Die Größte Show Der Welt
It's staring at me, that wallchart. It's a little bit frayed and crumpled now since the move back from Greece and after finding its way around Jesse's sticky fingers and teething gums. Since Sunday, I haven't been able to summon the requisite will to complete the final vacant space. The one that states that Germany beat Argentina, one-nil, AET. It's the finality that daunts me; the knowledge that once complete it becomes a historical artefact, no more a tantalising map of an unknown future.
All those games, all those goals, all those hours. Gone forever. However much I try to stave it off, the truth of it remains that time and life continues. Spain found that out. Germany will too. Eventually. World Cups must end and we must wake up from that glorious football-induced coma we've willingly allowed ourselves to fall into for a month. A month that seemed to last for a lifetime.
Did England really (dis)grace the tournament for those five confusing days in June? Was Luis Suarez's vampirism really the subject of such excitable chattering over computer screens and potted plants in office cubicles the world over? Was that semi-final (and that scoreline) really a nightmarish Frankenmismatch that sent a lightning bolt through an entire nation's hearts, minds and nervous systems?
You wouldn't think so if you'd walked around the local Morrison's in any given sleepy town on a groggy English Monday lunchtime the day after the Final before. The droopy flags of patriotism were being packed away with little fanfare, awaiting yet another misjudged outing when the drums of hype and hope thump once more in two years. Estate agents, dripping in the perfume of their middle age were more interested in which filling they fancied in their plastic-flavoured tortilla wrap. Bored checkout staff puffed out fleshy cheeks counting down the hours to their lunch, their afternoon break, their clocking off time, their weekend. Meanwhile in Germany. Oh, to have been in Germany. Or Argentina. Or Costa Rica. Or Algeria. Anywhere but here. Today. The first post-World Cup Day.
I've procrastinated over writing this final World Cup post. I wanted it to somehow say something profound about the World Cup and its significance in our lives. The truth is, that there really isn't anything profound to say. Football is such a trivial pursuit when compared to the realities and banalities of our every day existence. It is a beautiful distraction. It is that. However, upon emerging from this month long reverie, the same world remains, gripping at the knuckles as it does.
I need to have my first chapter ready by the end of the month. My family need a home. I need a job. The people of Brazil are looking
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