Finally, the earth moves for international soccer

wo years ago, I believed I had plumbed the depths of that affliction called homer-ism and come out the other side untouched. It was the 17th game of the 2006 World Cup, Portugal vs. Iran. I took my cramped seat in the Frankfurt Stadion's sweaty media tribune between a pair of reporters, one Portuguese, the other Iranian. There is a time-honoured tradition that forbids any reporter from openly rooting in the press box. At my first World Cup, I was learning that that tradition is not universal. The Portuguese – a bespectacled and professorial fellow of about 60 – had the national colours clumsily painted on his face. He was wearing a team jersey. He nearly hyperventilated during the national anthem, so bursting was his joy. The Iranian – young and nervous, with good reason – gnawed at his knuckles for a lot of the game. He also... [read full story]