One did not have to be a footballing expert to realize that Brazil gave a fairly shoddy performance against Mexico. Two events, one last night and another this morning made me realize how devastating their insipid display was for the Selecao faithful.
Last night after the game I went to see my nearly septuagenarian father. He was sitting on his laptop at 3 in the morning clicking random icons with the same kind of listlessness that I saw in the Brazilian midfielders. When I asked what he was doing, he gave me a Pirloesque blank stare but there was no earth shattering free kick to follow.
This morning I received a barrage of whatsapp messages from Mostafa Sarwar Farooki, who is doing the festival rounds in Seoul with his latest film. Farooki is usually parsimonious with his texting but he was in abundant form today. While he insisted that I write his comments verbatim in my column, I am convinced that doing so will get me permanently barred from ever writing in any Bangladeshi publication ever.
So here is a gist of what he said. If Scholari wants his certain orbs to remain intact he will have to display a little more power in said spherical objects. Playing the game with three holding midfielders is killing the Brazilian game, and displaying distinct lack of courage. Neymar isn’t being able to pass the ball because he is not sure if he will get fed back, and Fred is a jamai (son-in-law), a position of special privileges especially in the beginning of a marriage, who might as well be sitting on a dais with a handkerchief over his mouth.
You can say what you want about Farooki’s footballing proclivities, and I can say plenty given that he switched from my beloved Liverpool to Chelsea, but there is no doubting the man’s understanding of the game or his passion for the Selecao. So when he misses photo ops with Ben Kingsley to compose a lengthy jeremiad about Brazilian football to this humble writer, one feels that Brazil fans really do need a pick me up.
I could not help but notice, however, that the actual Brazilians that I saw on TV yesterday seemed much happier, even at the end of the game, than the fans here in Bangladesh. Surely they are not less devoted to their OWN country’s team than we are.
The explanation seemed obvious to me. They have a carnival. We do not. All we possess is the game, and while watching football in Bangladesh is as much fun as anywhere else in the world, there is little to fall back on when things are going south on the pitch. So here is a little tip on how to create our own carnival right here in Dhaka.
The first condition for carnivalesque circumstances is excess. Due to our many social and economic limitations it might not be possible to replicate the exact buffet of excess one experiences in Brazil, but that should not stop us from creating our own. After all what would a Rio carnival in Dhaka be if it did not possess a certain Bengali flavor.
Here’s what you do. Buy lots and lots of Corola, the vegetable not the car. I have actually tried this before. Whenever you buy ridiculous amounts of anything you get this soaring sense of spiritual high. Much like being in a carnival. Actually my own exercise was with cheap fried chicken, but I am not so irresponsible as to suggest something so blatantly unhealthy to the reader. So go to the nearest vegetable wholesaler and for the bargain price of a few thousand takas buy a truckload of corolla and fill your house with them. You will feel great surrounded by the greens. It might even feel like the rain forest.
For a few hours, or even days if your endorphins are shooting better than Ramires, you will feel ecstatic. And if Brazil gives a similarly poor performance against Cameroon, you can start chomping on the vegetables raw. Anything will better in comparison. Even slow Jo and wrong said Fred.
(Disclaimer) I have actually never been to a carnival so I cannot vouch for the success of my prescription but it does make a certain kind of sense, and was conceived and conveyed with the most loving intentions.
