From small dusty cafes, to clean cut bars, from ancient TVs with cracked screens and stray bursts of static to giant plasmas in expensive hotels, I have now watched the football world cup in four different countries. I have lost count of the number of bars, cafes, bus waiting areas, hotel lobbies or peoples living rooms that I have watched the game, drinking tea, coffee or smoking shisha. For a few moments, the span of a perfectly executed goal or an outrageous penalty, everyone watching is united in a shared love of the spectacle. We become connected by a common bond, one that transcends language, race and sex.
Together we watch, held in awe by the performance, united, we marvel at the athleticism of the players, and for a few moments it’s possible to imagine a fair and just world where anything is possible. A world where the rich and powerful can be laid low by the poor and weak, where an unknown player or team, through chance, hard work and determination, can challenge the unrivaled dominance of the greatest. For a few moments, we forget the realities of the world; together we imagine a world of level playing fields. A world where, within a few tense seconds, an arching ball from a corner kick and a well-timed header, your fate can be changed forever.
For a few short hours we speak the same language. I have sat with people who I only met that day- and will never see again- their names quickly forgotten or never known. We share our thoughts, ideas, our fears, our darkest memories and our dreams with a comfortable fluidity of lifelong friends. And for a day, perhaps, we are exactly that.
Waiting for a bus in a dusty Egyptian town, I trade a thumbs-up and a cigarette stained grin with a man at the table next to me when Germany heads the ball pass the French goal keeper.
In Urfa, an ancient town rumoured to have been the birth place of both Abraham and Job, a Turk, his farmer's hands rough and strong, slaps me triumphantly on the shoulder when Holland scores against Australia.
On the beach in Hurghada, a resort town on the Egyptian side of the Red Sea, a Ukrainian man asks me in broken English who I think will win the world cup. I reply that I think Holland is looking strong- (repeating what I had overheard someone talking about in the bus earlier that day.)
"For me,” the Ukrainian replies, “Columbia is good!”
The conversation ends there. We shake hands and he gets into his waiting taxi.
To be honest, I really am not interested in football- I am just happy to be included, however briefly, in something bigger then myself. A global band of football brothers.
Jed Anderson-Habel
Together we watch, held in awe by the performance, united, we marvel at the athleticism of the players, and for a few moments it’s possible to imagine a fair and just world where anything is possible. A world where the rich and powerful can be laid low by the poor and weak, where an unknown player or team, through chance, hard work and determination, can challenge the unrivaled dominance of the greatest. For a few moments, we forget the realities of the world; together we imagine a world of level playing fields. A world where, within a few tense seconds, an arching ball from a corner kick and a well-timed header, your fate can be changed forever.
For a few short hours we speak the same language. I have sat with people who I only met that day- and will never see again- their names quickly forgotten or never known. We share our thoughts, ideas, our fears, our darkest memories and our dreams with a comfortable fluidity of lifelong friends. And for a day, perhaps, we are exactly that.
Waiting for a bus in a dusty Egyptian town, I trade a thumbs-up and a cigarette stained grin with a man at the table next to me when Germany heads the ball pass the French goal keeper.
In Urfa, an ancient town rumoured to have been the birth place of both Abraham and Job, a Turk, his farmer's hands rough and strong, slaps me triumphantly on the shoulder when Holland scores against Australia.
On the beach in Hurghada, a resort town on the Egyptian side of the Red Sea, a Ukrainian man asks me in broken English who I think will win the world cup. I reply that I think Holland is looking strong- (repeating what I had overheard someone talking about in the bus earlier that day.)
"For me,” the Ukrainian replies, “Columbia is good!”
The conversation ends there. We shake hands and he gets into his waiting taxi.
To be honest, I really am not interested in football- I am just happy to be included, however briefly, in something bigger then myself. A global band of football brothers.
Jed Anderson-Habel