Disclaimer: I am not a football fan. I just love the big events. And with a pretty good memory for names and numbers, I can pull off some pretty good fakery during World Cups, fooling even diehard fans in bars.
I was thinking about the strangeness of synchronicity… in my street, we were out watering plants, a babble of neighbourhood chatter over fences, cups of tea, the ticking over of a perfectly ordinary Sunday. Yet in Germany, the biggest sporting event in the world, the expectation of nations, a time for heroes and heroic actions… Zinedine Zidane’s last game at the highest level, and the possibility of a legendary end to a glorious career by lifting the World Cup for France, a dream taking shape in legend and in the streets of Paris.
So when he headbutted Marco Materazzi, it was the moment of madness that says so much about the frailty of humanity. We are heroes destined for nothing more than a crunch under heels. A moment out of control can cost you your dignity, your life’s work, your dreams… and to see it happen to Zidane was heartbreaking, although it is hard to feel sorry for him in the same way as it is hard to empathise with the drunk on probation getting arrested for punching someone outside the pub and heading back to jail. It was a horrible incident, and after all the energy and worldwide elation and dedication that goes with the tournament, it was just sickening to hear it finish in a chorus of boos and whistles as the French fans just derided the officials and the Italians. Football was dead for a while. If only the last match had been Italy – Germany, we could have felt better about life.
As for Federer, he is the last salvation of the Sunday Sporting Spirit – yet another display of magic and beautiful power. I remember I had only just started my original journal when he won Wimbledon in 2003 – we were living in Sydney and I was suffering the dreadful commentary and the fact that the Aussies use the changes of ends for adverts…
Speaking of commentary… PLEASE, PLEASE. BBC – offer John Motson a retirement package he can’t refuse. Get that USELESS MAN off the air. And let him take Mark “I reside in a toolbox” Lawrenson with him. Most of the time I feel Motson is actually commenting on old match recorded in the early 70s. “Incisive” is hardly his middle name. And as for Lawrenson… save it for the pub, son.
Rant over. Bed calls. D. has just booked train tickets to go to Scotland at the end of this month, during which week I will start recording the new record.