Even Better than Real Football. Much better than War.[Please read previous post first]

I must be growing too detached, too apatride, to go along with my lifelong incomprehension of anything to do with nationalism and resolute inability to feel patriotic. But I do love good football. I was at Wembley the night England beat Portugal in 66, behind the goal that Bobby Charlton scored twice into. The tunnel end, into which Eusebio dragged himself at the end, crying all the way. Everyone behind that goal applauded him off, not just with the magnanimty that is afforded to the winners, but because they kind of loved him for what he could do.
I have no pictures to illustrate what I want to write as my post-scriptum to Portugal's latest triumph over "my boys". But I am prepared to go on the record with my distant, detached view.
First a mosaic of half-time at the Alameda, Campo Grande. Party time, dancing, beer (and dope) re-fills. Shame it was against the light, but if you look closely at the pic top right, you should be able to make out a puppy doing its best to rip its master's flag to shreds. master cannot respond - too much beer, too stoned on dope.
Mosaic 2: Here we go again. Like we all knew in our hearts, because it's Ingerland, not just because it's Portugal, it HAS to go to penalties. We did they bother with the first 120 minutes, in which both teams were so bad that neither deserved to win?

Simão scores. Crowd go mad. I like the one of Stevie Gerrard walking away in close-up, a broken hero unaware that they've thrown a Portuguese flag in his face. That screen thing again. It also makes me think of Orwell, you know in 1984? The 2-minute hate. Except here in Portugal, wow! There's no hate!

The knife-edge agony. Viana's missed and we've lost the initiative; it could go either way...
The 4th one is the decisive micro-second. So ready was I that my picture shows that C.Ronaldo has already shot into the net, but only one guy has reacted besides me.







Next 10th of a second, it's mayhem, the outpouring of joy. First, though a junior C.Ronaldo who doesn't know what's hit him and he's scared.
15 minutes of joy, euphoria, singing, dancing, kissing with tongues (strangers before now? Quite possibly. Babies were made that night. It always happens when victory comes to call).
And what of Ingerland? This preludes my reaction in that moment, and which 48 hours later is even stronger. Many years ago, I saw a superb ballet at Covent Garden of the brilliant Bejart Company, called 'Nijinsky, Clown of God". Now, in 2006, I see Ingerland in this World Cup, tire of hearing the Turnip Swede's cold, lame press conferences always promising fantastic football in the next game and watching their disgracefully appalling football, knowing that the nation has spent fortunes in their name in a 1000 different ways (e.g. Tesco supermarket chain sold 7 MILLION disposable barbeques in these past 3 weeks, not to mention the others, or the collective alcohol sales....do the Brits grill that too?).
I knew instantly that this was the 5th time since 1990 that Eng had lost on penalties (Port x 2, Germany x 2, Argentina x 1) and I just laughed, because this is hilarious. They never learn, after teaching the game to the world. And so, dear friends, my conclusion: Take a bow, England football team. YOU are the Clowns of God! HilaRIOUS!! Who wins the World Cup? Tesco and Roman Abramovich.....But what on earth is the matter with me, who just stands back, watching it all and laughs, like a Fool on a Hill?