Like the sands of time, these are the world cup days of our lives. It is almost the end, and here's the victims list - the poor Aussies got the cruelest booty-licking five seconds from the end, the Americans ended up with a bloody McBride, Brazil bungled, Ghana is na-na (oh my $10), we're all crying for Argentina (to Patagonia with the bad sub keeper!), Ukried, the 2002 starry-eyed Asians floundered, the Oranjes were juiced, and in all this action (or non-action as the case may be), how many times did you see Michael Owen?
Goodness.
And in Singapore we watch matches at 11pm and 3am, after which we trudge off to the doctor’s to get sick leave.
Germany – what a job they have done. Nice stadiums, cool organization and what a team. Right from when Philip Lahm made his impression on the world with that opening goal against Costa Rica, I was impressed with what Jurgen had done. A world-class footballer training a young, energetic, passionate side had spawned a miracle of sporting miracles – transforming a boring, technical machine into a fast-paced, inventive, risk-taking troop of titans. And they delivered finely, up till Italy crashed their party. Well done Klinsmann, Ballack (though his no.13 shirt caused him a spot of bad luck in front of the net), Kloser, Podolski, Schneider, Frings, Lehman, Odonkor, Kahn, Metzelger and Lahm. I remember your names simply because I am a converted fan.
It is 2 days to the finals where France and Italy will lock horns, exchange recipes and sit down for sausage and beer. There will be tears and there will be joy. So moved the world will be after 90, maybe another 30 and perhaps an additional heart-wrenching 10-odd minutes. At the end, there’ll be a lot of clean up. Memorabilia prices will come down and we all will get on with life.
In August, we applaud the return of the EPL. Go Liverpool go.
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