Now when I get to think of it,....I feel something not quite crazy or well, stupid, but some parts of my mind seem to support that notion; that I’ve wasted my time seeing the World Cup. Not that I went to South Africa per se, but the fact that I had to hurry home because I wanted to "make sure" Rooney doesn't score for England gave me a quixotic feel of influencing and conjuring up results in the faraway land. At a point I felt like that Octopus thing Paul....did I say I hate jellyfishes and octopuses? I'd stray for a second. You see, I grew up swimming in sea creatures infested brackish waters and I dreaded a jellyfish getting stuck on me. So predicting matches like an Octopus wasn’t that much fun because a supposedly inferior and slimy creature was doing it. But then, I hate having to question things I did for fun because I believed they served to make the mo worth its while. Unfortunately, am not experiencing the hangover that is supposed to come in the immediate aftermath of such a gargantuan event. Maybe it’s due to the anti climax that came from ‘my team’ (not Nigeria, of course) not winning the event despite getting to the finals. Yes, I prefer a virgin nation carting home the trophy and never quite had serious issues with Spain doing that, but well allegiances will remain……allegiances. And for now, they’ll still remain with the land of the Dutch.
Okay, now add the feelings of being in a league with octopuses and knowing that my country failed woefully,…and my preferred nation not going home with the trophy, you can see why it was as if the whole party just didn’t fly for me in the end. I don’t want to think of the things I would’ve done while I was seeing the matches…I don’t want to go there, really. Those would make me miserable. …they already seem to be doing, so I’d stop this little ‘confession’ now.
Well, I’m glad for just one thing right now. I’ve got my life back.
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