The Boys From Brazil

Remember when you were a child, and you'd just reached the age where Christmas had taken firm root in your mind as something really special? And not just special for shallow, materialistic reasons (though don't get me wrong, the presents were always a cheerful boon after a few weeks' cessation from being a despicable little cunt). Do you remember when you actually believed that flying reindeer were going to transport some fat bastard around the world in the space of a night, and that a snowman could come to life and whisk you off to the North Pole, and that the little lord Jesus was born from a virgin while a donkey watched and three old geezers trekked across the desert in the light of a star to try and catch it all in time, because they were into that sort of thing?

Now can you imagine if all of it really was true, and it happened every year, and you could watch Father Christmas do his world tour and discuss how his new 4x4 wifi-enabled sleigh wasn't a patch on the old banger he used to do the rounds in when you were little? Can you imagine how special Christmas would be if adulthood hadn't boiled it all down to the responsibilities and the materialism?

If you can, then you have some idea how those of us who love football feel about the World Cup. Because the World Cup is something I grew to love at roughly the same time I was taking bullshit about pregnant virgins and flying snowmen at face value, but guess what? Gary Lineker is still real. Toto Schillachi is still real. Diego Maradona is still real (however strongly I may wish otherwise). The England win of '66, the Brazil superstars of 1970, Dutch total football, the triumph of French multiculturalism; these stories are true, and they're still being written. And while the World Cup may also be rich pickings for the vultures of commercialism and materialism, no McDonalds ad can ever take away the feeling of seeing some of the greatest events in the history of world football unfold before my eyes, and how it felt to share those moments with people close to me.

Nowadays, it's a different cup of tea entirely to what I grew up with, and part of that includes the shabby ethics of FIFA and the pathetic priorities of the Brazilian government, which are very much in the spotlight during this year's tournament. But even in spite of the unsavoury circumstances, and the more negative ways technology has impacted the game (stop taking a selfie and WATCH THE FUCKING MATCH, DAMMIT), the sense remains that sport, culture and politics are colliding in Brazil this summer in the same old way they have in countless nations every four years. And, as always, it means the world to me.