Before penalties started at the end of the World Cup final, I left the room on the second floor of the Football Cafe in New York City's Chinatown neighborhood, where I was watching the match along with a friend, a foot or so from Susan Sarandon (somehow), and ran up to the roof.
I have never been able to stomach watching penalties as a player or as a fan. It's a trait I share with my father, who was once so rattled after the first few penalties while we were watching a match that he left to go to sleep because they were driving up his anxiety.