"Everyone remembers their firsts. The memory of my first contact with football is tangled with monsoon water up to my shins, a soaked school uniform that I refused to take off until at half time because I didn't want to miss a single minute, and the thrill that went through me when a young wizard with gaping teeth and curly hair kicked a ball towards the goal that followed the laws of physics until he didn't, suddenly changing direction and diving over the goalkeeper's head and into the net.Even as Ronaldinho Gaucho walked away, a big smile plastered on his face, and was instantly enveloped by ecstatic teammates, I felt time slow down, I felt inexplicably grounded in place but simultaneously energized."
If you've followed me or my writing, you'll know that my own journey with this maddening game began with that free kick 20 years ago and six World Cups. In 2002, I was unable to fully appreciate what I witnessed with the Brazilian side - which only happened in hindsight - but I still remember that overwhelming, all-encompassing feeling, which I have only felt a few times since and keeps me addicted to a sport that regularly demands more than it can yield.
But oh this feeling.
Over the years, and since my foray into club football, I have wondered if I still feel the same attraction to the tournament that started it all; if Arsenal captured all I had to give. But also, more and more, if I ever feel what I used to feel about football itself knowing all that I am doing now, with the game so changed and so irreparably corrupt. With the life of a modern football fan embodying conflicting dichotomies - the Super League fiasco was just one example, but there are so many in a world ruled by money and vested interests (which is not, nowadays, is a discussion for another day). We've all had to think about our fandom, the price we pay for choosing not to acknowledge these truths, and whether it's possible for multiple realities to co-exist in this new space we're (hopefully) creating for ourselves.
In 2022, even more than in 2018, I couldn't muster the excitement and anticipation that usually precedes the tournament. I hadn't planned my schedule around matches or made plans with friends. That feeling just wasn't there. Even if seeing Japan and especially Morocco shine as the matches progressed was a good thing.
But through it all, despite it all, I never stopped hoping as avidly as I could that Lionel Messi would go on to win it.
Ask me as a staunch Gooner and I'll cite several examples of the exquisite pain he inflicted on us. Ask me as a football fan and I'll tell you what it's like to see him in person at Camp Nou at the heart of this Barça team at the height of his powers, how he gave the appearance of effortless play, the ball weightless, whether he scores or simply nudges, coaxing it. Molded in my vision of the game by Prof Arsene Wenger, football for me has always been above all about beauty, possibility, hope.
How then could I not hope that a fairy tale ending was possible for Rosario's little left-handed magician?
"Everyone remembers their firsts. The memory of my first contact with football is tangled with monsoon water up to my shins, a soaked school uniform that I refused to take off until at half time because I didn't want to miss a single minute, and the thrill that went through me when a young wizard with gaping teeth and curly hair kicked a ball towards the goal that followed the laws of physics until he didn't, suddenly changing direction and diving over the goalkeeper's head and into the net.Even as Ronaldinho Gaucho walked away, a big smile plastered on his face, and was instantly enveloped by ecstatic teammates, I felt time slow down, I felt inexplicably grounded in place but simultaneously energized."
If you've followed me or my writing, you'll know that my own journey with this maddening game began with that free kick 20 years ago and six World Cups. In 2002, I was unable to fully appreciate what I witnessed with the Brazilian side - which only happened in hindsight - but I still remember that overwhelming, all-encompassing feeling, which I have only felt a few times since and keeps me addicted to a sport that regularly demands more than it can yield.
But oh this feeling.
Over the years, and since my foray into club football, I have wondered if I still feel the same attraction to the tournament that started it all; if Arsenal captured all I had to give. But also, more and more, if I ever feel what I used to feel about football itself knowing all that I am doing now, with the game so changed and so irreparably corrupt. With the life of a modern football fan embodying conflicting dichotomies - the Super League fiasco was just one example, but there are so many in a world ruled by money and vested interests (which is not, nowadays, is a discussion for another day). We've all had to think about our fandom, the price we pay for choosing not to acknowledge these truths, and whether it's possible for multiple realities to co-exist in this new space we're (hopefully) creating for ourselves.
In 2022, even more than in 2018, I couldn't muster the excitement and anticipation that usually precedes the tournament. I hadn't planned my schedule around matches or made plans with friends. That feeling just wasn't there. Even if seeing Japan and especially Morocco shine as the matches progressed was a good thing.
But through it all, despite it all, I never stopped hoping as avidly as I could that Lionel Messi would go on to win it.
Ask me as a staunch Gooner and I'll cite several examples of the exquisite pain he inflicted on us. Ask me as a football fan and I'll tell you what it's like to see him in person at Camp Nou at the heart of this Barça team at the height of his powers, how he gave the appearance of effortless play, the ball weightless, whether he scores or simply nudges, coaxing it. Molded in my vision of the game by Prof Arsene Wenger, football for me has always been above all about beauty, possibility, hope.
How then could I not hope that a fairy tale ending was possible for Rosario's little left-handed magician?
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