This may only be funny for those who have
lived in Luxembourg or in a similar place during European or World
Championships. Of football. European football. The one where you actually touch
the ball with your foot (see also Secretary Albright on this topic).
Because in those multicultural places the
usual sequence of events is that the games start, and by the first day a flag
or two appears in every other window, to indicate the nationality of the person
living there. And if somebody doesn't want to watch the group stage games (no,
not me, but if there is somebody who doesn't get all excited about watching
three matches a day with the boys in the basement), they can just peak out of
their window right after the end of the game and have a look at the flags flown
from the honking cars to figure out who won. If Portugal plays, it's
recommended to get home latest by the halftime, because if they win, the
supporters will all be on the streets celebrating their victory over Morocco,
and causing major traffic disruptions.
Here, now, the Africa Cup is on. The last
group round was happening (side note: I was busy in the kitchen while half of
the men I live with was watching football...), and we knew that if Congo loses
against Tunisia, they will be out, and if they win, they will be in the
quarter-final. If they tie, all depends on what Cap Vert plays against I don't
remember who.
Well of course the game ended with a balanced
1-1, and the commentator either didn't know the result of the other game, or he
didn't want to tell, and it wasn't clear whether the teams knew it either,
because nobody seemed overly joyful or too disappointed.
So we turned the sound off and waited. It
didn't take two minutes and the happy honking and cheerful yelling from the
street confirmed that they made it through. DRC in the quarter-finals.
Then they played against the other Congo, and
they were losing 1-2, and then they turned it around and ended up winning
4-2... now that's fiesta à la congolaise. All easy rider motorbikers were
storming up and down the boulevard, all cars were honking crazy out of their
minds, and at some point a bunch of children showed up on one end of the
street, running down towards the roundabout, shouting proudly Lé-o-pards
Lé-o-pards (the nickname of the team). We were also happy for them, and I tried
to picture the madness at home if Hungary made it to the semi-finals of the
European Championships...
We were secretly hoping for it, but we still
didn't get back the internet. I don't know if it's going to be enough if the
team makes it to the final, or they would actually have to win to be awarded
that way. We'll see. Playing for the final on Wednesday. Stay tuned!
