The year was 1998, and the 11-year-old me was still a nerdy timid kid who had a total crush on football, a phase reignited after seeing Gabriel Batistutas face plastered at the front page of The Sun Daily when the World Cup began in pompous fashion in Paris. It was a time when Brazil was the team to win it again and Ronaldo (the bald one), was to carry the team onwards to glory. I remember seeing his photo on nearly every kids pencil box with the legendary number 9. I would always remember the morning when I boarded my mothers school van when they met France in the finals and lost. She used to ferry kids around to school and one of the kid told me that Brazil lost. Are you crazy?? Brazil won! I said, confidently. No! No! They lost! How you know? You saw the game? No, I was asleep. Did you? No.. I was asleep too.. My dad watched the game and he told me, the kid said. I still did not believe him and bullshitted to him (actually bullshitting myself, really) that I saw the Internet, and the Internet revealed the future in where Brazil won. The Internet doesnt work that way! Yes it does and Ronaldo scored a hat-trick! Idiot 11-year-old me said, obviously trying to console myself in the process. It was not until a school bus packed with excited kids going to school were screaming at the top of their lungs, Brazil kalah! Brazil kalah! that I turned to mother and said, Brazil lost.. I would admit, it was gut wrenching. The next day, the papers spelt out for me clearly, Ronaldo falls ill as France lifts cup! There were rumours apparently Ronaldo was poisoned. Some said the Brazilian team was bought, others said the French did some voodoo magic. Man, the conspiracies which were spewed. Mothers response was kick ass as always, They win or lose, what you going to gain? Do your homework! The wait for Japan/Korea 2002 was an agonising one. Four years later, I witnessed a legendary Brazilian team reclaiming the cup in poetic fashion against a bumbling Germany led by their keeper, the legendary Oliver Kahn. Ronaldo with his silly looking hair but joyous self lifting the cup was historic and poignant! How long has it been since I had last seen him smile like that? I remember asking myself. And today morning, I witnessed Brazils demise with the memory of a much older Ronaldo, now a pundit, holding a mic, trying to snap out of his disbelief. The image of this Brazilian fan who breaks down crying, with tears rolling down onto her cheeks damping the painted Brazilian flag would forever remain in my mind. How can you not love the beautiful game? Regardless, all of us had witnessed history in the making yesterday. Truly humbled and honored like David Luiz who fell to his knees, looks to the sky with his index fingers pointing upwards and muttering a prayer; the total unpredictability of life. If Germany wins at the Maracana, it would be a statement because they would be on the same par as Brazil in terms of the numbers they lifted the cup. What Hitler could not have done by waging war, Angela Merkel, a woman and not a Nazi, did it through football. She has united her people through the beautiful game. You got to give it up to her. As for Brazil, it would be even more poetic if they collect the pieces which is bound to not only affect them emotionally, but politically as well, and win the cup in Russia in 2018. But really, Brazil does misses its three legendary Rs. Those times are gone, over, and all I can say is thank you Brazil for the good memories. Would always have a soft spot for you, Canarinho.
Posted on: Wed, 09 Jul 2014 09:13:01 +0000
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