“The end is in the beginning and yet you go on…”
We go back to May: the end of the season wasn’t much fun, one Saturday evening aside. I won’t say too much about it, other than I was both relieved and surprised at how things turned out in the end. Only slightly irritated by the endless songs, ‘banter’, the flags and bunting, the cardboard cut-outs, I actually admired the scenes of enjoyment despite the outcome and had a wonderful day / night at a wedding regardless.
Meanwhile, our own manager lost his job: more reasons to celebrate, and that I did – on both counts – the following week… at Anfield, of all places!
Little did I know we were watching the runners up that day, although Croatia did impress with their passionate fans, hard work winning the ball and aggression in the tackle. Brazil were brilliant in the second half. So much so that I declared Neymar’s opener one of the best goals I’d ever seen live, and decided on the predictor that they would win the thing, but that wasn’t to be; they’d flattered to deceive, as many do.
I celebrated the experience, as you do, with an amazing colour changing gin, and prepared for the next few weeks watching endless documentaries about past competitions on the temporary ‘History of Football’ channel, which were just lovely reminiscences.
The rest of June brought with it, then, the World Cup and with that, some nice new kits. At the start of the tournament, I couldn’t have cared less about Southgate’s young lions or whatever they’re called, but was more interested in what the current generation of kit designers doing my dream job, deem appropriate and relevant in 2018.
There were some lovely examples on show in Russia, although I resisted the temptation to buy anything other than the France training top I somewhat serendipitously wore when making my debut for the reception team at Betsy’s school summer fair.
We didn’t know each other, us Dads… the conditions were tough going and it was overly competitive; but when I scored our first (only) goal of the competition, a nice volley (I’m still sore from the experience) I should have known to put money on it bringing luck for my fellow French-Algerian, Kylian Mbappe Lottin, who hails from Bondy, where I think I stayed in a dodgy Ibis in 1998 (the very year he was born)… Apologies if I’ve not shared the stories of my Negro gums before; I’ll save that for a rainy day.
Anyway, we must remember it’s now fifty years since the Paris student protests and for that reason alone, I wanted to see France lift the trophy. It’s also twenty years since the 1998 World Cup, which – albeit temporarily – did so much to improve inter racial relations in a fractured society.
Mentioning the time of the Black-Blanc-Beur revolution…
I think of La Haine.
I think of the Stone Roses and their lemons: Bye Bye Badman
I think of the artwork and the seminal phrases… Soyez realistes etc.
“ALL POWER TO THE IMAGINATION!”
Closer to home, thankfully, I did grow to like the England team as the tournament went on and, seeing the positivity around the country, was quite sad to see their demise – even venturing out on a school night to witness the semi-final (although upset, I was secretly glad to have seen the World Cup finalists in action) with particular admiration for Southgate.
My one anecdote about the other guy who made waistcoats cool is that my Dad once got his friend to get me his autograph, thinking they were meeting one of my all-time heroes.
He’d misheard the surname as Southall; still, it was a nice thought.
Other things about the tournament were: my love of the South American nature, even becoming addicted to the curious habit of yerba mate tea, as constantly sipped by the likes of Messi and Suarez (and even Gisele Bundchen and the Pope, apparently) which is a caffeine rich herbal tea from South America and – during the tournament – explained by Pablo Zabaleta. This was a week after I’d purchased a silicon gourd and silver bombilla, plus a lovely little packet of the stuff, and started to build into my weekend routine (to the astonishment of many) Let’s just say it’s an acquired taste, nicer with cinnamon, that definitely gives you a buzz.
So yeah, the World Cup… South America… as well as the drink, the cheating (scraping penalty spots etc) and Maradona’s celebrations; but also, closer to home, an unexpected new lookalike emerging from nowhere (Subisic, the Croatian goalkeeper) and the farewell of Andres Iniesta, a long time hero of mine.
His style and grace; his understated coolness… I was lucky enough to see him play ‘live’ twice and hoped his recent announcement might have signalled a last hurrah alongside Pep in the Premier League but, in pastures new, I will follow his progress with admiration and the deepest respect.
As he prepared for the World Cup, so did Panini: THE BIGGEST WORLD CUP EVER, with the threat of completing their sticker albums costing over £700 according to the experts. I’ll be honest, I’d happily collected the stickers for the last two tournaments and proudly completed the albums for the first world Cup and the first European Championship of my children’s lives but this year – despite getting the obligatory free starter pack and album – realised that I just couldn’t afford nor justify such expenditure – especially given what was about to happen – and as a result, had a slightly watered down interest in the tournament to come, what without the familiar names and faces to recognise.
But I was much better off.
Thanks to Sky Plus, I really enjoyed the World Cup more than any I can remember. Bedtime routines and the day job meant that I struggled to watch many games as they happened, but could see them on delay after avoiding any social media and even got out for three knockout matches which added to the excitement.
Mexico ’86 and Italia ’90 will always be with me as they were my first – and I got this lovely mug and tshirt for Fathers’ Day to underline the fact – but this probably the best of the rest, partly for the excitement it conjured across the country and the young people I spend time with.
Roll on four years…. and three weeks.