Bleary-eyed hysteria.
The World Cup Finals of football (soccer to you American folk) bring out the best and worst in humankind. People who in the normal course of their lives never consider the ‘beautiful game’ suddenly become informed, opinionated, learned and biased; they bathe in the pre dawn glory and sink in the post dawn sorrow.
I cannot remember what I did six minutes ago but I can remember, sometimes through alcohol-blurred recollection, where I was when the 2006 World Cup was being staged. Why is this? What is it about the World Cup that entrances us so? Is it the rivalry, the desire to know more than your fellow man or is it an artillery-less war, a way for us to conquer our foes without any unnecessary bloodshed.
I have watched almost every minute of the 2010 event – due to co-habitation with a fanatical football fan and a wealth of spare time. This tournament has not been without controversy and the referees are firmly in the spotlight again for all the wrong reasons. I promised my friends that I would not ramble on about the referees so I will just say this – employ video review technology or face ridicule. There, I said it. Sepp, if you are out there, listen and apply.
There have been some big casualties in the initial stages of the tournament – the farcical French have packed their suitcases, taken their baguettes and flown home. The English and US left their supporters with 90 minutes each of nail-biting, cynicism breeding, nausea inducing drama before the final whistle went and the fans could collectively sigh in absolute relief. This relief lasted 3 hours until the Germans disposed of Ghana and booked a second round appointment with the hapless English. They have 4 days to devise a plan to break the Kaiser’s strangle hold. Please no penalty shootouts; England’s strike force would rather drink a sauerkraut milkshake than face another penalty war with Zee Germans.
The Socceroos have departed but in style, sentencing Serbia to the lowest rung on the Group ladder, but they will feel one has slipped through the cracks. To win at the World Cup you need guile, finesse and a barrel load of luck. The signs are positive and we will have many more find World Cup memories in the land of Samba in 2014.
For now I sit and await the next selection of games – sleep deprived, full from a diet of convenience food, adrenalin and heartbreak. I may not agree with some of the outcomes from this current tournament but it has certainly been a very enjoyable ride so far. I am just thankful that I do not have join the hordes of aussie workers, eyes kept open by matchsticks, voices strained from the beer megaphone, wishing that the weekend was here. I can live and breathe the World Cup, an immersion that is rare. For me the days blend into one and when the World Cup finishes my life will be slightly emptier.
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