My Cup runneth over

My world cup has ended even before the end. And it looks like it has happened to almost half of world, that's a consolation at the least for me. I can't say how much I looked forward to this World Cup. With my favourite team Brazil boasting of incredible talent. But all the hype about this going to be the Cup to watch has come to naught. It has been the teams with little known players that are in the final four. Who ever heard of Philip Lam the little classy left back of the German team or Maxi Rodriguez of Argentina who blasted a last moment kick to send the Mexicans home or Camoranesi the Italian with his pony tail who runs tirelessly and controls the mid field or Fabio Grasso who sent back the Aussies or Ribery of France who is a revelation. These chaps upstaged the more famous names like Ronaldinho, Nistleroy, Adriano, Kaka, Sevchenko, Cafu, Ballack, all who did not really live up to expectations. But I am really pissed off with the Brazilians who thought they could turn the game over with a moment of magic. It never came. They were all too busy trying to get their name in the goal scoring sheet. Old warhorses like Cafu who had Ronaldinho totally unmarked still tried to go for goal even though there was absolutely no chance. Or Roberto Carlos who is said to have been looking at his boots when Thiery scored. And Ronaldinho, for all his hype, was the biggest flop of the 2006 world cup. I am glad they burnt his effigy in Brazil. He had better not go back home for a while or they might just bump him off. Frank Lampard, John Terry, Steven Gerrard, Wayne Royney, all were miserable disappointments, totally impotent. Fellows could hardly get a kick right.
But the consolation was to see new chaps like Lam weave his magic down the left flank, Camoranesi, an Argentinian by birth, by the way he controlled the midfield with astute passes or Rodriguez who was a fearless warrior in all the games he played. Ah, and the beautiful and elegant Zidane who singlehandedly tore the Brazilians apart. What a display of artistic, classy football, and at his age too.
Anyway, I am still watching the games only because my daughter is a die hard soccer fan, something I inadvertently taught her when she must have been about ten. I still recall the 1994 World Cup when I thought it was time my son, about eight then, should see this major sporting spectacle, once in four years. So I prepared him by getting him the World Cup Soccer magazines and briefing him on all the teams and players. My daughter, I thought, was meant for more ladylike things like her Barbies'.
The first night of the Cup and I had prepared sausages and other snacks for the opening game. Time 2.30 am.
Get ready, I said, and come down quickly, its going to start. I heard little footsteps coming down the stairs.
Come Danny, I said, Daddy has prepared some nice yummies for the game.
Thank You Dad, she replied as she took her place next to me. I looked around for Daniel, my son.
He is fast asleep, Dad, don't bother, she said. And that was how she got started.