World Cups are about memories.
Like childhood Christmases, their rarity makes them something to cherish. When watching your country in a World Cup, you’re acutely aware of the consequences of failure. That’s it, no more. Not for at least four years anyway. Four years? That’s a lifetime when you’re a child, or a fully grown football supporter. The irrational emotions of the two are almost identical.
Growing up, the World Cup held enough novelty value to even attract the fleeting interest of my football-loathing mum. Opening ceremonies and penalty shoot-outs were her favourite, but it was with Dad… Read the full story