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Sharuko On Saturday

FROM Prince to pauper, they exploded, as a tidal wave of national pride, swept through their veins, and stirred their vast nest of emotions, into ecstasy.

And, from the Pope in Rome, to the London commentator who calls himself the football poet, whose real name is Peter Drury, they united in prayer.

For the world to always remain such a beautiful place.

This planet, which humans call home, bursting with such joyous scenes, brimming with such heroic triumphs and such dignified defeats, where winners and losers, shake hands, to provide a fitting end.

The Spaniards and the Croats started it, in a crazy eight-goal slugfest, which provided the ultimate test, for both patience and resistance, in two hours of relentless drama.

Then, the Swiss and the French, took it to another level, with one of them rising from the dead, in a battle that went the distance, ending only when a Parisian Prince, of all people, fluffed his lines, from just a dozen yards.

The vibration it triggered, as Swiss fans roared to celebrate a rare triumph over the world champions, must have produced echoes in the Alps, and sent tremors into Lake Geneva.

The Swedes almost took their fight all the way.

But, with penalties looming, they blinked, and the Ukrainians struck the decisive blow, in a conclusion that was as painful as it was stressful, as beautiful as it was sorrowful, depending on which team you were backing.

Then, of course, there was the Three Lions.

The specialists of glorious failure, football’s ultimate Fantasy Team, the ones who find themselves forever stuck in a dream, which seemingly never comes true.

The masters of the Waiting Game, still trapped in the memories of the Swinging Sixties, once upon a time in London, when Bobby Moore, and his trailblazing crew, transformed them into champions of the world.

And, in a way, they also still ruled the real world.

After all, their empire was still intact and, even though African colonies were starting to break away, for their date with the romance of freedom and independence, the Beatles were still ruling the airwaves with their songs.

And, amid this chaos of seismic changes, around the world, football came home.

It was the Summer of ‘66 and Geoff Hurst scored a hat-trick in the World Cup final to propel them into the paradise of Dreamland.

Maybe, they wouldn’t have won it, had the absolute science of goal line technology existed back then, to make a compelling case for those whose protests, arguing the ball didn’t cross the line, fell on deaf ears.

Although his immortality is built on the reality that he remains the only man to score a World Cup final hat-trick, in the tournament’s 91-year history, Hurst still had the honesty, 20 years ago, to question whether his effort was, indeed, a goal.

“Was it a goal? Did the ball cross the line?” Hurst, who is now 79, asks, in his autobiography. “Those two questions have haunted me for most of my adult life.

“Having listened to all the arguments, over the decades, and watched the replay hundreds of times on TV, I have to admit that it looks as though the ball didn’t cross the line.

“But, until someone proves otherwise, I’m happy to go along with Herr Dienst and Bakhramov.’’

What we know is that it kissed the underside of the crossbar and gravity, inevitably, sucked it down to its fateful connection with the ground.

And, from there, everything else is lost in a haze of personal, and emotional, considerations in a controversy, which has raged on for more than 50 years.

That the Germans were the losing side, in that final showdown in 1966, provides a fascinating angle to this tale.

If ever football has, in one way or another, mirrored life itself then, probably, this was the closest the beautiful game came, to doing just that.

For, how do we explain that the defining controversial call, to give Hurst his goal, in the biggest game between England and Germany, after all the horrors inflicted by the brutality of their conflict in World War II, came from a Soviet linesman?

As if to suggest an alliance, between England and the Soviets, as was the case in the final days of that Great War, in which they finally defeated the madness of Nazism.

How do we explain that, somehow, FIFA chose a Swiss referee, Gottfried Dienst, to be in charge of the final, as if to place an emphasis on the neutrality, which his country had taken, during World War II?

Or how do they explain that they chose a linesman, from Czechoslovakia, Karol Garba, to run the other line, in that final?

As if FIFA wanted to suggest they also needed the presence of a man, from a country occupied by the Germans, during that Great War?

