Once every four years the world pauses in its stride to watch a ballet of maestros, where the music is a crescendo of screaming fans. It doesn’t matter if your country is represented or not, you still have your favorites, you still sit up all night and wait for the whistle to blow.
No sport commands this sort of mass following. No sport captures the imagination of the world like soccer does.
The World Cup of Soccer is here and the world will pause again.
It will revel in the magic of the Brazilian samba, sigh at the immaculate correctness of European teams, marvel at the brilliance of men in shorts chasing a ball and surprisingly it all makes sense.
There will be moments of glory, and the moments of sheer despair.
Tears will be shed at defeat.
Whoops of joy will greet victories.
Games will be dissected in tea shops.
Heroes will be born and then others will disappear.
But in the end it will be soccer which will win.