Every four years, the living rooms in our homes become scorching hot from the enlivening enthusiasm of football fans. Every four years, we are reminded that wars are not fought with guns only. Our deeply induced affinity towards combat rises and we feel our blood boiling. Our urge to prevail and stand triumphant rises from its deep-seated roots and our lives become more meaningful with this very urge. Like our ancestors who were warriors or combatants devising detailed attack plans, we also carry out strong discussions on various ploys of the teams, into the wee hours of the night.
Anger is what leads to endurance. Many of us think that anger is the root cause of all ruin, but that is not always true. This very unprophetic rage forced the human race to move out of their secure caves and into the dangerous world outside, fighting the harshness of nature, unknown tribes, animals, etc, for survival and conquest.
This constant and continuous need for conquest is one of the major reasons behind us surviving and thriving. Small amounts of our survival instincts are exposed during our massive support for the various teams in the World Cup. We dedicate our time and our emotions on a massive scale. It’s as if this war is our own, and losing is not an option. All our frustrations are catapulted into a 90 minute continuum that unites the entire world. We all feel as one, or to be more specific, as one of the two teams competing. It is either us or them.
This manic, quizzical, and competitive nature exists in us Bangladeshis too, we are not fighting for our own country since it did not qualify, but the strangest part is that we swear by teams like Argentina and Brazil as if they were our own.
Surely, during the World Cup, all of the battered houses and skyscrapers in our cities look like they are located in these foreign countries with innumerous international flags waving about. People wear jerseys of the teams they support instead of their regular clothes. They scuffle in the streets with the supporters of the opposing, television channels broadcast the games, shedding off their standard shows.
The regular housewife who likes to watch sitcoms after housework now watches the games, the children leave their cartoons to wave flags and stand by their parents’ teams, the working population leave their offices early, the grandmas stop knitting. All eyes are set on the little black box in the middle of the living room, and silent whispers to God continue till the end of the game. The screams and shouts after a win can be heard from miles away, while the sadness and devastation of a loss can be felt for a long time.
This is the magic of football, the magic of unity, the magic of competitiveness, the magic of winning and losing. Every game resembles episodes from our own lives, only in a shorter duration and with more people involved. This is football, this is magic.