These Photos of Megan Rapinoe and the USWNT Parade Will Change Your Life
Eric Reads The News is a daily humor column which skewers politics, pop culture, celebrity, shade, and schadenfreude.
Okay, this is a serious request: Can we just give Megan Rapinoe a parade every day? Can we just close down one street in a different city every day, open a case of Veuve and let her strut down the middle of the block holding a trophy and power-posing? I feel like this would be good for our souls, raise the GDP, and perhaps appease the ancient gods who, heretofore, have been quite pissed at us. Just something to think about. I've submitted this proposal to Congress. I expect a bill to be fast-tracked to the Oval by Friday.
I mean look at this:
Have you ever, in your life, been this pumped?
Not only is the U.S. Women's team soccer GOATs but they are also celebration GOATs and seeing their no-holds-barred exuberance at today's New York city parade in their honor has made me want to be a better person. These pictures sprayed champagne all over my vision board, Marie Kondo'd my psyche, and gave a red flag to my self-doubts. I would like to replace whoever is on our money (the Grinch? Unclear.) with Megan, Ashlyn Harris, Alex Morgan, Carlie Lloyd, Alyssa Naeher, Beyoncé, and the rest of the team. Does this seem unreasonable? Skittle me this: would you rather buy gas with Andrew Jackson's face or Allie Long's? It's not even a question. The cashier would high-five you, do a scissor kick in the air, and give you an extra gallon just because. This is the America we can live in if we try hard enough.
And the first step to trying: giving these women a parade every day and also equal payment and years of backpay and PTO if they want it and maybe a private island?
I honestly hope that whatever boarded up Waffle House ultimately ends up being the Trump Presidential Library is just covered floor to ceiling with photos of Megan Rapinoe soaking up every inch of well-deserved public adulation while being carted down the street on a decorated flatbed.
Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade found dead in a ditch. If you are not celebrating your wins with this much enthusiasm what are you even doing? Literally, go clock out right now, dye your hair a different color, and gesticulate wildly in public until you've got your priorities in order.
After that, pour a celebratory beverage in your friend's face. FOR THE COUNTRY.
I mean this with the utmost respect: I am pretty sure Megan Rapinoe has been drunk for three days at least.
I mean, whom amongst us would not be, if we were in her cleats?
I, too, have felt this glory because one time I won Disney trivia at a gay bar in Brooklyn and a stranger was like, "Let me buy you a congratulatory drink for getting that The Rescuers question right." And I was like, "I'm the king of the f*cking world."
Here's a great shot of Alex Morgan either mistaking the trophy for a bottle of Veuve or going hard on a karaoke performance of "Don't Stop Believin.'" Either way, I love it and I need it.
People got all shirty when Megan Rapinoe said that she didn't want to go to the White House for Trump's dimly lit fast food buffet like it was some kind of high honor. But, uh, no offense to a room temperature McDonald's fish filet, but being cheered in the streets like the cast of Hamilton whilst holding a trophy, day drunk on a sunny day does seem to be the kind of celebration that the Founders intended. Benjamin Franklin would definitely approve of all of this.
Serious question: is this the Inauguration?
Okay, yeah, Megan Rapinoe is definitely the president. Or at least the mayor of New York. She has already fixed the subways.
I have never seen anyone celebrate so hard and so deservedly and I am going to incorporate this into every minute of my life going forward.
Get a raise? Walk through the office with my arms outstretched like I'm parting the Red Sea.
Parallel park on the first try? Stand on the roof of my car and kiss the empty water bottle I keep forgetting to throw away like it's a golden trophy.
Send one (1) e-mail? Set off the confetti cannons and scream joyously for an hour or so.
I want to paint this on the ceiling of my bedroom like the Sistine Chapel. I want to invite Megan Rapinoe over to my house to yell at me triumphantly and then step directly on me. I want the U.S. Women's National Soccer team to charge through the streets of every American town and burg, power-posing and radiating jubilation. Can you imagine having a parade in your honor. A parade! Somehow went to City Hall and got a permit for this. Cars were moved. People are standing on the curb like "OMG I love this. I am happy to be here and not inconvenienced in the least." Can you even imagine existing in the world like this? I'm done throwing myself birthday parties; it's all parades from here on out. Beloveds, it's possible. Live your lives with the verve (and the Veuve) of Soccer GOATs at a parade.
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