Footblog

It takes me back, every single time. May 23, 1990. Thirteen years old. We are spending the weekend at a beach house outside of Bombay. I get up at 2 a.m. to watch the finals of the European Cup-Winners Cup (yes - that is really what it was called). AC Milan vs. Benfica. We didn't have cable at home, but these fancy corporate guest houses - they've got da hookup. That is when I fell in love with football and with the Orange. AC Milan with their brilliant dutch triumvirate of Marco Van Basten, Ruud Gullit and Frank Rijkaard. Funny thing is that the clubs in the match weren't even Dutch. They were from Italy and Portugal respectively, but in a way, it was portentious of the state of things to come - the internationalization of club football. In any case, the rebirth of the Clockwork Orange was in full effect, and I was there to witness it. In the end, the match was probably disappointing (Milan won 1-0, on a penalty by Rijkaard), but the allure of star power, of possibility, had me hooked. Love is inexplicable like that.

Even now, as I get up at 6 a.m. to catch the World Cup fixtures between, say England and Paraguay, I am still really in the same place as I was back in 1990 on Madh Island. It is all child-like adulation and wonder. I am thirteen going on thirty.

Can you tell I've been reading the book?