The three or four barren days between two international matches are slowly killing me. A constant stream of news that is not quite exciting enough to actually be news seeps into my mind. These days have an order of things, as rigid as concrete. A template set in stone.
The First Day After the Game is relatively silent. It is a Sunday. Most Dutch newspapers don’t publish a Sunday edition, so their writers have to wait a day to spew their gall. Public discontent, at this point, expresses itself largely through a state of numbness. We are surprised. We had hoped against hope that this game would be different, and sat through it waiting for a moment where everything comes together perfectly. We know it would never come, so we decided to settle for a goal. Any goal. Only a win would justify our willingness to subject ourselves to ninety minutes of this. The rest of the First Day After the Game is carefully spent choosing to who you will and to who you will not admit you actually watched it.
The Second Day After the Game is one of severe public turmoil. Having been held on a tight leash for the entire Sunday, our nation’s rabid sportswriters are set loose, and the result isn’t pretty. We read reports of players who have been sent home, and others who are time-bombs waiting to go off. I scour a hospital newspaper stand for anything that will satisfy my need for blood. AD Sportwereld, the one Dutch attempt at a daily sports newspaper, will do. At night, a man on the television screams about the coach, the tactics and the team. Then he nuances his words a little. Then some more. Then some more until he’s apologizing.
The Last Day Before the Next Game will be one filled with caution. The insurgent voices within the Dutch media will have run out of steam. They’ll sound hoarse, careful and hesitant. On this day, those who have been especially vocal realize what they have done. An opportunity at which they can be proven wrong approaches rapidly. How could they not have seen this coming? They are nervous. What if they were wrong? What if the team will put on a show to end, once and for all, every doubt about their coach?
On the Day Of the Next Game, we wait again. As reports about the line-up slowly make it to the public, we take a long, hard look in the mirror and ask ourselves: “Is this going to be any better than the last time? Is this really worth all of our time and frustration? Am I really going to watch this again?”
The answers? Let us hope so, probably not and yes I will.
2 comments:
and then after all the critics have lost their collective breath... in the summer of 2008 after the triumphant return of RVN ... the canals of Amsterdam will color orange... brilliant orange
Loved the ending! The passion for football is amazing, and the matches aren't probably going to be better, it really worths all the time and frustration, and yes! we're definitly going to watch that again, because even if the team lose and lose and lose, at the end, the hope stills move us, still makes us believe, still makes us watch... brilliant orange :)
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