IT’S A STRANGE BUT BEAUTIFUL RELATIONSHIP

 In more ways than one, when it comes to football, the English are just like us – their international record is nothing to write home about, made up mainly of chapters of failure, which overshadow the isolated page of success, of men who promised so much but delivered very little.

They also have a media, just like ours, which is unapologetically passionate, about their national football team, transforming them into world-beaters, on the occasions they plunge into battle, despite a dismal record, of perennial failure.

Just like us, they always psyche up their boys, to try and inspire them to play beyond their athletic abilities, to try and push them to punch above their weight, to try and drag them to fight for their lives.

We make them embark on an adventure, into fantasyland, where they can believe that they are the supermen, who can confront any opposition in the world, and beat them in this game.

We try to make them understand that, for all the challenges we have faced, and all the pain they have inflicted on our souls, they still retained our trust.

The ultimate bank, in which we still invest our confidence, deposit our emotions and explore our fantasies, not to join the Forbes list of billionaires but, at least, once in a while, enjoy our flirtation with glory.

For us, all that matters are those isolated moments, like that beautiful feeling, which came that January afternoon, at the National Sports Stadium, in 1995.

That was the day when Vitalis Takawira came of age, clicked like a digital clock and scored a hat-trick, to help bring down the Indomitable Lions of Cameroon, in a 4-1 victory.

There is no doubt that, just like the English, be it the fans or the media, we have this amazing special romance, between us and our national football team.

Somehow, the purity of its amazing bond has barely been shaken, by the dark reality that our boys have, more often than not, conspired to hurt our feelings, ganged up to defraud our expectations and connived to insult our optimism.

It’s a strange relationship, but a beautiful one, all the same.

And, on Tuesday, the world was treated to a beautiful rendition of this special relationship, between the Three Lions and their devoted followers.

We even saw Prince William, the Duke of Cambridge, the man who was born to be a king, making a mockery of royal protocol as he punched the air, in a rare public show of boundless joy.

We saw his seven-year-old son, Prince George, also clapping his hands as he joined his countrymen and women in a frenzy of happiness, soaking in the glory of victory.

We saw the bedlam on the front pages of the British newspapers, crazy tabloids and sober broadsheets united, to salute to their Three Lions, this very team which, for 55 years, has not won anything on the big stage.

Television commentator, Peter Drury, had built the foundation for this outpouring of national joy, with his powerful, if not animated, soundtrack, to the events at Wembley.

“From Prince to pauper, a nation rises, so much for royal protocol, Prince William himself, is punching the air and his Royal Highness, Raheem Sterling, has England where they want to be,’’ thundered Drury.

“England have only ever won when Raheem Sterling has scored, England’s tournament man, three goals in this tournament, one nil, one nil, one nil.

“England, modern England write their own history, this time at Wembley, the German giant was slain, the past is ripped up, first by Raheem and then by the England captain, Harry Kane, a day for which a nation has thirsted.

“It’s only the last 16, it’s only a place in the quarter-final but this is a fixture which resonates with relevance, which echoes with history, which matters almost more than any other.

“That England beat Germany is, in itself sufficient, hurdles lie ahead, England can believe they can go all the way but, for now, the crestfallen Germans must take their plane home, this is a trophy that won’t be theirs.

“It’s a Wembley crowd that’s drinks it in and cherishes the knowledge that they were there to witness something beyond the ordinary, it’s a beautiful scene, seen through English eyes, the final score, at a celebratory Wembley is England 2, Germany nil.’’

FOR ME, THERE WAS A BIGGER STORY, THAN FOOTBALL

 But, for me, more than football, there was something else, a very powerful image, more important than the game, which caught my attention.

It didn’t make the headlines, of course, it never does.

It was the tale of two children — Raheem Sterling’s joyous kid, in the arms of his triumphant father, and that German kid, overcome with grief, after her team’s loss, sobbing in the arms of her father.

The most important thing, for me, was that, even for the crying kid, the pain will, with the passage of time, fade away.

