On Thursday, thanks to
a packed post-exam schedule clashing with All Of The Football, I found myself
watching the opening match of Brazil 2014 with a group of World Cup muggles. I
don’t want to patronise or offend - not everybody in there was a football
novice. A sizeable handful supported club teams of their own, and I was
pleasantly startled when nobody asked the offside rule. However, the general
mood was one of setting aside apathy for a special occasion, something I’m
guilty of before every Ashes series or Six Nations. Muggles, therefore, is
probably the best term for the majority I was with - those somehow immune to
the intoxicating magic of football, able to happily exist without the
life-support of Gary Lineker and Jeff Stelling. I found myself the most
knowledgeable football fan in the bar. It was an unfamiliar and terrifying
situation.
The first difference I
noticed was how bloody positive everybody seemed. Watching football with fellow
fans is an exercise in cynicism and cruelty – (see Gerrard, Steven, Liverpool
0-2 Chelsea, 27/04/2014). Not on Thursday. Everybody wanted Croatia to do well
because they were the underdog and had nice strips, not because a Brazilian
defeat would have been absolutely delicious. When Marcelo bundled in that own
goal, the place exploded with genuine joy for the Croatians (“look at their
little faces!”), while I was left to cackle alone at Neymar’s petulant scowl.
It was a lonely moment.
Speaking of Neymar, he
was a figure who regularly caught the muggle eye - even those who had never
heard of him. Here’s a quick rundown of the most mentioned players:
Neymar – The villain of
the piece. Stupid hair.
Stipe Pletikosa –
Affectionately nicknamed “Grasshopper” because he wore green and jumped around
a lot. Garnered a lot of sympathy, enough to even excuse his poor penalty save.
Daniel Pranjic – Didn’t
actually play, but was shown warming up before kick off. I pointed out that he
looked like a friend’s boyfriend. Very positive response.
Hulk – “Woah, he’s
big”. Nobody believed me when I insisted that he was actually called Hulk.
Marcelo/David Luiz –
Interchangeable afro men.
Interest inevitably
waned after half time, and by the 90th minute I was one of only a
few left to watch Oscar toe-poke Brazil over the finish line. In fact, one of
the evening’s biggest injustices was the lack of attention paid to the Chelsea
maestro throughout. I don’t think I heard him mentioned by any of the muggles
at all, despite turning in a Man of the Match performance. I’m sure that’s
keeping him awake tonight.
It was an interesting,
perception-changing evening. I left thinking that maybe the muggles are in some
way better than us. They didn’t linger over the referee’s terrible performance;
his decisions are set in stone now, so why consider them again? They happily
turned away from promising counter-attacks to get served before me at the bar.
They went to the toilet whenever they wanted, rather than sitting uncomfortably
in case something happened in the 45+2nd minute. And, most
disturbingly of all, their emotions aren’t dictated by the actions of Glen
Johnson.
A unique night for
sure, but I’m ready to settle back into my rank as a moderately-knowledgeable
football fan again. Brazil vs Croatia was certainly an experience, but I’d
rather be one of the bitter, swearing, taunting, angry masses again. There
wasn’t even a single chant.
Jack
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