Phew. It’s over! With Germany lifting the Jules Rimet trophy tonight the proliferation of all things Brazilian (well, ok, nearly all things Brazilian) is over. Until the 2016 Olympics at least.
Now, due to my aversion to all things football I’ve successfully managed to avoid an awful lot of men running around on grass, falling over and biting each other. However, with Husband having been there and ALL THE SODDING SPONSORS and their adverts jumping on the bandwagon I’ve still (allegedly) learnt stuff about Brazil, football and humanity, some of which is probably, definitely not true, a lot of which I didn’t need to know. Nevertheless, I’ll still be sharing this nonsense with you. You’re welcome.
It’s beyond hot.
Even the Brazilians thought it was stupid to be hosting the championships there due to the heat and humidity. Qatar in four years time will be fun then. Well planned, FIFA.
You don’t want to be around when a Brazil match ends.
Thanks to a delay in his flight to Salvador, Husband found himself arriving in the city at the same time as crowds filed out of the bars after the kick-off match between Brazil and Croatia. Thousands of fans filled the square around their car, so they were forced to go around the back, via a walk up a hill. Whilst they climbed another solo tourist was ahead of them and the first to meet the surging fans…only to be set upon and mugged! Husband and his mate (as far away from have-a-go heroes as it’s possible to get) turned on their heels and legged it down the hill and back into their car, whilst the driver requested security.
Not a great start.
It’s hard to know when it’s ok to hit children.
Although the only trouble Husband experienced was on his arrival, one bloke he met told him how he’d constantly been hassled by groups of small children, their hands in his pockets looking to pinch whatever they could. Which brings to bear the question: is it ever ok to beat a child off of you?
Not met a deadline? Upset the majority of your host nation? Never mind, carry on and try to distract everyone with a party.
Admit it, you’ve been there: a deadline’s looming and you know you’re not going to meet it. It’s an awful feeling, isn’t it? Imagine how it felt for the organisers then to have half-finished projects littered around the nation. It seems they weren’t so bothered actually. Stick a screen up and nobody will suspect a thing right? Have a nation upset that you’ve spent money on a football tournament that would be better spent on healthcare, infrastructure, the war on drugs? Distract them with a party and a team that’s progressing through the tournament.
Clearly they’d been inspired by Frozen: ‘conceal it, don’t feel it, don’t let it show.’ The reach of Elsa’s ice powers knows no bounds.
It IS possible to score goals.
7-1 in the Germany v Brazil game? No excuses for nil-nil games any more. Seriously, how can a game that often ends in no result have people’s devotion. Never mind the losing teams, it’s the teams that fail to score who should be instantly disqualified in my opinion.
It’s all about the music and dancing.
From M&M’s pool party to KFC’s boy undetered by the cooling of his takeaway fried chicken, the samba drums are going to get to you.
Husband would disagree though. He didn’t experience any samba. Breakfast-time drinking and prostitution though seemed to be more of a pre-occupation for some. You don’t see THAT in the adverts.
Fast food in Brazil must be calorie-free.
Well, either that or there’s a disconnect between the products the sponsors are pedalling and the lifestyles they’ve used to promote it. Because surely you can’t have a diet of McDonalds, KFC, Pot Noodle and M&Ms and still look and good shaking your stuff in a thong, no matter how many feathers you wear on your head to distract everyone.
Still, at least thanks to Listerine we know they might die of coronary heart disease, but at least they’ve got minty fresh breath.
All of this I only know second hand mind you, having not stepped a foot into Latin America. Husband thinks that I would like Rio and has PROMISED to take me sooner rather than later. I’m holding him to this. Hopefully I’ll stumble across more samba and fewer 9am prostitutes than he did. Whilst I wait I’ll need to get my backside into better shape. I’d better start eating the Maccy D’s then, I guess.
In the meantime, men, put your balls away. From the noises that have emanated from around the house over the past month it’s been quite a show, if you’re into that sort of thing. But personally, I really won’t miss it.