Joys of Soccer

Pursuant to my comments in previous posting re absurdity of World Cup fervour: by pure circumstantial accident, found myself witness to the climax of the recent England-Portugal game, witness to the exultant victors peeling off sweat-drenched t-shirts, witness to their exquisite torsos in moist, delirious embrace, further witness to the losers crumpled, weeping, breathtakingly tragic, comforting one another with hands placed against cheeks, gentle gazes, foreheads pressed together in virtual kissing-distance and tender wiping away of tears. Think circuit party meets E.M. Forster novella. So why the forlorn faces of the English spectators, devastated, dumbstruck, betrayed, bereft of hope? Is that all really necessary? Seen from my perspective, we're all winners, so long as someone takes off his shirt.