LAST week, while writing my first commentary before the opening game, I thought I was ready.
Ready for the football, ready to fight for the remote, ready for the late nights, and even ready to be yawning in the office like a woman carrying national responsibility. What I had not prepared for, though, was the time zone. Guys, I am struggling. What do you mean we need to watch matches at midnight? And not just any match. Brazil and Morocco. A game no World Cup-loving person could casually sleep through.
It is wild to me that midnight has somehow become prime TV time. And no, I am not fighting for the remote anymore. Instead, I am being woken up at 11:55pm because, apparently, we have a match in five minutes and I have ‘commentary duties’. I am not okay. So, when you see me on the road, in the office, or anywhere really, please hug me. And if possible, add money.
Anyway, enough about my personal suffering. Let us talk about football, which is what I am supposed to be doing before I turn this into a sleep-deprivation diary. Before we get to that beautiful midnight match we watched yesterday, we need to talk about your faves, Bafana Bafana. I do not have the proper English words to express myself when it comes to our good neighbours because what was that? Who, in their right mind, decides that in the very first game of the group and the tournament, “You know what, let us just defend”? Who?
Look, I understood the idea in a league setup. But in a knockout tournament? Baby, what are we doing? Where exactly do you think this is going to take you? I know I called it, but I did not think it would be that catastrophic. Yes, catastrophic is the word. I expected maybe a small bad. A manageable bad. But yoh, this was giving Sihlangu.
Now, I know many people are still upset with Morocco. Apparently, there is some unfinished AFCON business there. I only heard about it on Saturday, so do not ask me for details. But can we talk about them? I was not fully aware of their talent, football-wise and, let us be honest, looks-wise. They were playing against Brazil, the team many people call the World Cup royalty, but Morocco came in fearless, guns blazing, and looking very serious about their business.
I honestly thought Morocco deserved to win that game. Not because they were the better team on the day, but because of the fight they put up. Ask Casemiro. He nearly got a public reminder that age comes for all of us. What I did not like, though, was what they did to Gabriel to get that goal. Wow. My boy was finished. And by a beautiful man, too. Ladies, did you see Saibari? Talented and beautiful. A dangerous combination.
Speaking of Brazil, am I the only one still shocked that Alisson is Brazilian? I do not know why, but he looks so European to me. Maybe Spanish. Maybe English. Anything but Brazilian. If you had shown me his picture with no context, Brazil would not have been my first guess.
That game was worth the sleep I lost. I am glad I woke up at 11:55pm and I am not even regretting the slice of pizza I had while watching it. Summer will get whichever body I give it, respectfully. It was entertaining. It was dramatic. It was beautiful football. And as much as this time zone has caught me completely off guard, it has not changed how I feel about the World Cup. Love it!
Love & Light
