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Watch out for “your” team and the PEOPLE who watch with you….


The 2022 FIFA World Cup has kicked off. A middle eastern country and northern hemisphere’s winter have welcomed it for the first time. While I was checking the schedule and making a mental note of which games to watch, my mind travelled back in time. I closed my eyes to control the outpour of reminiscence, and an image of a crying Brazilian baby girl froze. It was year 2014 and her team has just been drubbed by Germany in the semi-finals.


This baby girl was around four years old and most likely, did not completely understand how mortifying this was for Brazilians. Her tears ensued from the sadness that was radiated from her parents. But what about the millions watching the broadcast who made her sadness their own?


Most of these people are like me whose country never plays in (or “qualifies for”) the World Cup. But they still cheer for “their” team with equal fervor. This passion towards a team of another country gets instilled at a very young age through family or close friends. It is an ever-growing, strange and impossible-to track line of succession. It is not restricted to a select group of extended family, the likes of what we find in Game of Thrones. Isn’t that funny, and sweet at the same time?


I started supporting Brazil because my father did. I remember the year 1998, when I was allowed to wake up at around 3am and watch the final game between Brazil and France. Six World Cups later, the result of that game does not really matter. But I remember feeling a bit grown up that day. Because my family believed that this child could handle the lack of sleep and still go to early morning swim classes, followed by school. That felt nice.


I feel all these sporting events later become like souvenirs that secretly smell of our favorite people. To the extent that the joy of “our” team winning the Cup might wane over time. But the delicate spin-off memories do not fade as easily.


We will always remember the person, who opened the window so that we could watch a crucial game on their television, while waiting at a bus-stop.


After a decade, very few will recall the top goal scorer of 2022 but will always remember the friend who taught them intricate game rules, whenever a similar situation happens in future.


The name of the best player of this World Cup might escape our memory by year 2042. But not the person we first ran into today, because both of us were the only ones wearing the jersey of the losing team at office. In these instances, we thank football inwardly for helping us find a friend through that stroke of serendipity.


The aura of the beautiful game gets nothing but uplifted when we tightly embrace the loving memories of those who watch with us.

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