Every football fanatic has a football story. A chance event that works pretty much the same way as the cliché ‘Love at first sight’. My football story involves my dad’s trophy cabinet, the FIFA World Cup ’06 and the Red Devils.
In the summer of 2004, as I rummaged through the storage room looking for an old book, I came across a box of old trophies. Cups, medals and shields that belonged to my dad. My dad, the football captain. I’d never heard these stories so, surprised, I raced to my dad and asked him. His stories were the beginning, the first chapter, of my affair with the most beautiful game in the world. The weekend was never the same from that day on. As I watched match after match of the English Premier league, my dad, sitting beside me, would patiently explain red cards, free kicks, the offside rule and penalties. I began to understand the game, admire the players and before I knew it, I was in love. My favourite thing about the game, I quickly realised, is the adrenaline rush, the excitement when the ball rushes into the goalpost. Since then, I’ve never been able to watch a match sitting down.
Among the things that have moulded my love for football, the world cup in 2006 would be pretty high up on the list. I have never waited for anything quite like I waited for the opening ceremony of the FIFA World Cup ’06. This was something special. This was the entire world coming together to celebrate their love for football. Every match built up to a final that I will never forget. France were tied with Italy, 1-1, with goals from Zidane and Materazzi and at the end of the regulation 90 minutes, both sides had failed to score the winning goal. ET produced no further goals and a penalty shootout followed. I cried myself hoarse each time the ball hit the net and when Trezeguet missed, I danced and rejoiced with Italy as they lifted the Cup. Football, the World Cup taught me, is a way of life. It’s the feeling of exultation as your club or country wins a match. It’s the feeling of disappointment and heartbreak when they, when we, lose. It’s who we are. Now I knew, it’s also who I am.
The last link in my story is a 3 minute video I saw on youtube. A clip of the 1999 Champions League final between Manchester United and Bayern Munich held at Camp Nou, Barcelona. 3 minutes and my heart belonged to M.U.F.C. At the end of 90 minutes, the score was Bayern Munich 1-0 Manchester United. The Cup was theirs, BM knew. Europe was theirs, they were sure. 3 minutes of IT changed it all. Ryan Giggs’ right-footed snap-shot was weak and poorly struck, but it went straight to Sheringham, who swiped at the shot with his right foot, and nestled the ball in the bottom corner of the net. The goal was timed at 90:36. The stadium erupted into chants of “Glory, Glory Man United” and the supporters knew that now, United had a fighting chance. Less than 2 minutes later, Ole Gunnar Solskjaer poked the ball into the roof of the Bayern goal for United to take an astonishing lead. The scoreboard now read Bayern Munich 1- 2 Manchester United. At the end of IT, Peter Schmeichel, alongwith SAF, raised the trophy and Manchester United claimed their second European Cup title. This was the most amazing game of football I’d ever seen and I knew right then, I’d wear the colour red, forever, with pride.
This is my football story. Why I love football. And I write a little more of it with every single match I watch.
Guest Writer: Maanya Sachdeva
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