Finally, it’s over. The World Cup has been passed on, new champions have been created, and older ones have been humbled. Heroes have been created and installed on lofty pedestals, while some have been brought down with such force that their pedestals lie shattered to pieces.
Who would imagine that twenty-two men, dressed in flimsy jerseys and shorts, running behind a ball, would be so interesting, so gripping? Who would believe that such play could keep millions, nay billions in its grasp, watching every kick, every move, sighing when one’s favourites are down, and exult when they rise again?
Le Coupe du Monde is not just a symbol of a glorious undertaking, of a magnificent effort; it is the just reward for those who chose not to rest on their past laurels, but forged ahead to receive newer ones. So, it would seem that the Greats forgo their moment of glory, for they were under the illusion of being great, and offered the minnows the chance to shine under the sun, to bask in the warmth of fame.
Italy aren’t first time winners, having won it thrice before in 1934, 1938 and 1982. And yet this victory is special, for it holds the promise of heralding a new era in its domestic football, sort of like the cleansing of the Augean Stables by the floods of the rivers Alpheus and Peneus. France will have another chance after four years, only Zizou will not be there.
Speaking of Zidane, the manner in which he was shown the door was rather unfortunate, and people would say that his behaviour was unwarranted. But given the provocation he faced, maybe this was the least he could have done. True, one expects a man of his calibre to have patience, to forgive the slur as the words of a frustrated man, but then sometimes a slur is just too tortuous a barb at the heart. Many a hearts must have broken at the sight of Zidane retreating to the outer precincts of the ground, many would have wondered whether Les Bleus would be able to grab the Coupe again without the reassuring presence of Zizou. Their doubts came home to roost, and France was denied its place under the sun, and maybe had Zenedine Zidane been there at the penalties, then perhaps it could have been a different story altogether.
The World Cup in 2010 will be a different affair. Most of those whom we saw and fawned over in this session might not be there. And if they be there, it is highly probable that they might be but shadows of their brilliant selves. What one prays and hopes is that the game go on, in its true spirit and that it may confer its grace upon us, and for once, make us believe that we are one people, united in our dreams, in our aspirations!
Who would imagine that twenty-two men, dressed in flimsy jerseys and shorts, running behind a ball, would be so interesting, so gripping? Who would believe that such play could keep millions, nay billions in its grasp, watching every kick, every move, sighing when one’s favourites are down, and exult when they rise again?
Le Coupe du Monde is not just a symbol of a glorious undertaking, of a magnificent effort; it is the just reward for those who chose not to rest on their past laurels, but forged ahead to receive newer ones. So, it would seem that the Greats forgo their moment of glory, for they were under the illusion of being great, and offered the minnows the chance to shine under the sun, to bask in the warmth of fame.
Italy aren’t first time winners, having won it thrice before in 1934, 1938 and 1982. And yet this victory is special, for it holds the promise of heralding a new era in its domestic football, sort of like the cleansing of the Augean Stables by the floods of the rivers Alpheus and Peneus. France will have another chance after four years, only Zizou will not be there.
Speaking of Zidane, the manner in which he was shown the door was rather unfortunate, and people would say that his behaviour was unwarranted. But given the provocation he faced, maybe this was the least he could have done. True, one expects a man of his calibre to have patience, to forgive the slur as the words of a frustrated man, but then sometimes a slur is just too tortuous a barb at the heart. Many a hearts must have broken at the sight of Zidane retreating to the outer precincts of the ground, many would have wondered whether Les Bleus would be able to grab the Coupe again without the reassuring presence of Zizou. Their doubts came home to roost, and France was denied its place under the sun, and maybe had Zenedine Zidane been there at the penalties, then perhaps it could have been a different story altogether.
The World Cup in 2010 will be a different affair. Most of those whom we saw and fawned over in this session might not be there. And if they be there, it is highly probable that they might be but shadows of their brilliant selves. What one prays and hopes is that the game go on, in its true spirit and that it may confer its grace upon us, and for once, make us believe that we are one people, united in our dreams, in our aspirations!
1 comment:
:D :D
common man!!!
Post a Comment