Down Goes Beckham...

This is what I wanted, right?  My arch-enemy, David Beckham, on the ground, in tears, knowing he has played in his last World Cup match.  Shouldn't I be flying a "Mission Accomplished" banner across the front of my house?

I can't stand the man.  I want him to fail at all times on the field.
But this ending just doesn't feel right.  It's hollow.
If you had told me of this possible scenario a week ago, my instant reaction would have been "GOOD!  Fuck 'em!".  But I honestly feel terrible for the guy.

I've learned that when I spend the energy needed to properly "hate" an opposing player, its, usually born out of either respect or fear of what he can do to damage my own team.  If Beckham was just some pretty boy scrub on LA's bench, my eyes wouldn't go red at the mention of his name.  For that reason, I'm in the very uncomfortable position of feeling sympathy for a man that I would genuinely love to punch if given the chance.

Yeah . . .don't get me wrong.  This isn't an about-face on how much I despise David Beckham.  It's the feeling that someone who is so worthy of my hatred, is also worthy of a better final scene.  I feel like Lex Luthor if he got a text and someone told him that Superman died from the flu.  I want him to fail miserably.  But not like this.  I wanted his constant disloyalty and disrespect to his American club to lead to that World Cup roster spot he was willing to piss on American fans for.  I wanted him to play the full 90 against the US in June.  I wanted to beat him.  I wanted the game-winning goal to be his fault.

But instead, what I got was the player I hated more than all others (no disrespect to The Frenchist) in tears, crumpled in a ball, knowing that the thing he wanted more than anything else was just taken from him in an instant.  As much as I'd like to...I can't bring myself to celebrate it.