World cup blues
Now England is full of world cup fever. The
papers are full of it with timetables daily. All the doings of the England team
are scrutinized in finest detail. One of the main points of conversation is the
hatches and matches and dispatches of the world cup.
Yesterday I passed by one estate full of
bunting everywhere. From every wall and balcony flags were hanging. The cross
of Saint George was everywhere.
Its inhabitants in fact consider themselves
one of the most patriotic estates in the country and it shows in their flags.
The country is football mad!
How does one cope if like me football leaves
you comatose? It is not as if I did not have the experience of playing it as a
child but I cannot see the point of watching any sport. I would rather play it.
To watch and get excited seems to me to be the ultimate in wasting time. I
always sit and wonder if these people don’t have anything better to do with
their time. Why not actually go to the gym or play a game of football instead?
Paradoxically it is one of the few
circumstances in these days of glass ceilings when it is better to be a woman.
As a woman you are less expected to get excited over football. You can get away
from it easily probably not before having to provide a shoulder to cry on for
some “world cup widow” whose partner is permanently glued to the television
screen. You at least have a choice! And if you find world cup fever a bit too
much you will always find solidarity with somebody of your gender.
If you are a man however the expectation is
that you are going to be obsessed with football. Most of your friends are
taking time out of their social lives to watch the games and Ooh and ah over
every goal missed by the England side.
Certainly you can hear the shouts across the neighborhood with the
televisions blaring results at every turn.
Of course if you are not obsessed with
football you must be somewhat abnormal in fact a one man freak show. Your
friends start to get worried about you and try to concoct schemes to get you
interested in the game. You must be abnormal if you don’t like football. How
can you not love the “beautiful game”?
One the other hand you do start to meet
other men who will confess their guilty secret. They don’t like the beautiful
game either. It all starts conspiratorially discussing how to survive the world
cup and takes on a new dimension. You realize you have something in common.
Besides, many women are usually not interested in football either. You begin to
develop an alternative social life.
How long this will last I don’t know. At
least you find the “abnormal” minority and the companionship of other “freaks”.
At least this allows you to batten down the hatches and watch and wait till the
world cup is over and better times return.
