Desi musings during the international break

It will be a cornucopia of babes, beauty and above all, the ball. But until then, we should just hand over tickets to the big boys, and draw a lottery for the rest of them. The lottery would make for some great TV, so the channels won’t be complaining. And the rest of us can go back to our rowdy, rampaging weekend action. Everybody wins.

See, I could do a better job than Sepp Blatter, at any rate. As if handing Qatar the 2022 World Cup wasn’t bad enough, forget that ridiculous “winter world cup” proposal, he now goes on record saying that it may have been a mistake to award Qatar the chance to host the World Cup in the first place. Just how did he get re-elected again?

Perhaps the reason we feel so disenchanted with the international break is because it brings into sharp focus that which club football gives us so unselfishly – a sense of identity. Whether it is wearing you club’s jersey and hollering at a TV screen to proceedings that go on thousands of miles away, or identifying yourself as a “Gooner”, “Scouser”, or “Red Devil”, club football lets us be a part of something that is so much bigger than anything we could imagine.

While the World Cup does evoke strong passions the world over, irrespective of nationality, it comes with an idle, almost laughable thought that we shake away almost immediately – I wonder what it would be like to support India at a FIFA World Cup.

Comedian Russell Peters once implored at how the second largest population in the world could not put together a team of 11 decent footballers. And while the expression on his face (not to forget the subsequent Indian jokes) had me resigned to mouthing Govinda’s Pardesi Babu number “It happens only in India”, it made me just a little bit whimsical.

Why, I may just be getting a little philosophical. I think it may be time to return to our friend in Manchester. It has been widely rumored that Moyes has taken to carrying around an asthma inhaler these days, and that he takes a puff at it when he thinks no one is looking. And no, he does not suffer from asthma.

The rumors were true, for once! Our protagonist throws away the inhaler with a look of disdain and contempt, and proceeds to walk into a cold Manchester night, apparently unaware of the downpour that is a feature of these parts. This may be a sign of things to come for Manchester United.

Either that or we will see Moyes frantically searching the streets when normal service resumes. The only thing that we know for certain is that nobody can quite wait for a return to those glorious weekends spent suspended in a world of wonder and amusement.

Oh, yeah, and I assume my general tone of nastiness will be excused? I can’t be the only one. It is the international break, after all.