The King of Persia

Another Monday. But this Monday is different. I am happy. I am a lot sleepier too since I watched the France-England game this morning. I slept at 10 pm last night and set the alarm at 2.30 am this morning. But it was worth the zombiness. When Victoria...., I mean David, as in Beckham, missed the penalty I had a strange feeling that England will lose. You know, that same feeling you get just before something desirable happens, a good kind of feeling. I was not really rooting for France but with names like Zidane, Pires, Lizarazu and Trezeguet, it was hard not to support them. And that is before we take into consideration names such Platini, Giresse, Camberabero, Sella and Blanco. Do you prefer amour or love? Say amooouurrrr..... Now try saying love. I rest my case. Merde, silly me.

Anyway, football has been good to me. I vaguely remember the 1970 World Cup in Mexico. I am one of those people who do not support Manchester United (sorry Along) or Liverpool (sorry Shaz) or Arsenal (you poor blokes...) Or any other team for that matter. I only play the game. Then it was a blur of World Cups until 1982 when Zico and Co. and Platini and Co. were bundled out of the World Cup. I lost interest after that.

The game this morning was not bad. I wouldn't want to be an Englishman as of now since I'd feel lousy. Very very lousy. But at least thanks to Jonny Wilkinson's feet the rugby title is theirs for a few more years. Besides, they have two more games in Euro 2004. I have been in a few good football games. We won the intra-mural soccer tournaments for 3 years in a row while in college. Against middle eastern teams with players nicknamed Zico, no kidding!! Then there was this one tournament in New Hampshire where this scrawny ex-Penang Razak Cup player caused us some concern before Din Clone clipped him and he had to limp off the field. We won. To this day Clone swore that he did not intend to take the boy out. Yeah, sure Clone. And I am the King of Persia.