Wouldn't it be nice to look back at the World Cup festivities, right now?
Yesterday, the Italian Embassy placed an advertisement in An-Nahar newspaper thanking Lebanese for their fervent, loud, and non-stop support of the Italian team.
At night, I dream about my problems. Yesterday, I had a few. Just before I fell asleep I thought of a long report I have to submit that I'm a bit behind on; I thought of my Hezbollah and Israel. I listened to the horizons for planes. However, I dreamt about football.
In my dream, my team, France, lost to Togo in the Group Stage. That would have been horrible. It was the game Zidane wasn't playing in because he'd gotten two yellow cards in the previous match.
I dreamt that Zidane played brilliantly in earlier games, but that he was unnecessarily violent. He wasn't at all, but his Finale act kind of changed the perception. Germany's Ballack is a thug, as is Britain's Wayne Rooney, and that Italian guy who gave American player McBride the massive laceration on his cheek that required four stitches and got the Italian banned for four games. Zidane isn't a thug. He's my sports hero.
He has given me nightmares.