Things are almost too good at the moment… am settling into a beautiful home with a beautiful family, exploring a new job that is so good it almost begs description (just imagine being able to turn those dreams of yours into reality – welcome to my job) and just to top it all off the World Cup is about to start… does it get any better?
Seriously though, did I mention the World Cup? Yes, that Cup, the one with ‘World’ in front of it. That one. That’s just about to start. Good.
And I find myself in an interesting position. As I wholeheartedly swore my commitment to Australia I did make note of the absence of any compulsion to support the [insert sport here]roos and, with the obvious exception of The Ashes, didn’t really think it would be an issue. I mean, most Aussies seem to prefer the barmy army to their own fans… so that’s cool right?
But now, with Australia’s first qualification in 32 years, it has come to football… and believe me, it’s a whole different game. Not just because throughout my life I’ve only really been a true supporter of one team, England, but also because dammit, it’s my game, it’s our game. It’s not competing for space with cricket (wrong season), rugby (wrong sport) or any other strange computation of balls and teams. Certainly none that feature 18 huge men-a-side playing in vests on a cricket oval playing ‘catch’ with a rugby ball. It’s absolutely everything and every four years (bar, ahem, the odd 1994) it sees me fall into a heap of excitement, nerves and a blend of optimism and panic that really nothing else comes close to matching.
So am I ‘barracking’ for Australia or England? Well, both of course. But when it comes down to it, there really isn’t a shadow of doubt. C’mon En-ger-land. Come-bloody-on.