the reason I find these countries bombastically and limitlessly entertaining in the most loving, poginant way possible is that, yes, were it not for the Third Reich and a mountain of rampaging Cossacks, I might call one of them home. At very least, they were the giant, snowy greenhouse for much that is wonderful about my people, and also left quite a cultural stamp on us when they weren't busy avenging all the babies we ate.
And then, lo and behold, I find this
Nevermind that it makes my skin crawl to think that the Dead felt a kinship with what's supposed to be my semi-jokey land of identification (I have the very real past on my side, plus am at least owed this!) These were actually worn by the national team after winning a bronze medal in 1992, the first Olympics they could call their Lithuianian own, meaning they repaid the favor. Is this the meaning of freedom? At least the Czechs had decent taste in counter-cultural musical icons, and got to claim originality in making them the basis for a social revolution. This shit is just disgraceful.