Arkotong Longkumer
The Football World Cup happens every four years. During the month or so of it being displayed on giant TV screens, pubs in Britain crawl with pilgrims filling the stools as they watch, oblivious to the world. Pubs in Scotland offer special deals that reflect its nationalistic sentiments against the English team. Some offer customers a free pint for every English missed penalty while others offer buckets of beer displayed around like bulls on parade. Yes, these days, it is mad heaven! It is a summer drenched in beer and chips, where the heat wave hasn’t even started yet.
Football is such a sensitive topic in Britain. For example, this year, the First Minister in Scotland voiced his support for Trinidad and Tobago, probably because they were in England’s qualifying group. The rationale behind this move, as suggested by the First Minister, was that some of the players in that team play in the Scottish Premier League. Staying true to his Scottish colours, he couldn’t root for England (his neighbours) rather, he chose to put his bet on a far out Island that probably has no economic, socio-political connection, other than the fact Trinidad and Tobago represent the chance that England could be beaten. Of course, England prevailed on this occasion. Football games (in this case) become the grounds for ambivalence by way of defining some sort of nationalism stirring up ancient quarrels between two of the nations that make up the United Kingdom.
A similar division is visible in Europe between the Germans and Dutch. Sitting in a pub in Amsterdam, these feelings became apparent as the Dutch supporters in their famous, but blinding, orange outfits formed the front line against Germany in their match with Argentina. A young chap in the Argentine outfit becomes the willing mascot for the marauding Dutch as they cheer on the Argentine team. Whenever the Argentine player was taking the penalty, they waited silently as the young Argentine supporter in the pub knelt, crossed his chest with the Trinity, holding his hand in supplication, pleading for success. Each breath held against the tide of history as people sat there aghast at the impending result. To add salt to the wounds, a German girl paraded her nation’s flag flung across her as if the war had been won, the tricolour of the German flag painted on her cheeks, as she triumphantly walked. For God and country.
These games represent a symbolic notion of how the communal psyche is transformed into mass hysteria. Football is not merely a sport, it bears the brunt of a Crusade, it dichotomises opinions, nationalities, and for a moment we almost get a glimpse of the ancient angst which surfaces in these vivid images. Yet in the labyrinth of history we see snippets of past events woven into a powerful reminder of how nations project their sense of belonging against the other (most likely its neighbour) which creates simulacra of the past etched on the playing field. It is no longer axes and swords pitted against each other, but boots and the colour of the shirt, fighting for one redemptive glory—to win by controlling the ball. This is a single moment of idiocy—but we love it. Don’t we.
This year was no different. One an aging giant and the other immersed in match fixing controversy at home. The drama is surreal as it unfolds. Will the Gauls succeed in sacking Rome again? Will Zidane hold aloft the FIFA World Cup amidst claims of visions. Sadly, we all know the story.
Sporting events create enormous degrees of passion. They are unpredictable in their scope and vision, but orchestrated into moments of sublime movements that hold your breath. Is it there to please, entertain, or to achieve some sort of universal goal of achievement? The World Cup produces these moments of genuine feeling of togetherness that surprise nations. When France won the World Cup in 1998, it displayed the crude metamorphosis of a Nation, a mixed ensemble of nationalities: Algerian, Ghanian, Armenian, Arab. These sentiments are applauded by the French President Jacque Chirac as he heralds an Algerian immigrant. ‘You are a virtuoso’, he says of Zidane, ‘a genius of football and an exceptional human being. That is why France admires you’. France as a nation explores the boundaries of race and colour to one unifying ideal of togetherness. And for a moment it appears as if any crime is forgivable, any mistake forgiven, and any pain suffused by that single moment when the nation lifts the cup. Italy has done it this year despite a torn sporting nation as investigations about match fixing continued even during the World Cup. Investigations that could jeopardize most of the players playing in the World Cup. But the suffering of a nation, it seems, in one sweep, becomes the fairy tale magic of overcoming the curse. And, for a moment it seems it is alright. But again, when tomorrow comes, it will return to the routine. The world continues with the hum of daily life. Once in four years, the standstill is welcome because sport provides an added relief against the harsh backgrounds of the petty realities of everyday life. It magnifies the human euphoria into something worth applauding. Next stop, South Africa 2010!
