"De Murr," Carlos said in a fairly credible Flemish accent. He wouldn't ever really be able to speak Flemish Dutch, or German, and he quickly learned he was better off speaking English in interviews instead of touching his college French. Pronouncing the things the press called him, though, was probably fairly important. He shrugged, though, as if the loss to Barça hadn't been bitterly painful. "I'll get them back next year," he said.

Of course, that wasn't the focus just now. The U.S. had qualified for the Cup, and now they were in the lead up to seeing if they were going to end up in the Group of Death or not - and if so, if they could make it out.

"Black Prius," he said. "Supposedly with Ty, but let's be real, he called his own ride." That was probably going to cruise up to Arrivals in the slickest convertible money could buy. Carlos still wasn't sure if they were dating or if they were just...a thing.

He could use his own thing, honestly. "I was thinking we might have to deal with PSG," he said instead. "Tough break, running into Bayern."