October 2007

[Sweder]

World Cup Final day!

I was bouncing around the house this morning, singing 'Swing Low' and generally upsetting the household. Nothing for it but to head for the hills, sans music or radio, to burn off the nervous energy whilst dreaming of all the possible scenarios for tonight's clash.

The mighty, flighty Springbok takes on the weight of the Old English Lion.
It's a mangy old lion, raked with scars, great tufts of it's golden mane missing, stained fur clogged with mud. But a wounded animal can be dangerous, and that much-maligned beast may yet rear up and sink its yellow fangs into South African flesh. As in the Traansvaal so in the Parc des Princes; complacency will get you killed.

It might be a game too far for those brave English boys, and if it turns out that way c'est la vie. It won't stop SP, Captain Tom and I gathering in my living room like some pack from hell to whoop and holler and drive them on to glory . . . or glorous failure.

Reading the sports pages this week I see I'm not alone in caring little if at all about events in Russia on Wednesday afternoon. The England football team pales horribly against their oval-ball counterparts. Not just because the rugger boys have a chance to actually win something, but because they've got there through sheer belief and will to win, something that left Second Choice Steve's outfit long before the Quiffed One took up the tracksuit.

A fabulous run this morning in ice-cold, crystal clear conditions. I bustled across the hills in my run-shuffle style, drinking in the wonderful views across the plains, enjoying the frisson between warm sweat and chilled air. Home in 43:50 (the Garmin's back in business), a good last outing before the red-eye tomorrow from Heathrow to the sweeping desert heat of Dubai.

Once again I'll be taking my runners, but . . .