Now that the World Cup has hit a mid-life crisis (sure to be soon revived once the pre-quarters start though), its time for me to take stock of how footie-mania has impacted my professional life, personal life (!) and social life (??).
Ok, staying up till 2.30, and having to get up at 7 next morning, is fine for 1 or 2 days but it gets to you when you stretch it beyond that. Now what do I do when England plays Sweden (what a match, and what a shot by J Cole!), its Argentina vs Netherlands night after at the same bloody time 12.30 am, and there's a Brazil match (I didn't regret seeing this Ronaldo comeback match though) the following night! Simple, you can't resist: first you promise yourself - okay only till half-time. Then England suddenly play well after ages, or you get to see Tevez and Messi combining together like a dream, or see Ronaldo score a goal in the WC (after...what! only two matches...whatever). Now there's no way you can dump that match, so you reconcile yourself to getting up next morning bleary-eyed once again.
Worst part about that is you're inevitably late 'morning after' coz you wanted to sleep for 15 more minutes, your trusted maid who's your emergency alarm-bell doesn't turn up (tells you later she rang the bell twice but you didn't respond) and you're ready to shout at anyone who comes your way, the traffic signals always seem to be conspire against you and, this is the most irritating part, most people in office look perfectly cool and composed when you finally huff and puff to your desk. One look and your boss knows it was another late night and the look screams 'oh grow up child, get a life'.
Ok now on my boss. He's a nice guy. He even followed sports - mostly cricket, but football also - till recently. He can rattle off the jersey nos of almost everyone who played in the '86 world cup. But something has changed - he got married last yr and...well, is totally domesticated now, I'll leave it at that.
So you slog through the day, controlling post-lunch yawns is a big fight but you valiantly march on!
6.30 pm: you're thinking about sneaking out early today, when you're unexpectedly called for this meeting (ya Q1 is the time for plans and reviews and more crap) which carries on for...yes I'm lucky... only one hour. Off for the day!
8 pm: the gym usually doesn't let you down - good music, more bleary-eyed people like you who discuss soccer and abuse their bosses, relaxing workout, and usually some more relaxing...err...inspiration of a different kind. All is well till the instructor remarks "Umm, that li'l belly you're putting on...is that because of all the pubbing you're doing lately?". This guy knows me too well - I valiantly argue to prove 'beer-belly' is a concept that has long been written off by scientists as baseless: case in point - European countries where the per capita beer consumption is highest don't have more overweight people than other countries. Plus, I'm not really a hardcore beer-guzzler who drowns a pitcher all by himself! I stop at 2 mugs, and I drink only when I'm out on weekends: nothing doing, I'm subjected to the tread-mill which I genuinely abhor ! While sprinting with a scowl on my face, I do a lazy recollection: actually, that was four times in the last eight evenings - all with friends over soccer matches; worse, I can't stop eating when I'm drinking - and pubs have a great non-stop supply of chicken wings, french fries, peanuts and popcorn just for people like me! I run some more to feel better.
PS: The newspapers say Ronaldo at 1.83 m and 90.5 kgs, is just 500 gms above the ideal weight for his height. I have much reason to cheer - I'm a Greek God.