O Jogo Bonito

We’re almost there. It’s so close. Four years of waiting are almost over. The World Cup is upon us. Some of the usual signs haven’t been as evident this time around – there has been a distinct lack of St George flags in windows – but the pubs have now finally got into the mood with their various flag displays (and where exactly can you buy a Costa Rica flag in this country?).

I love a World Cup. Even with corruption and bribery accusations, cosseted footballers and ignorant television pundits, you just can’t beat this wonderful tournament that comes around just once every four years. From the giants of Brazil and Spain to the comparative minnows of Honduras and Iran, they have all now arrived in South America to compete for the ultimate prize in football.

I wish I could be there to experience it first-hand but for the next month I will be able to watch up to three matches a day (until those horrible football-less hours later in the tournament) from arguably the ‘real’ home of football. There will be the players and sides that we are all used to, but for me the World Cup is as much about watching Algeria, Ecuador and Bosnia as it is England, Germany and Holland. It sounds like – and is – a cliché but it really is a festival of football. Media pundits may suggest that some players are more interested in their clubs and the personal fortunes they bring them but for millions around the globe the World Cup is the pinnacle. And to have it in Brazil just accentuates the gloriousness of it all. Everyone is aware of the potential for the justified protests and demonstrations – spending so much on a sports tournament when the money could go towards much needed social provisions borders on the obscene – but still we are drawn to this most magical of competitions.

There are so many World Cup memories. From the grace and class of Brazil in 1982, to watching games before school in 1986, the England penalties of 1990, actually being at two matches in America in 1994, French dominance and Brazilian capitulation in 1998, more breakfast matches in 2002 before the carnival of 2006 and Africa hosting their first ever World Cup in 2010. I have loved every single one. I have no doubt that this year’s edition will evoke great memories in years to come.

The World Cup for me is the most enduring of spectacles and there is nothing Sepp Blatter, xenophobic fans or prima donna footballers can do to ever change that.