The World Cup
These last two weeks have gone by in a flash. It's amazing how little time you have when you are working, rather than doing a history degree, where most of the work consists of attending seminars on books you have not read. Wimbledon, for instance, started half a second ago. It's finished now.
The World Cup, by contrast, seems to have been around forever. I was still at uni having seminars on books I had not read when it started. Seeing England go out the way they did was not surprising. I wasn't sad at the news; more like how you feel when you are told that a sickly elderly relative has died. You knew it was coming, you braced yourself for the worst, and it was just a matter of time. Though usually great-aunt Hilda's death rattles aren't summoned by Jamie Carragher stepping forward to take a penalty.
Then in the semi-finals I was supporting the Germans, but only because my brother and mother were so vehemently supporting Italy. Taking a contrary position for the sake of it is, I think, called "SWP syndrome". As usual, the team I was supporting lost.
To the final. I was knackered, and didn't really want to watch it, but duty calls. I wanted Italy to win at first (watching football is never exciting if you're neutral) because I thought that French chap dived for the penalty. Perhaps he didn't though, having watched the replays. This fervour for Italy increased after Zidane's headbutt. It's not nice, dammit, headbutting people. Though, at the end of the day, all things considered, putting two and two together, I couldn't give a flying flan who won eventually......
A shameful thing to say, perhaps, but I can't really get excited about football in the same way I can about, say, cricket. And the first Test starts on Thursday. Woohoo!
-posted by Roy.
