Columbia – Confused

So what's going on?? Psychiatrist anyone?

Strange things are afoot in Columbia. Lunchtime kickoff between Columbia and En-ger-land (in the soccer world cup, for those who probably, for the right reason, decide that there are more important things to concern oneself in life) and for some incomprehensible reason I found myself wanting those perennial losers, the Poms, to win. It didn't make sense.  I'm in Columbia, a win would mean more games surrounded by anxious supporters that squeal everytime the ball comes within a squillon millimeters of goal (pretty sure that's still a long way) and yes, those squeals are from the blokes. Next, I have never supported England in any sport for any reason. The level of my enjoyment watching Australia win in sports has always been closely linked to watching England find ways to lose. There have been some classics over the years, and I hold them all very dearly, close to my heart. So why, dear God, is this happening? I spent the first half contemplating this obnoxious question as much as I spent thinking of the goings on in the game. Could it be that my genetic disposition has finally come home to roost (thanks Dad), could it be that as I get older I have begun to sprout irrational sympathies for undeserving, untalented lowlife sporting teams (the problem with this is that if they were real lowlifes I wouldn't want them to win). No, I  came to the conclusion that the reason was that 52 years (1966) has been a long enough punishment for drinking flat, warm beer - for being good fellas while at the same time not being good fellas - for giving Australians as much grief for us losing anything as we give to you guys for those many more times you have lost than us. Yes, the world is changing (thanks Donald). So in the second half of the game I decided, yes, I want England to win the World Cup. The decision still hurts, but it is what it is.

God forgive me.