We were at Helen Wilks’ while the last game of the European Football Cup was played. Dorian and Maya watched the game in Helen’s bedroom, where Lauren soon joined them, leaving our host and me to talk about art in the kitchen. When the Italians scored the first goal against the French, I reported to Helen that I was kind of happy about the Italian lead, but that I was even happier that I chanced upon another trace of silly bigotry in my own bosom. It is thus not surprising that I was quite happy when the French eventually equalized and finally won the game. I got even with myself.