Walking to church yesterday evening, we passed houses flying St George's flag. Driveways were packed with cars flying miniatures of the same flag. From inside the houses, we could hear shouts and yells, from men and women alike. It was the World Cup, England vs Portugal, and late into the game, the score was still 0-0.
More than a year after moving here, I still am quite ignorant about the basics of football, except that I know how popular the sport is in Europe. Still haven't caught the football fever myself, though. But it's very interesting to watch how football fans go crazy over it, how people work their schedules around matches, how everyone on the street wears England shirts and how every other home proudly flies the flag. Some homeowners have even gone to extreme lengths, painting their houses' entire facades white with a red cross, and some car owners have done the same, as well. It's amazing how fanatical some people have become over the sport!
An hour later, walking back from church on the same route, the houses were quiet. A few people were walking, shoulders slumped, flags tied around their waist. Eyes looked down, everyone looked dejected. It made me feel like walking up to some of them and offering my condolences. Suddenly our neighbourhood was a ghost town. In other parts of England, drunk fans vented their anger and frustration through crime. We didn't need to look up the news on the BBC sport website to know the outcome.
England had been booted off the World Cup final.
Sympathies to England, mates. Even though your all-out fanaticism still amuses me, I really do feel sorry for you all. Broken dreams and broken hearts, but the boys did do well. If only Beckham hadn't been injured. Now he's even stepped down as Captain... Oh well. Maybe four years from now you'll have better luck.
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