Wednesday, June 23, 2010

The Sweetest Part of the Beat Lies Just Behind the Expected.

A day ahead full of expectation. Somewhere within that expectation of course, the truth will unravel itself, and if history is anything to go by, being able to find some comfort in whatever that yet hidden truth eventually is showed is the thing to be ever mindful of.

I am excited. I always get irrationally so when England play football in competitions. I think it has something to do with being born in 1965, and alive, in a pram, just over 1 year old when they won the World Cup back in '66.
My very being is filled with those unremembered memories of what must have been an amazing time. Noisy, joyful, silly jumping up and down victorious feelings that really, when probed are quite daft and fanciful. I should know that.
A childhood of kicking a ball around a street, and park field. The unparalleled emotion of scoring that winning goal that every football playing kid feels at least once when growing up.
I think that it is those innate deep feelings of some kind of achievement are what surface when these massive England days come around every 4 years or so.
Me is Gazza. Or Shearer. Or Shrek Rooney. When they do the business, it is me out there taking that glory. Those emotions from childhood are released, and perhaps for a moment, then all things are possible again. All things.

Then there is the inevitable disappointment to deal with. Hopefully it will be delayed to another day, but it will come that is for sure. Just not today eh?

Driving last night and looking across England, my part of it anyway - I found myself shouting out - Come on England. Come on England! Just win it. Do it for your country.
Unapologetic patriotism? No.

Just a little kid wanting to realise his lifelong. No shame in that.

So I will try to sit, just behind the beat of the day. In the sweetest part. A fraction between the doing and the observing. Waiting for that ball to bust that bastard net.

COME ON ENGLAND!!!! They think its all over...... its not yet.

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