The Beautiful Game

Every World Cup represents another 4 years older for the spectator. I vividly remember the 3rd/4th round match between Sweden and Bulgaria in USA 1994, a 4-0 victory for the Swedes and Stoichkov missed his chance to become outright top scorer. Of course, the final was a boring affair, the only time in World Cup history where the biggest prize is decided by spot kicks. The culprit this time, Roberto Baggio, who was the hero in Italy 4 years ago.

I was primary 4 then. Someone who can't even trap a simple pass. The lousy players all become defenders. And then the defenders are the ones to blame if the opponents score. I was of course the defender. I didn't know the significance of the World Cup then until crazy friends in my class told me. I was introduced to Championship manager, a soccer management game that is by now, all too familiar with all the testosterone-charged alpha males. Christopher Ong (not the STI intern), my primary school classmate I have to thank for bringing the game to my life.

4 years on, the World Cup in France remains one my most-loved. As I supported the Oranje all the way to the semi-finals only to be undone by Brazil in the penalty kicks again. I remember all the goals. Patrick Kluivert and Dennis Bergkamp is still my favourite international strike partnership. Marc Overmars, Clarence Seedorf, Edgar Davids and Ronald De Boer complete the midfield quartet. The wonder goal scored by Bergkamp in extra time of the game remains a heart-thumping moment whenever I think of it. The euphoria and happiness that followed was just undescribable. Those were the good old days when Channel 5 still showed most of the matches after the group stages.

What followed in school was this World Cup carnival. Us being Sec 2s played in a little grass field below our academic block. It was the place where we honed our skills, fight, live and breathe football. We gave ourselves names and I remember I was Paul Scholes. Soon after, friends called me Scholesy for a while. We had our own tournament and we had our national anthems and tunnel run-ups. All of us just wanted to get a kick and play ball. The tournament ended in my dismay as Cantona-less France went on the lift the cup with new hero Zinedine Zidane.

Holland who reached the semi-finals of both international tournaments before the 2002 World Cup failed to qualify. France and Argentina, hot favourites for the prize had early exits. Germany who had such an easy run-in to the World Cup final was not the fans' favourite. It was a World Cup of underdogs (Senegal, Turkey, South Korea) and ended with the two teams with 7(then) World Cups between them. I rooted for Korea like many others who wanted a fairy-tale story. A quiet World Cup really, it came and went. The real scoop was the Korea story for this one dispatched Portugal, Italy, and Spain. It was a pity they did not beat Germany, as Brazil was awaiting. What a collections of scalps that would be.

For me, it was A levels year. 1998 I predicted how 2002 would be and where I would be. I went as far as 2006, thinking how my life would change and how that World Cup would be. 2002 was to be Ronaldo's year. The World Cup quietly went and amidst my new found friends, my family started to crumble.

What will happen this World Cup? What will happen next? Will I be struggling to find a job in the 2010 World Cup? Will I be watching with my own family in the 2014 World Cup? Or will I be drowning in beer, eating peanuts?

The World Cup does not reflect my life but as each one comes along or when anticipating the next one, it becomes a time for reflection of what has happened and what would happen.

I want Rooney and Beckham to win the World Cup, only them.
I also want...so many things.