World's cup of joy

It's all over…

After four weeks of talking, walking, sleeping and breathing nothing but football, it's time to bid goodbye to the cup of joy.

It's been a month since the world stopped turning on its axis moving instead to the unpredictable flight of the Jabulani ball and South Africa became the centre of the universe, and getting back to ‘normal' is going to be one big task for many.

After many a sleepless night of sitting glued to the telly, it will be hard to come to terms with thoughts of "what do I do this evening?"

There will also be no more frantic checking up on match schedules, no more reading of expert analysis, no stocking up on chips and cola, no making plans to watch the games on the big screen at The Palladium or Irish Village with like-minded footie-addicts, no animated debates with friends and colleagues.

Everything will once again appear so dull, so routine… so ordinary.

Given the excitement of recent weeks, this was bound to happen.

For the past month or so, work, family, friends and foes have taken a back seat to the happenings in South Africa. Why, I even forgot all about those pesky neighbourhood kids who rang our house bell at odd hours of the night just to get their kicks, as I looked forward to a date with the Villas, the Messis and the Forlans weaving their magic on the football field.

Invitations

Invitations from friends to ‘go out' for a movie or dinner were turned down with an incredulous "Don't' you know Spain is playing tonight?"

So severe was my case of football fever, that I religiously began reading up on the horoscope in the papers, dreading the fortunes of my favourite team(s) if Marjorie Orr's predicted "today you will face rough weather with the ball not right in your half of the ground" or, jumping for joy if she forecast "your dream will be fulfilled tonight" (it was, of course, an altogether different matter that the day she did that particular prediction, my second favourite team Argentina were mauled by the German tigers).

Earthly matters held no attraction for me during this period.

After all, what on earth could be more important than a Messi running towards goal, or David [Villa] slaying some giants enroute to becoming the biggest thing at this World Cup?

And let me tell you, long before the world went gaga over ‘oracle' octupus Paul, Mani the parakeet and their uncannily correct predictions, our very own unfriendly neighbourhood cat was doing his own ‘oracle Paul' by scratching out the names of teams that (disconcertingly) ended up losing from the front page match schedule of my Gulf News after it was kept outside my door by the newsboy.

I noticed this on three occasions, but after Argentina's loss the cat just seemed to have disappeared. Perhaps he had the misfortune of meeting some Argentina fans after their team were routed by Germany!

Now, as the curtains finally come down on the greatest sporting event on Earth, I am left with a tinge of sadness.

Over the coming days, all the excitement, all the glory and all the pain slowly fade away, leaving us with our routine, ordinary lives.

However, even as I indulge in nostalgia for days gone by, a passage from William Wordsworth's famous poem flashes upon my inward eye: "for oft when on my couch I lie in vacant or in pensive mood, they flash upon that inward eye which is the bliss of solitude and then my heart with pleasure fills and dances with the daffodils."

The same could be said of the World Cup.

Over the past month we have all lived and died a thousand times with each pass, each goal, each touch of brilliance on the football fields far away in South Africa and those memories will live with us long after the last of the vuvuzelas have played out their tuneless notes.

Like Wordsworth's daffodils, the World Cup has given us ordinary mortals enough moments of excitement to fill our hearts with pleasure and enough moments of magic to make our hearts dance with joy…

Long live the beautiful game.