The World Cup makes an unusual impression on men. For a month in the Summer a new phenomenon comes into our lives and we are transformed from lethargic middle age couch potatoes to...well mildly excitable middle age couch potatoes.
I mean some of the stuff I am doing is ridiculous. I am watching teams like Ghana and Iran with the intensity of watching the first moon landing. I didn’t even know Ghana had a football team but they do, and along with Nigeria are now part of the reason I was staying up until one in the morning goggle eyed as they played out their games. I find myself humming along to the Uruguay national anthem and when herself walks into the room she gives me a look of indignation when I suggest she listens along for “the end bit.” I realise I have a problem. This is the intensity of which I am involved before a ball is even kicked. I have actually taken to going to a globe at one in the morning to find out where Costa Rica is! I mean if I am sitting on the edge of my seat waiting for them to take penalties and closing my eyes in case they miss, the least I can do is find out what part of the world they are from! I had even thought of suggesting to herself to try a few of these places on holidays over the coming years but I don’t know how well that would go down. Belgium would be a totally different holiday to Chile and she may be wondering where I got my ideas.
This year a part of me even wanted England to do well. For the first time the English were not banging on about “this could be our year” and 19.66 was only mentioned when they were selling off their jerseys half price after their elimination. Ah well they are consistent if nothing else.
Men are marvelling at the referees new toy. The foam for the free-kicks. Wagers being set that it is all a ploy and Gillette are trying to outdo Avonmore Cream for the contract!
In fairness you can’t watch every game. But Sunday morning lie in’s are great, watching the highlights. I even got breakfast in Bed. It was like being eight again on my Summer holidays from school and watching” Why don’t you?” But alas we all know that it won’t last. Come August, men will be walking out to the garden with their hands in their pockets to wives and kids looking for solace. Looking to be accepted back into the fold like the Prodigal Son.
From previous world Cups I know it is a type of Cold Turkey. Aimless staring at the television at Five and Eight O’ clock only to be met by repeats of American Idol or X factor. Wondering do they still sing their Anthem in Chile with the same aplomb. Questioning if the Italian defender ever got over his bite mark or will he be scarred.
But it’s not over yet! We have the quarter finals and semi’s to go! Some great colours – the orange of the Netherlands – the yellow of Brazil – the flair and excitement is a spectacle. More women should engage. It really is an event to be taken in by all. I’m not going to get away with that one am I? Best just enjoy it and start thinking about where I will get a fatted calf for the First Sunday in August.