And, at some point, in her life, her beloved Germany will hit back, will certainly make up for that loss, and will once again defeat the English to give her another chance to celebrate.

That’s the beauty of football.

And, a showdown between Germany and England, be it a controversial World Cup final in 1966 or a penalty shoot  out defeat for the Three Lions, in the World Cup semis, in 1990, doesn’t mean the end of the world.

That’s the value of peace, global peace, which has made it possible that, for the last 76 years, even those countries, which fought against each other in World War II, can now meet, in an explosion of joy, and fight for sporting supremacy.

This is what God probably had in mind, when He created humans – the defeated Germans waving their flags, inside Wembley, despite their tears, still generating a lot of pride, from the fight, which their players threw into this battle.

The triumphant English fans waving their flags, forgetting all the losses their team had suffered, at the hands of these opponents, now basking in the glory of their time in the sunshine.

Those two kids, a representative of the future generation, lost in the wave of those contrasting emotions.

Amid all this, it’s easy to forget the horrors of the past, to forget Auschwitz, the World War II death camp, where an estimated 1.1 million people were killed.

To take peace for granted and forget the kids who, unlike those two who transformed themselves into part of the Wembley narrative on Tuesday, fell victim to the dark side of mankind.

At least, the stars of this game, from Jurgen Klopp to Virgil van Dijk and from Frank Lampard to Kane, the man who sealed England’s win on Tuesday, have not forgotten.

On the 75th anniversary of the liberation of Auschwitz, in January last year, they joined hands to appear in a video, to mark Holocaust Memorial Day.

“Today, on Holocaust Memorial Day, we remember, we remember those who stood by, those who did nothing, those that shook their heads,’’ they said in the video.

“We remember those who said ‘this will pass — it won’t last,’ we remember those who didn’t believe, wouldn’t believe, refused to believe, those who reasoned ‘it’s only words, high spirits, harmless insults.’

“We remember those who turned away, who stood by, who watched the deeds of others, but did nothing, we remember the good people, the decent people, all the regular people, who didn’t hate but who encouraged and supported hatred through the power of their silence.

“And, we remember their shame, their eternal regretful shame, today on Holocaust Memorial Day we must remember why, when we see racism, anti-Semitism discrimination or hatred, no matter how small or seemingly insignificant, we cannot stand by, we mustn’t stand by.

“We need to stand up, we need to stand together.’’

It’s a grim video, whose background shows families, women and children waving Nazi flags at parades, and then charred bones of the victims of Auschwitz.

This week, the Auschwitz Memorial Twitter feed, reminded us, once again, of the lives which were destroyed in the madness of a world at war, as if to tell us, amid the explosion of joy at Wembley, never to take peace for granted.

They featured a Jewish boy, Maurice Heimer, and his sister, Jeanine Nicole who, in the company of their father and mother, were hauled off to Auschwitz, in 1943, and lost their lives in that chamber of death.

Their innocence was crushed by evil men, with imperial ambitions, their lives were taken by the merchants of death who, in their demonic frenzy, could not see the difference between kids and the elderly.

It’s on occasions like this week, when the world is at peace with itself, as it parades the flags of love, and provides its future generations with a picture of tranquillity, as was the case at Wembley, that we should always remember the thin line between order and chaos.

In the eyes, hopes, joy and tears of those two children at Wembley, we must once again read a powerful message, and never forget the value of peace and the benefit of love.

Because, as seen in the flowers who paid the ultimate price at Auschwitz, whose abiding memory is Germany and England at war, and not the tranquillity, which those at Wembley were able to enjoy, the alternative to peace, is just too ghastly to even contemplate.

Thank you football, you will always be my game.

To God Be The Glory!

Peace to the GEPA Chief, the Big Fish, George Norton, Daily Service, Sitting Bull, Crazy Horse and all the Chakariboys in the struggle.

Come on Warriors!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Khamaldinhoooooooooooooooooo!

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