I spent a lot of yesterday discussing with various people why the world cup hadn’t ignited yet. ‘I blame the horns’ I said to an ex pro rugby player acquaintance as we enjoyed a wine tasting in our neighbourhood. It was telling, in fact, that he was wine tasting and not watching the match.
Other people commented how boring it had been so far – all draws and no real action. Some blamed the location, others the fact that it was just the beginning.
But finally, last night, in the Uruguay vs South Africa match, Diego Forlan set the world cup alight and ignited the passion and fervour that is synonymous with this tournament.
His first goal was beautiful. Poetic – I believe they say in football circles. And everything was there to reassure us that finally we were back into familiar territory – the tossing of the flowing locks, the headband, the attitude; supreme confidence with just a touch of ‘indulged footballer’ arrogance.
I need a replacement man, but could I cope with his demands? Pass me the hairspray – NOW! Tie my boot laces – NOW! Where’s my baby mohair celestial super deluxe Dolce and Gabbana? I want it… NOW!
No, I think I’ll just stick to the virtual experience where I can caress his manly muscles with the mouse on my computer, and cheer his glorious being in action on TV.